Page 61 of Special Agent Murphy

Chapter Thirty-seven

Holy hell!

It’s one thing to be built like a super model but another to flaunt her beauty. Murph had turned his head back for a glance and knew instantly, she didn’t do so on purpose. She was just being herself.

Lord save him from his own bullshit jealousy, but he’d seen the glances being drawn her way. When he spotted the avaricious stares, he talked himself down from the green crap eating away at his manhood.Enough, asshole! Since when did you start being so insecure?

Once he got closer to the group’s table, Murphy looked her way once more, winked and appreciated her lifting her bottle in his direction. He liked that Kayti followed veiled orders without any back talk. He also appreciated that she didn’t take offense when he made the rules.

He wasn’t sure how many regulars might have remembered her from the other night, but figured if any were here, they wouldn’t have forgotten. She wowed him. Most likely, she’d have affected the ordinary joe in the same way.

If he could make use of their admiration, he’d do so in a heartbeat.

“Hey fellows, mind if I join you for a beer?”

The four at the table were pretty much in accord, and the guy nearest him kicked over the chair. “Sure. Seat’s empty. Help yourself.”

Before he sat down, he signaled to the bartender for another beer and swung the chair around so he could straddle it and lean on the back.

“Can I ask you a few questions without pissing anyone off?”

The friendlier fellow who’d welcomed him with the chair asked, “You a cop?”

“FBI. Agent Shane Murphy. It’s been a long day and me and Agent Edwards over there figured to come in, grab a beer and maybe find someone who might know this guy here.” He held up his phone and flashed the photo to each of the four men.

The bruiser at the far end had the first response, and it was kind of what Murphy had expected. “Agent Edwards. She was here Saturday night kicking the shit out of Freddie. He’s still in the hospital.”

“That’s right. She’s pretty handy with her feet. Do you know who Freddie was working for? Was it Draper?”

“Draper?”

“Yeah, this man in the photo.”

“Don’t know no Draper. Only know him as Serge.”

“Okay. Serge who?”

They all shrugged, then the same fellow piped up, “Just Serge.”

The beer arrived and Murphy told the waiter to bring a round, brightening up a couple of the faces who’d looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t know if you’re aware of what happened the other night. This sixteen-year-old girl,” – he held up Misti’s photo – “was kidnapped by just Serge. Her father, Senator Steve Bond, is frantic, and her mother’s suffered a stroke.”

The man on his left nodded and exclaimed, “I saw the news about the kid. They took her from this place on Saturday night.”

“That’s right. My partner, Agent Edwards, was trying to stop it from happening.”

“Man, can she fight! I took off while it was going on, but I saw her whipping the shit out of Freddie and Hank before I left.”

“Freddie and Hank?”

“They ended up in the hospital overnight. Hank’s still sore and pissed at letting a girl put him down.”

Murphy knew agents working for Kale questioned Hank and his buddy-in-crime that night and got less than nothing from either of them.

Thinking a promise to drop the charges from assaulting a Special Agent to public fighting, a misdemeanor, would sweeten the pie, the officers had gambled.

They believed that if the men knew anything, they’d have spilled the beans in a heartbeat. Seems they had no loyalty to the bastard who’d offered them two hundred bucks for playing bodyguard.

---