Page 19 of Mimosa

He was the one running drugs that were flown in on cargo planes.

Not to say that those under him were innocent. Far from it. In fact, Sonny had had dreams of busting them all and as they were all standing with their hands cuffed behind their backs, the ceiling caved in and crushed them all, saving the taxpayers several lengthy trials.

“Sonny?” Sandy called from the doorway.

“Yeah. I’m here, I’m ready.”

“They’re downstairs,” he said as he slowly walked into the room and looked over the graph on the wall. “Jesus. I almost forget how big this is.”

“Seeping into other states, other countries, becoming almost too big to take down without more cropping up from those we missed.”

“This is…it’s a lot, man. We’re going to miss a few. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know,” Sonny gritted. “What I’m afraid of more is that Franklyn isn’t really the top dog.”

They’d talked about it at length before, and both knew it was not only possible but probable that there were people with more power that were pocketing a lot of the proceeds.

“If that’s the case, Sand, we are gonna be at this for years instead of months.”

“I got nowhere to be, but you might,” he said cryptically. “Come on downstairs. Camp filled me in a little, and…well, it’s interesting.”

The four of them sat around the main office and Sonny patiently listened to the scheme, and it seemed they knew his reaction before he made it, judging from their reticence.

Taran spoke, cutting his eyes to and away from Sonny like he was watching a tennis match until, at last, he set his eyes firmly on him to see his actual reaction.

“Does the guy have a death wish?”

That was the only satisfaction he gave them for suspecting him to go off. Actually, he thought it was a great idea. It would make him seem more dedicated to the BBC. Though, it would put the pub into direct fire.

“That’s it?” Taran asked in astonishment.

“What? It’s a good plan. I walk into a BBC barbeque with a member of the enemy party, or one of them, of the many, anyway, and that makes me more credible.”

“Or it’ll make you look like a traitor,” Campbell commented.

“Not really. A lot of UCs make a…connection to the people they’re trying to infiltrate. If I go to Franklyn or one of his right handers and tell them I am fucking one of the pub boys, and can get information from him on their next jobs…well…”

“And, well, if you don’t come up with the right one?”

“What?” he said as he started to pace wildly. “There are twenty thousand things in this city worth stealing. Pick three they aren’t truly going after, have that Ali kid hack a few things, pretend it’s in play, and the BBC gets there first. It’s perfect.”

“Ali?So, you did your research. All I’ve ever called any of them is by their code names,” Taran said. “Even my own boyfriend.”

“Did you really think I’d get involved with them without the research?”

Taran just smiled at him. “So, you know all their names?”

“I have them written down, yeah.”

Camp coughed, then whispered, “Written down, not memorized.”

“I hate you fucking feds,” he said, then laughed a little as he stopped his pacing. “So, he’s cute, okay? I’m a cop, but I’m human!”

Sandy defended him. Well, kind of. “If that was a hot blond that I had to pretend to date for the love of my job, well, I would somehow push through. Sonny will, uh, you know, do his job.”

“Sandy, you can go fuck yourself.”

That evening, Taran drove Mims to see him, so they could get their stories straight. Taran took a walk outside the office building while Mims and Sonny sat on the broken sofa in an upstairs office. Not the one he had his graph in, however. He didn’t trust anyone outside of the LEOs to see that yet.

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