G-Men: The Series (72 page)

He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “For now, can we agree that we keep Sammie out of the loop? I don’t want her stressed about anything.”

“Fine, no problem.”

Slate and I picked up our vehicles in Columbia. Dee Dee and I had a room at some flea bag motel near the docks. She was filing her nails and cracking her chewing gum on the ride into Baltimore.

“So, Taz,” she said, blowing nail dust off of her fingertips and gazing over at me all wide-eyed. “That was some sweet shooting you did at the range last week. Expecting you might need to use your Glock this trek?”

“Never know, Dee Dee,” I replied. “I hope not.”

“You know what’s crazy?” she asked.

“What?”

“Outta all the guys in the bureau, you’re like the only one that doesn’t call me Dirty Diana. I like that.”

I turned abruptly to look over at her. She had a smirk on her face.

“For Chrissake,” she said with her faux Brooklyn accent. “What type of a freaking agent would I be if my head was that far up my ass? I’ve known for a while about the nickname assigned to me.”

“So, it doesn’t bother you?” I asked her.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The only thing that bothers me, Agent Matthews, is that you could screw every female recruit on base or every female cadet at the FBI academy, and the only thing they’re going call you is a stud. For chicks, things haven’t changed too much over the past say, seventy years, in that respect.”

“Why the tag ‘dirty,’ I’m curious?”

She smiled, popping her gum.

“It’s got nothin’ to do with hygiene, if that’s what’s got you worried,” she replied, giving me a flirty wink. “It’s because I play dirty…in the field and in the bed. You interested in finding out just how down and dirty I can get, Agent Matthews?” She followed that up with a wicked, little laugh.

“I’ll pass,” I replied.

“Well, that’s a new one,” she said, laughing again. “From what I heard about you, your prowess is legendary, right up there with Slater’s.”

“Is that right? Well, let’s just say I’ve been domesticated for now.”

“Such a shame,” she replied, shaking her head. “I was looking forward to carving another notch in my bedpost for you.”

I almost believed she thrived on the hype she was getting. Maybe she had a point though. It wasn’t as if I’d screwed every chick at Quantico, but if I had, there would have been plenty of pats on the back and zero negative press. I guess maybe it did suck to be a chick in certain situations.

“So,” she said, changing the subject, “when are we meeting with Hatfield and Simmons for the update?”

“They’ll be stopping by our motel after their shift tonight to confirm status on the customs clearance of the cargo. Once it’s cleared, hopefully by tomorrow, the cargo will be unloaded tomorrow night.”

“Then my part is done, right?”

“Yep,” I answered, feeling almost envious that she would get to return to D.C., while Slate, Hatfield, Simmons and I went on to Philly.

“See, there it is again,” she commented, shaking her head.

“There what is?”

“I’m pulled into this operation because I’m a female, but my only purpose is to cause a distraction for the rest of you boys, so that you can set up for the kill.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, when the fun starts, girlie gets sent home. The boys get to have all the fun with collaring these slime-ball perps, maybe even getting to draw their weapons and use them. It’s still a man’s world.”

She was shaking her head, as if thoroughly disgusted.

I usually felt that adrenaline rush by now that she was jonesing to feel, not this time. It had nothing to do with being pussy-whipped either. Uneasiness had settled over me when we left D.C. and it hadn’t let up one bit.

“You know what, Dee Dee? If you wanted day-to-day action like that, then why didn’t you join some big city police force? Maybe then you’d see enough daily action to assuage your need to live on the edge.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that we’re the peeps that get called in on “big time” shit. Sometimes it’s all action, other times it’s hunkering down and waiting for the best opportunity or getting into the minds of the bad guys. I have to tell you this, none of the other agents, whether male or female, that I’ve served with have ever made it all about gender or all about pulling their guns. If I didn’t know better, I’d say maybe you’re afraid of having to pull your weapon. Is that it?”

She flounced around in her seat as if she was pouting. I’d hit a nerve, I could see that. “Oh, yeah, I get it now,” she turned back giving me a plastered smile. “Yeah, Hatfield told me you were all about going in the BAU. You’re a wannabe shrink, am I right?”

I smiled back at her, feeling some sense of achievement that I’d pushed her button so easily. It was a win for me. I had my doubts as to whether it was a win for the bureau. Who the fuck had cleared her for this detail?

“I’m no shrink, Diana. I’m just observant. You need to keep it together during this detail. I’m your superior officer right now, and I’m telling you, once this goes down, you better be listening to everything I tell you.”

“I know my place, Agent Matthews,” she said with a sulk. “Don’t worry.”

“It’s Special Agent Matthews, Diana. The first order of business is for you to acknowledge and respect your superiors.”

She was squirming and ready to spout off. I could only think that the fact that she had a reputation for giving mind boggling blow jobs to some of the higher-ups had given her some sense of entitlement to disregard protocol. So much for her argument for gender equality. No male agent or cadet would have made the blunder she was making right now.

“I hear you,
Special
Agent Matthews,” she retorted stiffly.

We reached our flea bag motel and checked in without incident. Slate found a way to come by later, dressed in the garb of a homeless guy. I had to admit, Slate was pretty damn good at that part of it, though I knew I was better.

Hatfield met us later and filled us in. The goods had cleared customs for dispatch via over-the-road transport. All things were on schedule for tomorrow night.

Diana and I were to make sure we made our presence known at the Anchors Aweigh bar that was just a half block from the loading docks. We were to cause a bit of a domestic scene, with her getting pissed and walking out.

The truck driver that always drove the cargo to Philly always stopped and had a cold one at that bar before he started his journey. Diana was to make sure she came onto him, causing the argument between the two of us as if we were a couple.
Oh God.

We had just finished our debriefing, when Slate called me aside.

“I got a call from the lab,” he said. “They lifted prints from the key and the baggie you brought in.”

“And?”

“They lifted two sets of prints on the key.”

“Two?”

“Yep.”

Okay, why was Slate being so weird about this?

“Whose prints?” I asked.

“Jack’s,” he said quickly. There was a pause and I waited. “And Samantha’s,” he answered.

^{chapter 35}

~ TAZ ~

It was nearly 10:30 p.m. and Diana and I’d been hanging at the Anchors Aweigh for a couple of hours.

She’d dressed the part, wearing a tight, short, jean skirt with fishnet stockings and high-heeled boots. She had a short cropped leather jacket on and tons of make-up. She had some nice legs going on. I wasn’t going to lie about that.

Of course, they didn’t hold a candle to Lindsey’s legs, even though Diana was tall…about 5’10”.

We’d acted like we were well into our suds when we got to the bar so we could minimize the amount of alcohol we consumed there, to avoid getting shit-faced.

I spotted the truck driver from the pictures Hatfield and Simmons had provided. I nudged Diana with my knee, she spun her barstool around and nodded that he was in her line of vision. He took a seat at the end of the bar near the jukebox.

She took a swig of her beer and made a sexy little prance over to the jukebox, leaning over to make her selections. This provided anyone behind her a nice view of her ass, and for the truck driver at the end of the bar, he wasted no time in noticing.

She took her time pressing her selections. She rolled her hips to the music that was already playing, snapping her fingers to keep his attention. As she turned to head back, she did a little trip, allowing herself to brush against him. She, of course, apologized to him, giving him a sexy smile. He was taking the bait. Good. I let her sit there next to him, working her seductive magic for a few minutes.

I finally got up and sauntered over to where she was sitting and leaning over whispering to him drunkenly, giving him a show of her ample tits.

“Rhonda, what the fuck?”

They both looked up at me. She got a saucy little grin on her face, rubbing the palm of her hand against his bicep.

“Oh, keep your zipper up,” she said. “I’m just enjoying some interesting conversation here with Bill. You got a problem with that, Gary?”

“You’re drunk, Rhonda. I’m taking you home.”

“I ain’t going nowhere with you, Gary. I’m sick of this shit. You ain’t my husband, after all,” she slurred, turning her attention back to Bill.

I grabbed ahold of her wrist, pulling her towards me. Bill shoved my hand away and I acted like a wounded pussy.

“Watch the way you touch the lady,” Bill said, giving me the evil eye. “Are you alright, honey?” he asked, turning his attention fully to her. She looked behind him at me and I gave her a quick nod.

She turned the tears on, telling Bill what an awful fuck I was to her, bitching and shoving her around all the time. He leaned in to comfort her, giving me a chance to toss the small, self-dissolving ampoule into his tall glass of draft beer. I needed a few moments for the ampoule to fully dissolve with a substance that was going to render poor Bill totally nauseous within five minutes after drinking it.

I stuck my finger in her face. “You know what Rhonda?” I said quietly, but firmly. I didn’t want to draw attention from the other patrons. “You’re absolutely right, we aren’t married. I guess I’m the royal shit you say I am. I’ve had it. It’s not fucking worth it to me. You, Bill—is that your name?”

He was watching me. He nodded his head affirmatively.

“Bill, can you see that she gets home? I’ve had enough of her for one lifetime.”

“Uh, well,” he stammered, looking over at her tear-stained cheeks. “You see, the thing is Rhonda, I go on the clock in about twenty minutes over at the loading dock.”

“Please don’t make me leave with that bastard,” she sobbed quietly. “I only live five minutes’ drive from here, but it’s just not safe in this neighborhood for me to be walking. It sure as hell isn’t safe for me to get into the car with him,” she spat, pointing her finger at me.

“Okay, sweetie-pie,” he said. “Let me down this beer and we’re outta here. I’ll drop you before I go on the clock.”

“Thanks, Bill,” she crooned, as he turned and gulped down his beer.

“Lots of luck, Bill,” I spat walking out the door.

Perfect execution of task at hand. Yes!

I hoofed it over to the line of shrubbery on the empty lot next to the well-lit dock area and waited. There was only one longshoreman that was in the on the deal, not knowing that Hatfield and Simmons were feds. That was sweet.

Hatfield had been making this trek to Philly with Bill once a month for the past four months. He had his CDL issued under his undercover name of “Jeremy Haskell.”

He and Bill took turns driving the goods from Baltimore to Philly and back. No one would notice anything odd about Hatfield, a.k.a. Haskell, pulling the first stint of the run.

Come on, come on, Diana.

We needed ‘Bill’ to show up in some way shape or form on his shift tonight so that the loaders wouldn’t get suspicious. He was approximately the same height and weight as me. The clothing would do the rest.

Then I saw her with five minutes to spare. She had Bill’s jacket and wallet. I quickly donned the jacket with the name of the OTR freight company with name tag “Bill” sewn on the outside. I shoved his wallet into the pocket of the work pants that exactly matched the ones Bill had been wearing. I knew they would.

I pulled the black knit cap out of the pocket, also a signature “Bill” accessory. As long as I didn’t get too close to the loaders, there was no way they wouldn’t think I was Bill.

“Where is he?” I asked, pulling the knit cap on to cover my hair.

“His car had an unfortunate accident as he was driving me to my fake apartment. Poor guy hit a hydrant as he was trying to pull over to the curb so he could puke. I lifted his wallet and grabbed his jacket from the back seat. The locals were on it just as soon as I beat the block. We’re good. He’ll be sleeping it off in the Baltimore drunk tank for a while. The locals know not to give him his one phone call until after we give them clearance.”

“Good job, Diana,” I said, giving her a slap on the shoulder. “Now, get your ass back to the hotel and sit tight until tomorrow morning, got it?”

“Yes, Special Agent Matthews,” she whispered. “Good luck with the rest.”