Gone Bad (4 page)

Cortez looked at Meyerstein before staring across at Reznick. “Are you saying we break the law?”

“I say the speed you guys work on investigations is irrelevant to finding Hunter Cain. He’s been sprung from a high-security penitentiary. And most of us in this room think something’s afoot. A terrorist act, maybe – who knows? And lives will be lost.”

“Reznick, we need to do things in a legal, cogent manner. We need to cover all bases.”

“And, meanwhile, he’s out there getting further away.”

Meyerstein cleared her throat. “What are you suggesting, Jon?”

“I’m suggesting we need to work this investigation from a different angle. Find out where his acquaintances hang out, and go in for a little chat.”

Cortez grinned and shook his head. “Just like that.”

Reznick took a few moments to compose himself. He wanted to go across and smash Cortez in the jaw. “Would you feel uncomfortable doing that?”

Meyerstein lifted her hand to silence the exchange. “Oh, that’s enough. Special Agent Cortez, it’s a fair point Jon raises.”

“Is it, ma’am?”

Meyerstein slammed her hand hard down on the table. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

Cortez flushed crimson. “Ma’am?”

“Don’t ever try and play the smartass with me. If you’re asked a question, don’t be so goddamn defensive and precious. Now, let’s try again and get an answer. Where do the acquaintances of Hunter Cain hang out? Who’s the top one? And I’m looking for one with connections to the Kavallerie Brigade, and any militia activity.”

Cortez nodded. He switched on a laptop. They watched a collection of photos appear on the screen. Bikers knocking back drinks, playing pool, and even one having sex with a girl on the pool table. “There’s a clubhouse, owned by the Outlaws biker gang, just outside Pensacola. Cain knows quite a few of the guys in there. Bought and sold guns with them. And drugs. Felony violations go on all the time. Was shut down. Burned down at one time. But rebuilt within days and opened up with a new owner on the license.”

Reznick stared long and hard at the pictures. “Nice crowd.”

Cortez said, “If we’re going to go in there we need to prepare, and have extensive back-up. It’ll take days to get things in place. We can’t just go in hard.”

“Why not?” Reznick asked.

“Why not? Because I know from experience that any criminal activity has to be monitored, and then arrests made. Unless we know Cain is on the premises, we’re on thin ice if we want prosecutions.”

Reznick said, “Who said anything about prosecutions?”

Cortez shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow.”

Reznick said, “Do you have reasonable belief that there’s drug dealing going on there?”

“Yeah, I believe that’s the case. But that’s a world away from going in there and making arrests, and getting some speed- or methamphetamine-heads.”

“Who said anything about making arrests?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Reznick, I really don’t follow.”

Reznick looked around the table and fixed his gaze on Meyerstein. “You know as well as I do, time is against us. We also don’t know shit where Cain’s gone. But we sure as hell won’t find him by twiddling our thumbs. I say we go to that bar and ask around.”

Cortez shook his head and bit his lower lip as if trying to stifle a laugh. “Mr Reznick, and what do you think they’ll say?”

“It depends how you ask the question. We need to go in there, get control, and exert some pressure on them.”

Cortez stared at him long and hard. “With all due respect, I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Special Agent Cortez, with all due respect, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. And I don’t care for your rules, regulations and all your other bullshit you claim you need.”

“We operate under the law, Reznick.”

“You must be very naïve or very dumb, Cortez. Sometimes, just sometimes, you need to play dirty. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Cortez said nothing.

Meyerstein cleared her throat. “Jon, that’s quite enough. It’s true our leads are all tied to who he knew in and around Pensacola. But barging in like Special Agent Cortez says without thinking of the downside would be pointless.”

“Here’s the thing,” Reznick continued. “You have nothing just now, right?”

Meyerstein nodded.

“Now, I know Hunter, and he’s not stupid. He won’t be at one of his old haunts, or a friend’s house. I’ll guarantee that. But what you can do is get inside his head. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll make a mistake.”

Cortez shrugged. “And how exactly are we going to get inside his head?”

“You’ll see.” Reznick stared at Meyerstein. “We have nothing to lose. There’s no downside.”

“You want to go into that clubhouse, don’t you? And then what?”

Reznick shrugged. “Ask a few questions, that’s all.”

It was dark when the three SUVs headed down an unlit road. Palm trees fringed the sand dunes. Reznick sat up front; three plainclothes Feds took the back. Four each in the other two vehicles. But Meyerstein opted to stay back at base and watch things unfold in real time on the pinhole cameras attached to tee shirts, lapels and jackets.

Reznick felt wired. He saw the lights of the clubhouse come into view. Rock music getting louder in the steambath air. He turned to the guys in the back seat. “Okay, you guys, you’re coming in with me. As agreed, we keep the other two cars outside for back-up.”

The Feds nodded, faces impassive.

“I walk in first, okay? You give me ten seconds. And then you come in.”

More nods.

Reznick opened the door. The sound of a deep bass and guitar riffs filled the sticky air. Laughing. Shouting. He got out of the car and strode up to the door. Stared through the tiny hatch. Around a dozen boozed-up bikers, a few girls danced for them, guzzling Jack Daniel’s whiskey and beer.

He pushed open the door and walked towards the clear leader, a sneering fuck, legs wide, a girl grinding before him.

A long-hair pulled up a pool cue in front of him and Reznick grabbed it off him. He smashed the guy hard in the jaw, blood pouring down his split temple.

A few bikers approached him.

Reznick knocked the first out cold. He rabbit-punched the second and kicked the third in the balls. They dropped to the floor, writhing.

He pushed his way past the girl.

The biker with his legs astride stared at him, eyes cold.

Reznick took out his 9mm and shoved it in the biker’s gaping mouth. “Okay, I got a few questions.”

The guy’s eyes were wide with terror.

Reznick heard the door burst open and the Feds stormed in. Shotguns and handguns.

“Everyone on the floor!” one Fed shouted.

A biker a couple of feet away began to laugh. “Fuck you!”

Reznick pulled the 9mm from the biker’s mouth and shot the other biker in the stomach. The noise exploded round the bar. The shot biker shrieked in pain as blood poured from his belly. “I said everyone on the fucking floor!”

Everyone complied as the guy on the floor began to cry.

Reznick pushed the gun back into the biker’s mouth.

The man’s eyes were crazed.

“Okay, you can see how this thing works. Now, simple question. I’m looking for someone who knows Hunter Cain.”

The man shook his head.

Reznick pressed the gun to the back of the biker’s mouth. “If you don’t give me the correct answer, you’re gonna die. So I’m gonna count back from three, got it? Here goes. Three … two …”

“Wait!” the guy spluttered. “Wait the fuck!”

Reznick took the gun from his mouth and pressed it to his forehead. “Yeah?”

“Man, the thing is, I know Hunter, but I don’t wanna …”

A woman’s voice piped up from the throng. “I know Hunter Cain.”

Reznick spun around and saw a scantily clad young woman face down on the floor. He kept the gun trained on the biker. “How?”

“I’m his girlfriend. I see him once a month.”

Reznick pointed at her. “Get yourself outside, go to the last car and wait for me.”

The girl got to her feet and headed outside.

Reznick pressed the gun tight against the biker’s head. He watched as pee began to dribble onto the floor through the guy’s jeans. “Think you need to change your pants, son.”

He turned and walked out as the Feds with shotguns and handguns covered him.

Reznick walked over to the last vehicle and saw that the biker chick was sitting in the back. He climbed in beside her. He waited till the Feds had left the bar, got back in their SUV and pulled away. They followed behind, leaving a trail of dust in their wake as they about-turned down the beach road and back to Pensacola.

The girl said, “Who the hell are you? You’re not a Fed, are you?”

Reznick said, “They are. I’m working alongside them on this case. We’re looking for Hunter Cain. How long’ve you been his girlfriend?”

“Since forever.”

“I heard he was married.”

“Still is. I’m his … girlfriend.”

“I see.”

Reznick handed her Meyerstein’s card. She looked at it long and hard.

“Okay, so this is an FBI business card, right?” she said.

“We need to speak to Hunter urgently.”

The girl began to sob. “Fuck!”

“Tell me, you got any kids?”

“Three. Two from my ex-husband, who was a dog, let me tell you.”

“And the third?”

“That’s Hunter’s.”

“We don’t have a record of that.”

“He took my name. Hunter isn’t on any certificate or whatever.”

“What’s your name?”

The girl pushed some hair away from her eyes, tears streaking her face with mascara. “Kathleen. Kathleen Burke.”

“Kathleen, I’m glad you were smart enough to speak up. But it’s really important Hunter contacts us. Now you seem like a nice enough girl. But, to be honest, you really don’t wanna hang around with that crowd back there. You got a record?”

“A few for drugs. One coming up soon.”

“We might be able to help you with that. But for that, we need to speak to Hunter.”

The girl dabbed her eyes.

“You need to pass on a message if he calls.”

“And what’s that?”

“Tell Hunter that Jon Reznick is wanting to speak to him. I know Hunter pretty good. We were in Delta together, way back.”

The girl nodded.

“Jon Reznick. You want me to write that down?”

The girl nodded.

Reznick scribbled down his name and handed the card back to her. “That’s got my name on it, and this lady’s number. Hunter can contact me direct on her cellphone.”

“What if he doesn’t call me?”

“Let me worry about that.”

EIGHT

Meyerstein was in a conference room in the FBI’s Pensacola field office, watching a rerun of the footage on one of the big screens, coffee in hand, as her second in command, Special Agent Roy Stamper, paced the floor. “You wanna sit down, Roy?”

Stamper shook his head. “I warned you about this sort of thing, Martha. I warned time and time again. This is what happens when we allow crazies like Reznick in on our work.”

Meyerstein said nothing. She felt uneasy about the methods Reznick had used, and couldn’t see any upside. The illegality was clear.

“Threatening to kill a biker in a clubhouse? That’s outrageous. Illegal. And, frankly, the stuff of nightmares. If this gets out, and mark my words it will, we’re fucked. We’ll be crucified.”

“Quiet!”

“No I won’t! I’ve put up with this sort of bullshit for too long, Martha. What in God’s name is the director going to say about this?”

Meyerstein ran a hand through her hair. “It’s not ideal, I see that.”

“Not ideal? Are you kidding me? It’s outrageous. It’s illegal. Immoral. It’s frankly embarrassing that this behavior was carried out in the name of the FBI. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined us doing that.”

Meyerstein stared at the footage, seething. “I said, enough!”

“That’s a law suit waiting to happen. It’s just a matter of time.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“But you know what gets me, Martha? The lack of purpose. There’s no point to it. There’s no gain.”

Meyerstein switched off the footage with a remote control and stared at Stamper. “Roy, tell me, have your guys come up with any concrete leads so far?”

He sighed. “No, we haven’t. But we sure as hell didn’t ram guns into people’s mouths. Martha, chrissakes, this isn’t Iraq. This is America. I’m at a loss to understand why you tolerate this guy.”

“The reason I tolerate him, as you describe it, is that on each and every investigation he’s been with me, he’s not only delivered, he’s saved lives.”

“And this time?”

“I’ll talk to him about this. I agree, it’s unacceptable.”

“Unacceptable? Unacceptable? It’s the actions of a burnt-out crazy.”

Meyerstein sat down and leaned back in a leather seat, hands behind her head. A silence opened up between them. Only the low growl of the air-conditioning unit and the hum of the computers disturbed the quiet.

A knock at the door, and a young rookie agent popped his head round. “Ma’am, they’ll be back in two minutes.”

Meyerstein nodded, staring at the ceiling.

The young agent shut the door.

Meyerstein said, “Roy, can you leave me with my thoughts just now?”

Stamper stared at her long and hard. “Of course.”

“Send in Jon Reznick when he gets back.”

“What about the rest of the team for the debrief?”

“Just Reznick.”

Stamper left the conference room. A couple of minutes later Reznick walked in.

“You looking for a debrief?”

“Shut the door behind you.”

Reznick shut the door quietly behind him. He pulled up a seat and slumped down. “You’re not very good at concealing your feelings, Meyerstein. What is it?”

Meyerstein leaned forward. “What is it? Let me think. Is it the forcing a gun into a guy’s mouth, the shooting, the countless violations of the Constitution, breaking our US laws, and God knows what else?”

Reznick said nothing.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Reznick blew out his cheeks.

“I’m waiting for an answer. I’m very close to taking you off this team, Jon. I don’t want to. But this is absolutely not what we’re about.”