Page 81 of Chubs

“I’m taking a shower. I have a tomato stuck in my ass cheeks. Thank fucking God we didn’t ask for jalapenos to be added to those sandwiches.”

I lose it and roll on the bed, laughing as my brother shuts the bathroom door behind him. After I get it together, I return the car to where I found it and stop at a late-night deli on the walk back. I don’t order jalapenos on our sandwiches, but I do ask for extra tomatoes.

We wait a few hours, then Les makes the call as an anonymous tipster. With patience, he refuses to tell the person who answered anything until they put on a supervisor. When a captain comes on the line, Les explains what’s on the electronics, where to find them, and what prisoners are there. When he disconnects the call, he grins.

“The captain got a little excited when I explained they’re from the Vero crime family, and if he uses the information correctly, his department will get credit for the arrests and not the FBI. The city departments get tired of state and federal ones letting them do the dirty work, and then they step in for the credit and photo ops. I did warn him that I have duplicates of everything, so if nothing’s done, I’ll then contact the Feds instead. He couldn’t get off the phone fast enough. Turn on the TV.”

I flip it on, but instead of waiting for a news report, I walk outside the room for some fresh air. I’m sick of living out of hotel rooms, and the walls are starting to close in on me. Pulling a bag of licorice out of my back pocket, I chew slowly on a stick while thinking about Lucy.

I physically hurt when I think of never having her in my life again. There has to be a way to end this shit in Chicago and still have a life that’s worth living, even if she never speaks to me again. Maybe I could have a little luck, and she’d be willing to give me another chance. I can’t see it, though. I hurt, lied to, and abandoned her, and I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but that won’t stop me from begging. Sighing in frustration, I return to the room and wait to find out if our plan worked.

The next morning the news reports are filled with images of our former captives being led from the warehouse and placed in police vans. Les whoops, but I know we’re not done yet. There’s still the matter of the remaining federal agent from when I was a kid and the ones from Denver. I need more intel on them and to make a solid plan.

We spend the day scouring the internet for anything we can find on the original federal agent, Leo Fey. We find several things of interest and work together, piecing together what we can. Years earlier, Fey was fired but not charged with any crimes. That’s not surprising in the least. State and federal agencies hate letting the public know they have a problem employee, so they will often transfer or fire them but not charge them. It’s bad publicity, and they avoid it at all costs.

Digging deeper, we find an obituary for Leo Fey, stating he died of an apparent suicide. Whether it was or not, I don’t care. He’s no longer a worry for us. My main concern now is the two agents that harassed me in Denver. Are they legitimate about building a case, or are they dirty? If so, who do they work for?

What we find is that Jim Ruzzo and Dan Vetter are currently FBI agents assigned to the Chicago office. At least they didn’t lie about that. Eventually, we determine that Dan Vetter is the agent I shot at the safe house. There’s precious little information to be found about either. We’re going to have to go old school.

“We have to tail them,” I inform Les.

“And then what? If they’re legit, we’re looking at prison time if we snatch them up. If they’re not, what do we do with them?”

“I have no idea, but the only way to finish this up is to question one of them and find out what’s going on. We have a phone number. What are we out by calling them?” I question.

“Nothing, I guess. If they really are building a case against the Vero family, they don’t need you anymore. We just handed over all the evidence needed. If they still want you for some reason, I’d say they have other intentions, and those might determine how we proceed.”

“We need a car. I’m not a fan of riding bitch on that bike with you. How about renting one?” Les asks.

“Easily tracked. They ask for too much information nowadays.”

“Steal one, or borrow it like you prefer to call it?” Les queries with a grin.

“It’s risky but could be done again. I just hate taking something from someone that needs it, you know?”

“I have a friend that I can borrow one from. She’s not one to ask a lot of questions, but I’d have to tell her something.”

“Girlfriend?” I ask, surprised because Les hasn’t mentioned anyone like that.

“Not really. We hook up, but neither of us is looking for anything permanent. She works at a land title business, and we met through our companies working together. I can call her and ask,” Les suggests.

“I don’t like it, but we don’t have a lot of options, I guess. Even with the Vero family in chaos, I’d like to keep my identity hidden. You call her, and I’ll call the Feds,” I state and walk out of the room.

Leaning against the building, I dial the number and wait.

“Ruzzo.”

“Agent Ruzzo, how the fuck are you doing this fine Chicago day?” I ask in a sarcastic tone.

“Who’s this?” he barks.

“A man of many names, but you usually called me Brock.”

There’s silence for a few beats, then a sigh.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You came back here to where everyone you know wants to put your head on a stake, then shoot my partner, and I’m going to guess you’re behind the big bust for Chicago P.D. Do you have a fucking death wish, you dumbass? Fucking bikers. Not a brain amongst you all.”

“Wow. You’re a regular little Miss Mary Poppins, aren’t you? How did I not notice your sunny disposition before?” I say in a snarky voice.

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