Cajun Justice(7)

“Okay.” The officer smiled. “Hopefully they are comfortable, because with so much vehicle traffic today, we must walk to the conference.”

“Bueno. A walk sounds”—Cain paused only long enough to inhale deeply—“nice after the morning I just had. I can use some fresh air.”

Cain and the officers headed to the main door. The bellman, wearing a button-down jacket and white gloves, opened it. A burst of heat rushed into the lobby. “Have a good day, Mr. Lemaire,” he said.

“Igualmente,” Cain replied. “Hasta luego.”

The sun shone brightly and not a cloud was present. Cain retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his inner jacket pocket.

“Where shall we start?” one of the officers asked.

“From the beginning,” Cain said. “Let’s walk the entire path. I wanna know this place so well that locals would pay me to give tours.”

As they walked, Cain mentioned several security concerns he had. “This morning, I saw boats not too far in the distance, over there.” He pointed toward the ocean, which was only a hundred yards or so away.

“Sí,” the third officer replied. “Many of our people fish to feed their families.”

“I understand,” Cain said. “Growing up in Louisiana, I did the same thing. Fried catfish was a staple for us.”

“A staple?” the officer asked.

“Yeah, um…” Cain searched for a definition. “Like a main dish. We ate it often.”

The officer nodded his head.

“I’d like to have at least two police boats out on the water,” said Cain. “I’ll give you two Secret Service agents to put on the boats.”

As they continued walking the route toward the conference building, Cain pointed out additional areas of concern. “I would like to put a countersniper on that tall building there, and also on top of that white building over there. We’ll have a team on the roof of the hotel where the president is staying, so this gives us a triangle of protection.”

“This is no problem. Our military snipers have been informed you may request this.”

“Thank you very much. We’ll place a member of my team with each of your military snipers. The Secret Service agent will serve as a scout.”

“A scout? They aren’t bringing their own rifles?”

“Yes, they are. But overseas, we prefer to be scouts. If somebody does get shot, it’s always more politically correct when the local police or military kills one of their own, as opposed to us.”

“Here”—Detective Rojas stroked his beard—“we don’t give a damn about political correctness. A dead asshole is just a dead asshole.”

Everyone laughed. It was a nice distraction for Cain. If only for a brief moment, it got his anger toward Tomcat out of his mind.

They had passed a few shops when Rojas pointed out an ATM. “This is a safe place to get pesos,” he said. “If you need to get money—say, three hundred dollars—this would be the place I recommend.”

Speaking of assholes, Cain thought. The amount quoted was too specific. Cain was naturally easygoing, but he didn’t like being the punch line of a joke. “Are you messing with me?”

“Cain,” Detective Rojas said, “this is my town. Nothing happens without me knowing about it.”

“I’m listening,” Cain replied.

“She came into the station wanting to file a report this morning. The desk officer referred her to me.”

“Why you?” Cain asked.

“I run the special investigations unit.”

“What did she tell you?”

“It does not matter,” he said.

“It matters to me.” The edge on Cain’s words was sharp.

“What matters is what I told her.”

“And what was that?”

“Salte de mi oficina ahora! Puta!”

“Good, because I already paid her, and she was not even with me.”

“She doesn’t want money,” Detective Rojas said.

“I’m starting to gather that. Sounds like she wants revenge.”

“Hopefully she was worth it,” the youngest officer said to the laughter of everyone except Cain.

“Not for me. I was just trying to put out a fire, and now I’m getting burned.”

“Burned?” Rojas asked curiously.

“I guess you don’t know everything that goes on in your town.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been recalled back to DC. I fly back tomorrow. Hell, practically the whole team flies back tomorrow.”

“But the president arrives tomorrow.”

“I know. They’ve already sent agents to relieve us. I’m just out here with you guys to try to do as much as I can before I leave.”

“I like America,” Detective Rojas said. “I do. But sometimes I don’t understand your country. Hollywood produces movies like this all the time. My wife loves Pretty Woman.”

Cain smiled. “Well, that woman from last night got a huge disappointment. Tom Jackson is no Richard Gere.”

“I can’t understand this. Your government sends you all back because of one prostitute’s complaint? This woman is a troublemaker. Plain and simple. I kicked her out of the station. I took care of this for you.”