Page 19 of So Smitten

“Mr. Snake Fist,” Faith said drily. “We’ll be in touch.”

They stood to leave. On their way out, Snake Fist called, “You have a lovely day, agents,” then cackled laughter at the closing door.

Faith, Michael and Turk returned to Garvey, who was watching from the other side of the mirror. Snake Fist grinned and offered both middle fingers to them even though he couldn’t see through the two-way glass.

“I take it he’s been here before,” Michael said.

“Yeah, Snake’s one of their pimps. We’ve had him in a half dozen times for pimping, dealing and assault, but the Syndicate has good lawyers. He’s never inside for more than a day or two.”

“If they have such good lawyers, why aren’t the lawyers here now?” Faith asked.

“They don’t usually show up until we charge somebody. It makes people look guilty if they go everywhere holding their counsel’s hand.”

Faith sighed. “Can we force any of them to talk? Threaten them with priors or something?”

Garvey shook her head. “Not unless we can think of a justifiable reason to detain them.”

“Do you have anyone on the inside?” Michael asked. “A confidential informant or something like that?”

“Yeah, we have a CI,” Garvey replied. “He’s not ‘in’ the gang per se, but he hangs around them. Hears things, learns things, tells us enough to keep us from prosecuting him.”

“Prosecuting him for what?”

“Well,” Garvey said with a wry smile. “He’s usually found at Black Betty’s. That’s a strip club downtown that’s well known for providing other, less legal, services to well-paying customers. He’ll run errands for the gang, and they’ll pay him by giving him some of those services. We don’t arrest him for solicitation as long as he gives us information when we need it.”

“What’s this CI’s name?” Faith asked.

“Keenan Washington,” Garvey replied. “Odds are, he’ll be at the club already.”

“At eleven in the morning?”

“Sure. He’ll show up looking for work, take care of said work and return in the afternoon so he can… enjoy himself… before the girls have to get to work themselves.”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Michael quipped.

“If you’re looking for nice guys,” Garvey replied, “you’re looking in the wrong neighborhoods.”

“Fair enough,” Michael replied. “You have a car we can borrow, or do you want to come with?”

Garvey shook her head. “I want to lean on these guys a little more. Snake knows you’re here temporarily, but he knows I’m here for life. He might be more willing to talk if I start suggesting that we double our patrols on his corner.”

Faith frowned. “You’re making deals with criminals?”

“Like Snake said,” Garvey replied without animosity, “you get to leave when this is all over. I have to stay. Much as I would love to take a strong moral stance and bring the hammer of God down on everyone who sells dope and girls, I don’t have the budget or the manpower. So we do the best we can.”

Faith didn’t reply, but her frown deepened.

“The car?” Michael reminded her.

“You can take one of the cruisers,” Garvey replied. “I don’t care which. The keys are hanging on the wall next to the bulletin board in the bull room.”

The key Michael picked turned out to be to a new Ford model police interceptor SUV. Faith didn't care much for the space-age cars that cops drove nowadays. Give her a good old-fashioned American V8 boat. Simple and modest, but it would run three hundred thousand hard miles as smooth as a kitten.

Michael, however, was relieved to drive something modern and comfortable after hours in an old beat-up Ford Bronco on leaf springs during their last case. He hummed a tune as he pulled into a drive-thru coffee shop.

“You really need coffee now?” Faith asked. “When we’re on our way to interrogate a person of interest?”

“Technically speaking, he’s a CI, not a person of interest,” Michael said, “and yes, I need coffee now.”

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