Page 9 of Parting Shot

Joaquin agreed. “Yeah. I think he’s been pissed at you since Musa.”

“Me moving into his place ain’t gonna help,” I said frankly.

“I’ll take care of Pedro.” Benny smiled in that sort of sinister way he had. It was like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean⁠—”

“No, no,” Joaquin soothed me. “Not like that. Calm down.”

“I just don’t wanna cause a problem.”

“No, man. You fix them, as far as I can tell.”

“That shit was federal,” Andre reminded me, his voice low, easing me sideways so I had to give him some of my weight. “That prick Evanston brought a guy to us with a marshal on his ass.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Were you aware that Evanston shot some kid in Chicago?”

Yes. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, he’s gettin’ life for that shit or a needle in his arm.”

I didn’t offer that there was no death penalty in Illinois. What was the point?

“If he doesn’t roll.” Benny smirked. “You always gotta figure on that shit with guys like him.”

Joaquin shook his head. “That’s Modella’s problem. I already called him.”

“Too bad we didn’t get the name of the marshal,” I fished. “We could’ve taken care of that too.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Andre grumbled. “We ain’t messin’ with no goddamn marshal. He wasn’t even there for us. All he wanted was that piece-of-shit Salcedo who had escaped FBI custody. That’s what the marshals do—they hunt down fugitives. Makes sense he was after Salcedo. But Evanston is a stupid prick who didn’t even know that fucker was hot.”

“Nobody needs that kind of heat,” Benny chimed in.

I was glad to hear Sam wasn’t even on their radar.

“Okay.” I winced. “Let’s go before all my pain meds are gone.”

“I got shit for pain,” Benny assured me. “Just say the word.”

Even though I had been cleared to do drugs if necessary to maintain my cover, I didn’t think taking anything stronger than Tylenol for stitches was what anyone behind the scenes on the task force had in mind.

The apartment was small and clean, in an older building that had been restored. It was not far from the Theater District, close enough to walk, if a twenty-minute stroll was something you were up for. It was like staying at a hotel, and Joaquin suggested I get either a plant or a cat. Benny suggested I find a woman instead and forget anything else. Andre went over the good places to pick up pastries, tapas, or to get a drink.

It was nice that, on his way out, Joaquin squeezed the back of my neck and ordered me into bed. He gave me the keys—one for the security door outside; one to get from the foyer, where the mailboxes were, into the building; and the last one for the apartment.

“I don’t wanna see your face till at least Monday.”

As it was Thursday night, that gave me a nice three-day weekend. Maybe I could fly back to Chicago and see Aaron Sutter.

“Okay,” I agreed.

Once they were gone, I called Agent Chun, reported what had happened, and then hung up. I promised to talk to him no later than Tuesday. I thought about taking a shower and changing out of the scrubs the people at the hospital had put me in, but just couldn’t muster the energy. Both my suit jacket and shirt had been sacrificed in the line of duty—first pierced with the knife used to stab me and then cut off me at the hospital. Many articles of clothing had been lost that way over the years. I would have to add up what the Chicago PD owed me in dry cleaning and replacement wardrobe one of these days. It had to be in the thousands.

Lying down on the couch, I picked up my own phone from the coffee table and called Aaron.

He answered on the second ring. “Duncan?”