Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(36)

“No.”

I stepped to the side of the doorway to let them pass. “Come on in and warm up. It’s cold out there.”

They followed me inside. I gestured to the kitchen table. “Sit. Make yourselves at home. Want anything to drink? Water, coffee, bourbon?”

“No, thanks. Can I use your bathroom?” the second agent asked.

“Sure, down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thanks.” He walked away. I swear he was walking funny…

I made small talk with Kennedy while waiting for the other agent to clean his panties. He returned a few minutes later, looking more relaxed and at ease, and joined us at the table.

Kennedy turned to me. “We’re trying to locate an undercover special agent who has gone missing.”

My heart skipped a beat. Deep down, I’d feared that one of Ostrich Boy’s entourage could be an undercover agent, but I didn’t want to think about it. You always ran that risk, especially when HFS turned up a light criminal record for the guy. But there was no way for me to be sure. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Pull him aside and say, “Psst. Hey, buddy, wink wink. Do you work for the FBI?”

I did my best to sound surprised and appear interested. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and he was last seen in Summit.” He reached inside his suit breast pocket and took out a photo. He laid it down on the table. I looked into the eyes of the skinny guy who was lying under tons of dirt at the bottom of my well.

“This is Special Agent Jerry Skillman.”

Was.

“Haven’t seen him,” I said.

“We know he was at the Red Barn, and we also know that you were present at the same time.”

“Really? Huh. The Red Barn? When? And who told you?”

“We tracked his cell phone, and we think something may have happened to him while he was there with his associates. All three have gone missing. Earlier today, we interviewed the workers and some of the patrons of the Red Barn. They were surprisingly standoffish towards us. One little old lady even told us to go fuck ourselves. After she grabbed my ass.”

“Oh my.” I held my hand to my mouth and feigned concern over Frances’s use of such terrible language, then I hit them with the fake news story I’d created on the Internet over the last few days. “Wait. Does this have anything to do with those three mobsters that bugged out and joined the witness protection plan?”

“What? Where’d you hear about that?”

“It’s all over the Internet.” Which was true. A few well-placed tweets and Facebook posts on some popular accounts that I hacked into was all it had taken to create the fake news story of the year. Even the President tweeted about the missing trio…

People were so gullible. They just retweeted and reposted stuff that they had no idea was false, spreading the virus of misinformation until it blossomed into reality.

I’m sure Sam’s mob associates were shocked to hear the news, but since it was all over the place and some of his associates really did rat him out just a few weeks ago, it was believable.

The FBI couldn’t comment on who decided to join the squealing rat club, which meant that Sam’s buddies would be even more convinced that my fake news stories were real.

HFS also turned up a few interesting tidbits regarding the disappearance of one of Sam’s crew, a fellow called Tough Tommy. I’m guessing that someone in Sam’s crew was “tipped off,” ahem, about the plans Sam and Tommy were hatching. Once the seed was planted in the paranoid brains of his fellow mobsters, it was an easy call to take a look at Tommy’s cell phone.

The texts with the missing trio were read, analyzed, debated, and a conclusion was drawn. It was all over for Tough Tommy. Too bad he’d never learned how to erase a text chain…

Kennedy stared at me, his forehead furrowed in confusion. “We heard that rumor too. But I can assure you that since the FBI runs the witness protection program, we know who joins it.”

I stared blankly at him.

He looked away and continued, “Do you remember anything unusual that happened at the Red Barn last weekend?”

“No, not at all. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

I stood up and showed them the door. They each reached into their leather card-carrying cases and handed me one of their business cards.

“Please call if you hear anything.”

“Yes, I most certainly will.” Don’t hold your breath.

I closed the door behind them and threw their cards in the fireplace.





37





My cell phone rang. It was Mary Sue’s mom, Meredith.

“Hi, Mer.”

“Can we talk?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

“Not on the phone, in person. Tiby’s Coffee Shop? About four?”

“Sure. See you then.”

What was that about?

I knew the second I walked in and saw her face that something was wrong. She smiled, and that was always a great sight, but I could tell by the way her face was contorted that something wasn’t right. She got out of her chair and hugged me. Tight. That was new. We’d gotten together many times over the years, but she’d never been this touchy-feely with me. She looked up at me, tears welling in her red-rimmed eyes.