Lock In (Lock In, #1)(38)

“He’s right, Terry,” I said. “You do have the right to remain silent. And you probably should. But to answer your question, I know who you are because I just did a facial scan of the four of you, and your information popped right up from the database I’m plugged into. It’s the FBI database. I’m plugged into that database because I’m an FBI agent. My name is Agent Chris Shane.”

“Bullshit,” Lynch said.

I ignored him. “I tried to be nice to you, but that’s not how you wanted to do this,” I said. “So why don’t we try it this way. While we’ve been standing here having our little conversation, I’ve already put in an alert to the Metro police. Their station house is just two blocks away, which is something I have to believe you didn’t know, because otherwise you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to try to bash someone here.

“So. You are going to let her”—I pointed to the woman—“come over and stand by me, and then you four are going to go home. Because if you’re still here when the cops show up, at least one of you is in trouble for underage drinking, Bernie, and at least one of you already has an assault charge on his sheet, Danny. The cops take a dim view of each.”

Three of the four looked at me uncertainly. The fourth, Lynch, I could tell was calculating his odds.

“I figure at least one of you is thinking he’s not going to get into that much trouble for taking a shot at a threep,” I said. “So this is where I remind you that D.C. law treats crimes against threeps the same as it does against human bodies. So all of you are going to be on the hook for assault. And, since it’s pretty clear to me you’re targeting this person because she’s a Haden, you’ve got a hate crime charge to go with it.

“So you just want to think about that,” I said. “While you’re thinking about that, I should mention that I’ve been recording this entire event from the minute I walked up, and that footage is already in the FBI’s servers. So far, all I have is four guys being drunk and stupid. Don’t let’s change that.”

Terry Olson and Bernie Clay stepped aside. The woman began walking toward me. As she cleared the men, Lynch let out a grunt and pulled back the bat to take a swing at her head.

Which is when I zapped him, because I had my service stunner behind my back the entire time and had him already zeroed in as the target. All I really had to do was fire when my interior reticle went red. I had him pegged as one of the “not quite clear on long-term consequences” types as soon as I had walked up, on account of there was only one idiot in attendance with a bat. He’d come out to dance. The others were just drunken wingmen.

Lynch stiffened and then fell to the ground, convulsing and vomiting. The other three men bolted. The woman knelt next to Lynch, checking him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, coming up to the two of them.

“I’m making sure he’s not aspirating his own vomit,” she said.

“What are you, a doctor?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” she said.

“Can you do that while I’m cuffing him?” I asked. She nodded. I cuffed him.

“Great,” I said, and stood back up. “Now I really do have to call the police.”

She looked up at me. “You hadn’t already?”

“I was pulling their data from the database and targeting this *,” I said. “I was a little bit busy. Why didn’t you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They just seemed like harmless drunks,” she said. “They came up from behind me and I didn’t think about it until they started talking to me. And I didn’t realize they were a problem until this * started asking me how far I thought my head would fly if he took a bat to it.”

“Tell me you have that part recorded, at least.”

“I do,” she said. “And I told him that I did. He just laughed.”

“I don’t credit Mr. Lynch here with too many brains,” I said. “Either that or he figured that after he was done playing Babe Ruth with your head, there wouldn’t be a recording left. Now. Are you done examining him, Doctor?”

“I am,” she said. “He’ll live. And thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. I held out a hand. “Chris Shane,” I said.

“I know who you are,” she said, taking it.

“I get that a lot,” I said.

The doctor shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said. “I’m Tayla Givens. I’m your new housemate.”

* * *

Tayla and I had just finished up our statements to the arresting officers when I noticed someone walking up on us. It was Detective Trinh.

“Detective Trinh,” I said, to her. “This is unexpected.”

“Agent Shane,” she said. “You’ve had an exciting evening.”

“Just wrapping up,” I said.

“You planning to make a federal case out of this one, too?”

“Not really,” I said. “The Haden in this case lives in D.C. So this is going to be handled by Metro.”

“That’s probably wise,” Trinh said.

“Are you planning to be involved?” I asked. “We’re in the first police district right now. I was under the impression you worked out of the second.”