Читать книгу Birds of a Feather - Don Easton - Страница 10

In El Paso, the sun had barely cracked the eastern horizon Monday morning when Adams went to the hospital. Becky was at her husband’s bedside when he arrived, but when she saw Adams, she quickly got up and met him at the door.

“Becky, I’m so sorry,” said Adams. “How’s he doing?”

“Awful, but he wants to talk to you. He spent most of yesterday under sedation, but when he was awake, he kept asking for you.”

“The doctors said to let him get some rest and give him time to settle down before debriefing him.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m just glad we got him back.”

“What is there to say?” she replied bitterly. “Except that it’s over. We’re done with this shit,” she added defiantly. “I can’t take it anymore. As soon as he’s out of here he’s putting in his papers to resign … and don’t you try to talk him out of it,” she added, vehemently.

“I won’t,” replied Adams softly. “I don’t blame him. I expected he would quit. Anybody would.”

Becky studied his face, wondering if he was telling the truth and said, “I’ll wait out here, but keep it short. He can barely hold it together enough to say more than a sentence or two without breaking down.”

Adams nodded and walked into the room. Patton propped himself up on the bed. His eyes were watery and one was bruised and swollen, leaving only a slit to peer out of.

“How ya doin’, partner?” asked Adams. “Hanging in there? I’d have brought you a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but the stores aren’t open yet. Figured it would be better than whatever prescription shit they’re feedin’ ya in here.”

“I’m not good, John,” admitted Patton. “I’m … I’m finished. I’m quitting. It’s my idea as much as Becky’s.”

“I know, she told me,” replied Adams, sitting down. “Don’t blame you a bit. Yesterday Yolanda and I talked about it, too … and we don’t have any kids.”

Talk between Adams and Yolanda of quitting was a lie, but it was a lie Adams felt his partner needed to hear. The truth was that Adams was too enraged to quit. He wanted to get even. He wanted justice.

“There’s something else. I, I really screwed up,” Patton said, covering his face with his hands to try and stifle a sob.

“You didn’t screw up. We’re always working alone over there. They set you up and wanted you to follow the Mercedes. It was a proper ambush. It could have happened to me as easily as it did to you.”

“It’s not that,” cried Patton. “I really screwed up. I told them.”

“Told them what? What are you talking about?”

“They wanted the names of everyone I worked with. I told them. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

“Fuck ’em. Let them come after us. I hope they do.”

“No … it’s not that. They wanted home addresses. The names of our wives and kids. Some of it I tried to make up. Giving fake names, but I had lost it. There was a lot of yelling and screaming. I was scared. I might have given them some real names, too. Or maybe I only think I did.… Every time I go to sleep it’s like I’m there again. I can’t tell my nightmares apart from what I really did say.”

“Hell, I bet hardly any of them spoke English. They won’t remember or know what —”

“No, the captain spoke good English. He was writing down what I was saying in a notebook. Then he would smile at me as he flipped the pages back and ask some of the same questions over again. They caught me lying a couple of times.”

“Those fucking bastards,” fumed Adams.

“I tried to invent new names, but now I’m not sure what I told them. I know I gave them some of the guys’ real names because I figured they probably knew the names of guys who had been here for years. I even gave them yours. Not your real address, but your name. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We’re flesh and blood. There is only so much any of us can take.”

“But our families, John. My God, our families …”

“You were gutsy to be throwing out whatever phony names you did. I can only imagine what the pain would have been like. Most men would have spilled their guts immediately. Did they ask about our office? Do they know where it is?”

“No, they never asked. I don’t think it occurred to them that we wouldn’t be working out of the downtown office. Which reminds me. What about the four guys who rescued me? Who were they?”

“FBI agents from the downtown office. I had never met them before, either. Pretty stand-up guys … for FBI agents. Acted almost like real cops.”

Adams’s attempt to get Patton to smile failed.

“I never even thanked them,” he said sombrely.

“I think they would have understood. Under the circumstances, I suspect you had other stuff on your mind.”

“I think I had lost my mind at that point.”

“I’ll get ahold of them. I know they’ll want to come and see how you’re doing.”

“Thanks.”

“The green Mercedes that set you up … I’m sure they’ve already switched plates. There aren’t too many green Mercedes around, but was there anything besides the colour to identify it?”

“It did have a small white scrape in the fender behind the right rear tire. Why? You don’t plan on going back to that house, do you? They’ll have cleared out —”

“I think I already know who owns it. I talked to my friend and he said a guy in the Guajardo cartel by the name of Chico drives a green Mercedes. Chico is an under-boss to the Carrillo Fuentes brothers. He said Chico comes to El Paso regularly to collect money from the pimps who work for him and that he meets them at the Red Poker.”

“So they might have used him to bait the trap at the house we were working on.”

“Yeah … and maybe to check out the addresses you threw at them.” Adams stood up and added, “Get some rest, Greg. I’ll be by to see you later.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think?”

“Don’t, John. It ain’t worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid.”

Adams felt more sickened and more enraged as he drove back to his office. He didn’t feel any better after telling his boss, Weber, along with the other three bosses in the office what Patton went through and the questions that were asked.

Adams felt the four bosses shared the same attitude that was summed up by Davidson, who was the senior officer of the FBI contingent in their office.

Davidson shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, not much we can do about it. I’m sure Washington will protest.”

“Protest!” stammered Adams. “If we don’t have the backbone to retaliate after this, none of our families will be safe.”

“There will be no retaliation,” said Weber, sharply. “We are not like them. It is what separates the good guys from the bad.”

Adams glared at Weber. “You didn’t see Greg’s face. What they’ve done to him … they broke him. He’ll never be the same.”

Weber sighed. “I know he’s been through a lot. So have you. You’re angry. We all are. I want you to take a week off. Go home to your wife.”

An hour later, Adams left the office … but he didn’t go home. He opted instead to go to the Red Poker Saloon.