Part 13 (1/2)
”First, call Tag. Tell him to pick up Fletcher and bring him here,” Jason says. ”He can stay with me while you two figure out what someone might want Fletcher to lose his seat in the House.” He rubs his thumb between his eyebrows. ”And yeah, I'll go make a call.”
He disappears to his office. This is the deal. He's the only one who talks to his PRISM contact.
Project Responsible for International Security Measures.
It sounds so...reasonable. And compared to the forces of evil in this world, it is. But the powers-that-be who formed the alliance are ruthless. They wouldn't care about an individual murder. Not of Anabeth Fletcher. Not of a hooker who made the mistake of saying no to Morgan Reid six months ago.
My stomach turns at all the blind-eyes that have been turned in the name of international geo-political stability.
But if the take down of Representative Fletcher is a lead domino, intended to start a chain reaction that culminates in World War III...that, they care about. That, we can demand support on.
And if this turns out to be nothing? Then they'll turn a blind eye to the justice we administer.
- - We wait four excruciating days before making our move.
Word came back from PRISM that they were concerned, but had no immediately relevant information to share. Whatever the f.u.c.k that means. So we did our thing.
Wilson read every single email he could find. We talked to people. Found out that Fletcher's bill was shot down after lobbyist intervention. What lobbyist? No one would say.
Tag gave Kendra what we had. She said it wasn't enough, and she was right.
So now I'm waiting in an alley a few blocks from his house in the early evening. There aren't any cameras nearby. Tag dropped me in a visual dead zone, and he'll pick me up again in the same spot in a different vehicle.
Wesley Perry, Fletcher's snake of a chief of staff, is walking toward me. Face down in his smart phone, because he's an a.s.shole and unaware of his surroundings.
It gives me a decent amount of pleasure to yank him into the dark alley and send his phone flying toward the brick wall. ”Oops.”
”Hey!” His fists come up too late. I've got my forearm pressed against his neck, up into his chin. He scrabbles his hands against me, his eyes wide with fear.
Good.
”Two options here, motherf.u.c.ker. Talk or die, got it?” My breath puffs in his face.
He kicks at me and I step back, letting him trip himself. Down he goes and up I drag him, slamming him against the bricks again, my fists holding him so tightly his coat tears at the seams. The rip makes me grin.
”Next thing to break is your face.”
With a whimper, he presses his legs together and my nose tells me why he's crying. He's p.i.s.sed himself.
Of course he has.
”I haven't even hit you yet.”
”Don't hit me,” he says, his eyes pleading for mercy.
”No, I'm definitely going to hit you. I'm going to leave you battered and bruised, so you never forget that I'm more terrifying than the a.s.shole you've been working with. Who is he? Because I'm not scared of him.”
He shakes his head. ”I don't know what you're talking about.”
”Wrong answer, Wesley.” I drive my fist into his guts. ”Try again.”
”You've got the wrong guy,” he gasps.
”So you didn't exchange emails with ? Because I know that you did. And I don't like being lied to.”
He groans as I thump him against the wall again, but he still doesn't talk.
”Is there any way to get Fletcher out of the way?” I recite the email from memory. ”And you responded. He needs to be disgraced. Ruined forever. Maybe he could off his wife.”
”I didn't mean it,” he whispers, which is pathetic if it's true. I don't f.u.c.king care.
”But she's dead, isn't she? An innocent woman. You did that. Who were you talking to?” I release him, and he staggers towards me, putting his hands up. I jab twice, quickly, before delivering a roundhouse to his jaw. It's barely fair.
Good thing I don't believe in fair.
”I don't know his name.”
”Wrong answer.” Another jab to the gut. I'm done hurting him now, because I'm not a murderer, but I don't have a problem bruising them up when I come across them in an alley.
”I think he goes by the name Andre. I heard him answer his phone that way once.”
”Where did you usually meet him?”
”The Mall. A coffee shop near the Hill sometimes. I haven't seen or heard from him since Anabeth-”
Blood sprays the wall as I thud my fist into his jaw. ”Don't f.u.c.king say her name.”
He sags against the brick, and I step back, my chest heaving.
Ten seconds pa.s.s. Thirty. The chill of the cold February night is getting to him. He's been pummelled in an alley. Any second now...
His shoulders slump, and I lean in, gripping his jaw in a painful hold. ”Physical description. Anything you remember. I want it all. Give me everything, and you leave here alive.”
He spits out more than I expected. Enough that when he's done, and I've whispered a promise to make the injuries permanent if he doesn't quit and find another job in another city doing anything but power-play politics, I saunter out of the alley, leaving him standing.
More than he deserves.
I'm getting soft.
I shove that thought away. I know why. I don't want any thoughts of Hailey in my head while I do what I've gotta do.
Tag pulls up ten seconds late and I get in. My hands are freezing and my knuckles hurt, but I've got what I need. As soon as we pull away, he gives me even better, unexpected news, as he hands over a tablet.
I hit play as he explains. ”Brian Fletcher's neighbour to the east has video surveillance, after all. Kendra doesn't have this yet, I a.s.sume, because she's still sniffing around us covering this up for the good representative.”
”Why are we just getting it now?”