Page 13 of Tied Over

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“And we can keep your family safe, don’t worry.”

He nodded quickly, then said to Ian, “I’m supposed to introduce Burian Petrov to my supplier, Rasha Wexler, tomorrow at ten in the morning.”

Mabe lifted his sunglasses, putting them on top of his head and in the process revealing his dark blue eyes now narrowed in half. “You’re telling me your supplier is a fuckin’ textile heiress?”

He nodded.

“Why?” Salazar asked Washington. “Why would she do that?”

“I have no idea.”

“For the thrill?”

“Really, man, I dunno.”

“And you got out, why?” Mabe wanted to know.

“We know the answer to that,” Ian said, tipping his head at Crouse. “My bet is that the FBI has an open investigation into James Wexler, Rasha’s father, for securities fraud. Am I right?”

“You are,” Crouse agreed.

“So your plan was to use his daughter’s situation to put pressure on him, but in the middle of your investigation, you got Burian Petrov in the mix, putting pressure on Washington to get to Rasha, and you can’t have that.”

“None of us can have that,” Crouse told Ian. “Petrov killed an ATF agent.”

Ian nodded. “So Narcotics gets Rasha, you get her father, and we get Petrov.”

“That’s right,” Crouse said, smiling at Ian. “Good job, Marshal.”

“I fuckin’ hate Feds,” Mabe grumbled, and no one could really blame him.

THREE

Washington had to go undercover, first with Rasha, then with Petrov, wired up both times, to get his deal and enter witness protection. The first time, with Rasha, it would be me, Salazar, and Mabe with Washington; the second time, with Petrov, it would be me, Crouse, and Washington. It was the FBI’s party, basically, because their case, the SEC one against Rasha Wexler’s father, had priority, and everyone agreed that once the daughter was pinched, the father would play ball. I was there because I knew Washington and I was the only one actively concerned with his safety.

Because of red tape, bureaucracy, and redundancy, we had to go to the FBI field office on Roosevelt Road to get the same briefing, again, from Crouse’s boss.

Washington had looked at me in absolute horror. “Why? Why don’t we just get started?”

“Because they’re the FBI,” Mabe told him, groaning as he walked by.

Before I could leave, Sam Kage stopped the circus and pulled me into the hall and down toward his office, where we were joined by Chris Becker, the supervisory deputy—Ian’s boss, the one right under Kage—and Ian.

Kage said, “You weren’t thinking I was going to let you go alone on this, were you, Redeker?”

Kage, along with my last boss in Vegas, did not permit their deputies to go solo at any time. Others did, and I understood that, but I’d yet to work for one of them.

“So is it Pazzi,” Kage asked, “or are we at a place now where you and Callahan are back to being partners?”

“It’s me, sir,” Bodhi said, jogging down the corridor to join us.

When I glanced at him, the look I got was icy.

I cleared my throat. “We’ve been meaning to discuss that change with Deputy Director Doyle, but—”

“After today’s screwup,” Kage said, crossing his arms and looking pointedly at Becker, then back to Bodhi, “I agree that you and Redeker will resume your partnership, and Pazzi and Yamane will resume theirs.”