Cajun Justice(9)

“Remember Bobby Kennedy,” Teddy said, referring to the senator’s assassination in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel. “We must have seen that video clip a hundred times in the academy.”

Cain nodded. “At least a hundred. Should you run into any hiccups or have any questions, just shoot me an email or give me a call. My flight isn’t until eight in the morning. And I’d rather talk to you than Jackson.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Cain smiled. “Good luck with the visit.”

As Cain started toward the elevator, the agent’s eyes were diverted downward. “Those gators waterproof?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“They’ll need to be to wade through the shit you’re about to trudge through in DC.”





Chapter 9



Cain returned to his hotel room and welcomed the cool air blowing from the AC unit. He felt sticky, and his suit was soiled with sweat. He couldn’t wait to disrobe and take a cold shower. While in the shower, he kept replaying the events from that morning. Should I have paid her, or just let the police get involved? Neither scenario was ideal, but he concluded that he had made the right decision.

He hurried to meet up with Tom Jackson in the hotel’s lobby. While waiting, Cain noticed the woman he’d paid off, sipping a cocktail at the hotel bar. So much for the security guard’s promise to keep her away. He’s probably getting a kickback.

“Where we going tonight?” Tom asked.

Cain maneuvered his body to block Tom’s view of the hotel bar. “Definitely away from here. I know just the place. Saw it today while doing the security advance with the locals.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Local cops always know where to go to have a good time.”

“It’s a British pub.”

“Let’s go to a club, not a British pub.”

“Absolutely not. It’s nearby, and I’m starving for some fish-and-chips. It’ll be a chill spot for us to strategize about the way forward. We need to. That’s the most important task ahead of us.”

Cain asked the bellhop to hail a taxi. When they jumped in, Tom began running his mouth a thousand miles an hour.

“Not here,” Cain interrupted him. “We’ll be at the pub shortly. Let’s discuss it then.”

“This cabby probably don’t even speak English,” Tom commented.

“Regardless, Jackson, you’ve embarrassed me enough today.”

“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll wait till we get to the pub.”

The pub was heavily accented with thick, dark wood. It was shaped like a rectangle, and British memorabilia—photographs and artifacts—adorned the walls. It was empty, not including the English expat in his sixties who said he was the owner. “What are you blokes drinking?”

“Two whiskeys,” Tom answered.

“And fish-and-chips,” Cain added. “Make the chips extra crispy, please.” He grabbed a matchbook from the bar and continued toward the back corner. He absentmindedly rubbed the matchbook in his left hand—between his fingers. He and Tom sat down at a table. “I wasn’t expecting this,” Cain said flatly, referencing the fact that the soundtrack to Grease was playing in the background from two speakers mounted on the wall.

The owner brought them their drinks.

“Must be some serious discussions going on tonight.”

“How do you reckon?” Cain asked. He caught himself feeling more suspicious than usual.

“Fellas, this place is almost empty. Yet you chose this corner. You don’t look like businessmen—too athletic for that—so I figured you’re here for the Summit of the Americas and are probably going to discuss politics or security—maybe both.”

“Good eye,” Cain said.

“I wasn’t always a bartender,” the man said. “Name’s McMillan. Call me Mac. Used to be navy intelligence. For Her Majesty, of course. I should’ve stayed in, but I fell in love with a local woman.”

“So much for being intelligent,” Tom quipped.

Cain turned to Tom. “Like you have any room to judge.” He then turned back to Mac. “I hear they’re hard to resist.”

Mac chuckled. “Yes, they are. So, I moved here and opened up this pub.”

“It’s a nice place you have,” Cain said. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s not fancy, but I’m proud of it.” Mac used the dead air to excuse himself. “Well, I’ll leave you fellas to it. Your fish-and-chips will be out shortly.”

The pub offered enough privacy for Cain and Tom to talk openly. They discussed the events that had transpired and predicted what would happen.

“The Service has a long history of partying and screwing around. We’re no different from the politicians we swore to take a bullet for,” Tom commented before gulping his drink.

“You know we’re not held to the same standard as politicians,” Cain said. “They can be as crooked as a dog’s back leg, but we carry gold badges. The public demands more from us. It doesn’t matter if you were a Secret Service agent for only a month ten years ago. If you were arrested for DUI, the headline would read ‘Ex–Secret Service Agent Arrested for Driving Drunk.’ We have to think strategically here if we’re gonna get out of this mess.”