“Can we get to the part where the Russians start shooting?”
I turn to my lawyer. “How about we call them SUV men? I never heard them speak. They could be Swedish, for all I know.”
Young whooshes out his breath, stands, and paces. “This is no joke.”
“Whose laughing? And would you please sit. You’re making me dizzy.”
He plops in a chair. “Happy?”
“No. But it’s better. So, as I was saying, after we lost contact with our new hire. Dashiell insisted we take his jet west. On our way, we locate her in Blaine, we escape in an aluminum rowboat, call 911, and end up here.”
“And the Russians?
“You need to ask what’s his name. Tony? He’s the data merchant.”
“Data. What data?” Strung tighter than a high wire over Niagara Falls, the interrogator sweats.
Lowering my voice, I speak ever so slowly and mansplain. “The data is in the cloud. The Sissy brains contain hi-tech spyware.”
“I thought the Chinese were using the bodies to transport fentanyl.”
“They were, and CloudTekToy employees were using the brains to steal corporate and government secrets.”
Finally, a light bulb goes off and his eyes widen.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Suds
Compared to my SEAL BUD/S training, this here interrogation is pure entertainment.
Standing, I stretch, finish the last of the cold pizza, and stare at my next contestant. Freshly pressed, washed, and suited, the freckled, red-haired man enters the room with a manilla folder.
“I’m Agent Olsen.” After he brushes away the crumbs left by the last man, he pulls up on his trousers and sits across from me.
“Nice to meet you.” I set my slice on my paper plate, wipe my greasy fingers on the back of my jeans, stand and hold them out.
Brows creased, mouth open, the G-man eyes my held-out hand like it might bite. Taking a deep breath, he takes to his feet, shakes like an injured dog, then snatches a thin napkin from the stack on the table.
“Now, how about you catch me up?” Eyes on mine, he adjusts his chair to the right height, and as he parks, I grin.
Fresh bait. I can’t wait to reel him in.“Yes sir. My wife and I own a PI company, Suds and Sam. We’re damn famous. Why we’ve solved over a dozen cases. Our first was finding a cat belongin’ to a hitman. He was so grateful, he gifted us with Catrina who-”
“Relevance?” The damn fool has the audacity to stop me mid-ramble.
“I assure you. I’m a gettin’ there. You see, our orange tabby is pertinent to this here discussion because it has an affection for laptops. I researched it and it’s not all that unusual. They like the warmth and distracting people because chances are, dinner might come earlier. Anyhow, our feline has a penchant for rolling on keyboards and when it did, my wife was on the dark web. You’ll have to ask her why. She was workin’ for the FBI so y’all should know why. Where was I? Right. The dark web. So, a form pops up and her cousin… by cousin, I mean Sam’s and not the cat’s… ordered a free Smart Sissy doll and who could blame her? Oh, my lawd, forgive my French, but who the hell shells out five hundred bucks for a talkin’ fuzzy Muppet? The thing is, when it does arrive, my pal Wheels sends it to a lab, and after a bit of sleuthing, he learns there’s a truck full of fentanyl headed for Detroit.”
“Why, at that time, did you not inform the authorities?” He makes a point of pressing record and putting his phone on the table in front of me.
I pick it up, turn on selfie mode, and use it as a tool to rate my performance. “I’m a contract worker. I didn’t know until it was too late.”
“Who’s C4 blew up the truck?”
“Dunno. Whoever did it, should get a medal. Those toys wasn’t just filled with Chinese opiates, they were a national security threat.” Quenching my parched throat, I gulp down a bottle of water.
“Know what I think? Patten Securities is a bunch of vigilantes and this time they’ve gone too far. You can either say something useful or go down as one of them.” Freckles just stepped over the line.
“You do realize they don’t only guard rich kids and celebrities, right? These days, there’s not enough Secret Service agents to go around. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t threaten a guy who plays golf with the president. Now, I have officially broken my rambling record and my wife is going to skin me alive but let me dumb it down a tad more so I can go home.
