Page 25 of Fight for Me

“This conversation is off the books.” I wave my hand in acknowledgment. “You have my promise that it stays between us if it’s something that can help clear Jennifer’s name.”

Marcus eyes me suspiciously and then nods before leaning closer to lower his voice. “I take part in a certain illegal activity...”

“How illegal are we talking?”

“Jesus, man. That’s beside the point. The thing is, I know some people. You could call them a gang. They supply me with some things to distribute, if you catch my drift.” He casts me a meaningful look, and I lift my chin in acknowledgment.

I’m not surprised to learn that this shithead is dealing. The guy has a certain look about him. What was Jen seeing in him, I wonder.

“So, yesterday I heard something I probably shouldn’t, and from what I gathered, Wallace is mixed into some gun trafficking business with those guys. The thing that might interest you is that there’s supposed to be a drop this afternoon at that abandoned warehouse by the river.”

“That’s it?”

“What the fuck do you mean that’s it? Do you know how much I risk coming to the station and ratting out the people I work for? If they catch a whiff, I will be fucking staked. And that’s not a metaphor, these guys ain’t playing.”

“Should’ve thought about it before you started dealing with a gang,” I reply grimly.

“Fuck you!” Marcus jumps up from his seat, his face twisted in anger. “I only came here because I thought you getting Wallace will help Jenny. But maybe I shouldn’t have bothered. Fucking cops!”

He moves to the door, but I stop him. “How sure are you about this tip?”

“Pretty fucking sure. I know what I heard.” Marcus spits out and then hesitates, something weird flashing in his eyes. “Will you check it out?”

“Probably,” I admit, and stand up from my desk to extend a hand for Marcus to shake it. “Thank you for your help, Marcus. I appreciate it.”

He looks at my hand and then his gaze hardens before he shakes it. “Yeah. Later.” And then he’s out the door.

I stand with my hands on my hips and consider my next move. I’m not sure if I can trust that rat, but I have to admit that it’s my only lead for now when it comes to David Wallace. For the last week, I’ve been trying to figure out how to help Jen, but I always come up empty. The only thing keeping me sane is the thought of her being under the safe care of my aunt.

My supervisors at the FBI were of no help, of course. After I had no other option than to report my involvement with Wallace’s daughter’s escape, admitting having jeopardized almost the whole investigation, they started to consider pulling me out completely of the job. The jury is still out, but I wouldn’t exactly blame them. I fucked up, and I’ve been fucking up even more ever since I got to Bell Ridge. Maybe I’m burned out. Maybe I’m not cut out to be an agent.

After serving for six years in the Marines, I had no idea what to do with myself, and then a friend told me about a position in the agency. I thought it would be perfect for me. Using my training and knowledge to do something good for my country once again but more locally. Boy, was I wrong. The fucking bureaucracy, the rat race, the caring about what’s more profitable for someone on the higher level than about the actual people and cases. It’s frustrating and there’s never any reward. Just the same bullshit over and over again.

Perhaps that’s why I’m putting on my jacket and marchingout before I can talk myself out of it or make the necessary calls, like I was trained. Instead I walk toward Diaz’s desk and pull him aside to tell him where I’m going.

“Brody, you’re crazy, man. You want to go there on your own to... do what exactly?”

“I’ll just stake the place out, look around, maybe find out something useful and be back. I don’t intend to engage. But if I spend one more day sitting on my ass and doing paperwork for Wallace so he can run around doing god knows what, I’m gonna lose my freaking mind. I need to start acting. Also, I’m armed and have you as a backup.”

“Oh, great. I’m the backup,” Diaz grumbles sarcastically, but puts on his jacket. “Let’s go then.”

I tap him on the shoulder in gratitude, and together we get out of the station with an excuse of getting some lunch before packing into my car.

––––––––

“ARE YOU SURE THAT MARCUS kid wasn’t just pulling your leg?” Diaz asks after we spend two hours observing the warehouse from afar. So far, there’s nothing happening and not a soul is in sight, but Marcus didn’t give me a specific hour for the drop-off. Still, I would suspect someone keeping an eye on the place. For now, it’s eerily quiet. Maybe they’re hiding inside.

“I’m going to get closer to see if there’s something in there,” I say to the man crouching next to me behind the dilapidated fence.

“Don’t think it’s wise, Brody. There’s an open field around the building. If someone’s in there, they’re gonna spot you right away.”

“Yeah. But I’m done with sitting on my ass, remember? Stay here. I’m going to take a look and be back. If things go sideways, get the fuck out and call for backup.”

“I thought I was the fucking backup,” Diaz argues warily.

“The other backup, meaning the FBI, okay?” I pull a card from my pocket and hand it to him. “Call them if there’s more trouble.”

“The FBI... of-fucking-course.” Diaz eyes the card disbelievingly. “Couldn’t you tell me before that you’re with the feds?”

---