During the short drive to my field office, I can’t help but laugh that my dad and his old hanging buddies thought I believed that they had gone back into the bank-robbing business. Uncle Tremaine is as deaf as a stump, Uncle Mishawn is legally blind, and Uncle Rawlo, God bless him, isn’t exactly in the best of shape to be breaking into anything.
I pull in a deep breath and then laugh. Overall, it hasn’t been easy growing up with the secret that my father used to be a famous bank robber / jewel thief. When I was younger, I wanted to blab to everyone who would stand still. That was when it seemed kind of cool. When I decided to get into law enforcement, it made me nervous when the government ran a background check.
Jonathan Banks has quite a criminal record, though he never went to jail for being the Jackal. That’s amazing in itself. Despite the fact that the statutes of limitations are up for his eighties shenanigans doesn’t mean I’ve stopped looking over my shoulder, and it certainly doesn’t mean that it can’t come back and bite me on the ass. My mother doesn’t like that I’ve maintained a relationship with my father. She thinks that it’s somehow a big slap in the face to my stepfather—the man who raised me. I would love to point out that was a choice she made because my father always wanted to be there, but it’s not worth fighting over. I like to keep that crazy drama between them.
And now that Mom and George are separated and talking divorce, I see renewed hope in my dad’s eyes, and it’s kind of contagious. Then again, maybe all children want their parents to get and stay together.
I whip my ride into my usual parking space at the field office and hustle into the office, because I have a thing about always being on time. And sure enough, as I rush to my office chair, I see Elliott leaning against it and tapping the face of his watch.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell him. “I’m on time.” I look down at my watch. “In fact, I have two minutes to spare. Now get off my desk.” I shoo him away and plop down in my chair.
“We have twenty minutes before Benson goes in for a press conference regarding last night’s raid.”
I wince. “Are we going in there with him?”
He nods. “What are you going to do? It’s part of the job.”
“Twenty minutes. I guess that gives me enough time to work some of those reports you passed off to me last week.”
“You haven’t done those yet?” He plants his ass on the corner of my desk while I boot up. “Soooo … you left the bar pretty quick last night.”
“Catch that, did you?” I try to keep a smile from creeping across my face. Despite the money on the table, I can’t deny that I had one hell of a time.
“Awww. It was that kind of evening, huh?” There’s a tightness in his voice.
“A lady never kisses and tells,” I answer, and since I know what his follow-up will be regarding me being a lady, I wave a finger in front of his face. “Don’t say it.”
He tosses his hands up. “All right. Fine.” He gets up from my desk and returns to his own in the next cubicle. But two minutes later, he stands up and looks down at me. “Soooo … Are you seeing that dude again?”
I roll my eyes upward. “Why? What’s it to you?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Can’t I be concerned about you? I mean … what do we even know about this dude?”
“I know that he can fuck. Does that count?”
Elliott’s face fell. “I … uh …”
Aaron popped up. “You guys ready to go down to the press conference? We have to stand behind the special agent in charge and look official and everything.” He looks at Elliott and frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”
I stand up from my chair, smirking. “I think a cat got his tongue.”
We head outside where a podium and an American flag have been set up before a truckload of drugs confiscated in last night’s raid. There are a few members from the local press snapping pictures and filming, and there was one reporter from CNN.
Dressed in our official DEA jackets and hats, Elliott, Eric, and Aaron line up behind the podium while the special agent in charge, Rodney Benson, and Henry Dobson, director of the FBI Atlanta field office, take to the podium and thank the press for coming.
“Last night at approximately eight-thirty, the
DEA, in conjunction with the FBI and the local police department,
conducted a raid at Clark’s auto shop. Our agents recovered ninety
pounds of cocaine. At the same time, field agents in Mobile,
Alabama, and Dallas, Texas, also moved in on connected networks
that we believe to be part of the Guzman cartel. The total street
value estimated on the drugs is believed be somewhere around five
hundred million dollars.”
Alvaro hits the MUTE button on the remote and smacks a hand against his tense forehead. “My. Fucking. Drugs.” He sucks in a long breath and then starts rocking on the edge of his chair. “This shit is not happening.” He finally hops up and nearly tips over his glass of orange juice onto the three perfect lines of coke on a silver tray, otherwise known as his breakfast. “DELMAR!”
Storming through his two-story Mediterranean-style Miami home, Alvaro goes looking for his right-hand man. It’s already past nine, and his ass should have been here by now. “DELMAR!”
Finally, Delmar appears, running down the hallway. “Yes, Alvaro. You called?”
“Of course I fucking called you. When the fuck am I going to get my drugs back? Those damn government agents out in Atlanta have my shit all over the news.”
Delmar sucks in a long breath. “I’m on it, Alvaro. It’s going to take a little time for—”
“Time?!” Alvaro whips out his beloved chromed gun and starts waving it around. “Let me tell you something, amigo. You don’t have any fucking time, goddamn it.” He wipes the end of his nose with the back of his hand and accidentally fires the gun.
Delmar jumps and then clamps a hand over his ear. Blood trickles and oozes through his fingers. “Shit. Fuck.”
Alvaro’s eyes bug out a bit, and for a moment it looks as if he’s about to apologize. But then he seems to remind himself that he needs to exude strength. “Stop your damn bitching and get me my muthafuckin’ drugs back. You hear me? I don’t care how the fuck you do it—just get it done.”
Still holding his ear, Delmar clamps his jaw tight and nods. “As you wish.”