“All swept up,” Frank said. “Arrested.”
“Was there any cash found?” I asked, motioning with my head in the direction of the pink row house across the street.
“No,” Frank said.
“And the two thousand buy-build-shoot kits?” Cassie asked.
“Not yet found.” Frank shook his head. “It’s part of the questioning we’ll put these guys through. But this first guy at least—he didn’t know anything about it. So maybe it’s like Gardner thought: Information was compartmentalized in Sandoval’s organization. Need-to-know, you know?”
“No,” I said.
“No what?” Frank asked.
“Freddie was a hothead,” I said. “He liked to go out behind his trailer and take his AR-15. Dump full magazines of ammo, unworried that the cops might pay him a visit. He constantly talked—”
“Smack,” Cassie jumped in. “To Richie. To everyone.”
Frank squinted, not following Cassie.
“What Gardner’s trying to say is—the likelihood ofonlyFreddieknowing about anything…” Cassie put up her hands and held them a tiny distance apart. “It’s small.”
Frank took this in, nodding. “Okay. I’ll socialize that. Make sure everyone is clear.”
The adrenaline of the raid was still pumping through my exhausted mind. It was hard to believe what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Our deal with the new C.I. His murder at the storage shed. The raid. Half the block almost getting blown to bits.
“Shooter,” I mumbled, explaining that I’d sent her to Hambis to intercept the ME.
Frank’s gaze looked like one of pity. “No problem,” he said. “Jo can head back to Shilo in the morning. Don’t forget. We’ve still got another case to solve.”
I looked around then, and maybe for the first time, it became clear that everyone was staring at us.
A gentle smile came to Cassie’s face. “Guess we’re gonna need a couple wheelbarrows, huh?”
Frank studied her, confused.
“For the size of our balls,” she went on. “You know, once the president and people like that figure out what we did today?”
Frank started laughing, and I was reminded of what he’d said before. That no one talked like Cassie.
“What else?” Frank asked. “You two need anything?”
“How about a drink?” Cassie said.
The question was hanging in the air when Poulton arrived. In his hand were two more cigars. “This is for you, Agent Pardo,” he said, holding one out to Cassie. He must have asked someone for her name in the intervening hour. “And for you, Roberts.”
We turned and got in the elevator. No one said anything on theride down. I knew that, medically speaking, we were in shock. Or at least I was.
Frank fired up the rental, then pulled to the curb a few miles away. We headed inside a bar called the Sovereign. A round of tequila shots appeared. Beside each was a bottle of Dos Equis Amber. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I understood the need for release after a case like this.
Cassie raised her shot, then moved it down. Away from her and back. “Arriba, debajo. Al centro, adentro.”
We mimicked the action, downing our own shots. But my mind was still shuttling through the images of the last week. The Rotten Coconut. My mom waking up. Camila’s smashed science project. The two C.I.s.
“Layla hates Texas,” Frank said. “And I hate the job there.”
I turned to face him. Layla was his wife of twenty-one years. Fifteen months ago, they had relocated to Texas, where Frank had grown up. He’d taken the top fed job in the state.
“You hate yournewjob?” I asked, putting down my beer.
