Cajun Justice(14)

The analyst was managing two computer screens on her desk.

“The officer outside told me you had a picture of agents out drinking.”

“Good morning to you, too, Agent Lemaire.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. I just got the news dumped on me from the guard outside.”

“Bad news travels fast.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Give me a second and I’ll pull it up on the big screen.”

“Oh, no! Don’t do that. Just pull it up on your computer. I’ll look at it here with you.”

For the first time, Cain saw the picture the reporter had taken while they were at the British pub. “I was off duty and off the protective detail by that point,” he muttered under his breath. Regardless, he knew the perception would not be good. “How’d you get this picture?”

“The State Department received it from our embassy. The photo was broadcast on a news story.”

“Oh, God,” Cain said as he buried his head in his hand. “How can we squash this from spreading?”

“Cain”—she looked at him sympathetically—“you know I’d help you if I could. But it’s too late.”

“What do you mean it’s too late?”

“This picture came in last night when I wasn’t on shift. It was forwarded to the director. He has it now.”

“The director? What did he say about it?”

“He said he would take care of it. Whatever that means.”

“That means it ain’t good. I should’ve snagged that camera myself and shoved it up Tomcat’s ass.”





Chapter 13



Supervisory Special Agent LeRoy “the King” Hayes grew up in Harlem and had worked as a beat officer with NYPD before getting hired by the Secret Service during the Clinton administration. He liked the status that came with being a special agent but was unhappy with the agency. He believed his skin color kept him from getting promoted any higher in the organization. “The only color this agency recognizes is white,” he would often say.

“My day is just starting, and I’m having to deal with this buffoonery,” LeRoy said now in an agitated tone. A flashy dresser, he prided himself on his fancy suits and silk ties, designer ones he’d get his academy classmate, now stationed at the US embassy in Rome, to ship him. Cain’s well-manicured supervisor had a thin mustache and a bald head, and he puffed on a purple e-cigarette with gold leaf clusters. “Tell me what happened, and don’t lie to me.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, and you know that,” Cain fired back.

“Hell, I know. But those bastards in the ivory tower are crawling up my ass. The brass wants blood on this one. It’s bad.”

“You can’t get blood from a turnip, or from me, on this one,” Cain said, wondering if that was true.

“Just explain the situation and leave all that Southern talk out of it.”

Cain looked beyond LeRoy’s mahogany desk and at the wall displaying a black-and-white photo of Dr. King giving his famous “I Have a Dream” speech. Next to it was LeRoy’s Columbia University degree. Despite his resentment of the perceived racism in the Service, LeRoy never forgot how far he had come in life. “From the slums to the show,” he would remark proudly. Cain knew of LeRoy’s sacrifices and had a great deal of respect for his life journey.

Cain was describing his security preparations in very specific terms and being very thorough when LeRoy cut him off.

“I get all that. I’d expect nothing less from you. Get to the fucked-up part—the real reason we’re sitting here staring at each other.”

As he had promised LeRoy and himself, Cain didn’t lie. He spoke only about the events he experienced firsthand, and he was rather broad in his explanations. He concluded, “I don’t even know her name. But I gave her some money so she’d leave the hotel and not cause any problems for POTUS’s visit.”

“That’s where you went off the rails,” the King barked. “You are a good agent, but God, you’re blind. You paid a prostitute you didn’t even fornicate with. If this weren’t so asinine, dragging this agency through a scandal, I might be laughing.”

“This isn’t a scandal,” Cain said defensively.

“The police notified the American embassy. Twelve agents had to be recalled to DC, and the president—don’t even get me started on that issue. He’s at an international summit, having to defend those entrusted to defend him. That is what we, a collective society of like-minded people, call a scandal. Even your kin in Mississippi would agree.”

“Louisiana,” Cain interjected. He had worked for LeRoy for a year and knew his boss liked to tease him about his Southern roots.

“Same difference! Listen up! Bottom line is you’re on paid leave pending the outcome of this investigation.”

“You’re suspending me?”

“You get the best of both worlds. You get to suckle off the government’s teat, and you don’t have to stand duty.”

“I don’t mind the duty, though. You know I’m passionate about my work,” Cain said.

“Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. I like my job, too. But I’d rather be at home watching Judge Judy and getting paid for it.”