Firepower, John Cutter [best summer reads .txt] 📗

black Crown Vic, two SWAT vans, and two other sedans. They swept on up the road.

What they found there should keep them busy for a while…

Vince returned to the road and continued on his way. The walk down to the highway seemed to take no time at all. His mind was lost in thoughts of Chris Destry and the dead at the Lincoln Memorial, and all the lies told on the internet.

And Deirdre…

*

A gray day in early November.

Vince rode the old trail-bike up into the nearly empty parking lot alongside the park. There was only one car there. A black Crown Vic.

So they’re letting her drive the company vehicles, he thought. Things couldn’t be too bad.

He parked the bike, pocketed the keys, and took off his motorcycle helmet. It was one of those black helmets with a tinted visor completely covering the rider’s face. He could see her on a concrete bench overlooking the Potomac River. She was just sitting there, alone.

Any chance, he wondered, the feds were in the bushes, somewhere, watching. Was this a set-up? Would she do that to him?

No. She wouldn’t.

Carrying the helmet, he crossed the broad swathe of grass, up to the asphalt walk.

Deirdre glanced over at him, damp wind fluttering her blond hair. He saw an inch of her natural brunette hair showing. She smiled wanly at him.

“You’re letting your hair grow out natural,” he said.

“I just dyed it for the Brethren,” she said. She glanced behind at the parking lot. “You weren’t followed?”

“Nope.” He patted the visor of the helmet. “Got a cool disguise.”

“So I see. Nice. You look like the bad guys in a Bond movie with that thing. Have a seat.”

He sat beside her. The river smelled a bit rank. But she smelled like lavender soap. “How are they treating you, Agent Corlin?”

“I am not currently under arrest. I’m not supposed to leave the area. Probably coming over to Alexandria was against the rules. But I’m going right back.”

“Politics involved?”

“An astute question. It’s all about the politics. In a way, we’re thought of as heroes — except for on certain conspiracy theory websites, where the Russian operatives are claiming that we were going to attack the crowd and the Brethren were going to stop us. And we were the ones who actually shot the people in the crowd and…”

He snorted and shook his head. Pushed the anger down. “The internet is about two-thirds babble.”

“Almost no one takes these people seriously. But — I broke the rules. I’ll at least be suspended. Probably have to resign. Might even do time — but actually I understand that if I’m convicted of helping a vigilante kill people, the president is going to pardon me and maybe even a certain Vincent Bellator, former Army Ranger.”

“I’m not holding my breath.” After a moment he added, “I did warn you, Deirdre…”

“I know you did.”

They didn’t speak for a minute. Both of them gazed at the syrupy flow of the Potomac. Then he prompted, “About Angel Lopez…”

She nodded. “I called a friend at the DEA. Lopez is now in the USA. He’s chief of an Arizona branch of the cartel. Pushing meth and heroin. He’s working with a guy named Danny Korski. This Korski is American-born Russian mafia. He’s overseeing some kind of experimental partnership between the cartels and the Russian mob. He’s got a small army around him.”

“I see. Where in Arizona?”

“Kingman. But listen — you don’t have to go there and try to kill this Lopez.”

“He ordered the chopper to fire the missile.”

“What missile?”

“The one that killed Chris Destry. And he’s a major dirtbag. It’ll be no loss to the world.”

“No one will weep for Angel Lopez. But Vince — if you don’t turn yourself in and let the process play out… you’ll be a fugitive.”

He shrugged. “I’m aware.”

“Come back with me, Vince. We’ll go into the Bureau together. You can surrender to Richie. Maybe get that pardon. You’ll be treated with respect. Probably get an ankle bracelet but…”

Vince shook his head. “Cannot do it. This isn’t finished yet.”

“Listen…”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I’m feeling like things are going to work out for you. I feel good about that. But I don’t feel like they’d work out for me. And I need to take care of this. I promised Chris when I buried his hand.”

“You did what?”

“His hand got shot off and I promised him I’d bury it under the cabin porch and… it’s a long story, Deirdre.”

“Vince.” She reached out and put her hand on his. “Come with me. We’ll take good care of you.”

He turned his hand over and clasped hers, gave it a gentle squeeze. Then he let go of it and stood up. “I can’t. But I hope to God I live to see you again.”

She stood up, put her hands on his face, stood on tiptoe — and kissed him. It was a short kiss but it lit him up inside.

He stepped back, suddenly breathing hard. “That’s not fair.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying. Anyway — I promised myself I’d kiss you at least once.”

He smiled and turned away while he still could. He strode quickly across the grass, putting on the helmet as he went.

He almost went back to her when he was nearly at the motorcycle. But — he’d promised Chris, when he’d buried his hand…

Vince got on the Harley, started it up, swung it around and rode away from the park.

He headed down the access road, a half mile, to where the big Kenworth truck was waiting for him. Dutch stood by the ramp at the rear of the trailer, beside the open rear doors.

Vince slowed, and then rode up the ramp, right up into the empty space,