“Wait, wait, hold on,” Wells said, his hands moving toward Frank before he remembered they were handcuffed to the table. The heavy metal made a clunking noise that reverberated off the walls.
Frank stood up. “No point in talking to this guy if he doesn’t know anything, Gardner.”
I understood what Frank was doing and its effect on Wells. But something had always worried me about the Sandoval gang. That knowledge about the buy-build-shoot kits might be more insulated than we had anticipated. And that Travis Wells might not know the same things that our dead C.I. Freddie Pecos had.
“The other lawyer,” Wells said. “He told me if I was a hundred percent honest, I was good.”
“Sure,” Frank said. “But it matterswhatyou’re honest about.”
Wells looked over at me. “What’s your partner talking about, bro?”
“This is a trade opportunity,” I said. “If you don’t know anything relevant, you lack anything to trade.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, his eyes wide. “I know things, though. They’re important. They’re just not that ‘buy-build’ thing.”
Frank sat back down. “So what are they?”
Wells was breathing heavily now, and any brazen attitude he’d once had was long gone. He was worried about something. Something big.
“I don’t want to play games,” he said.
“Good,” Frank replied. “Neither do we.”
Wells hesitated, and I held my focus on him.
“You’re worried,” I said, “that we’re indiscriminately deciding which things are important and which are not.”
“Exactly, yeah.” He pointed at Frank. “What he said.” He motioned with his eyes at me. “It’s indiscriminate and stuff. How you’re acting.”
“Why don’t you give us a rough idea,” Frank said, rocking back in his chair, “of what you do know.”
“I know why Sandoval is building up a stockpile of weapons,” Wells said. “I know where they’re headed.”
This confirmed something that we’d guessed at but were never 100 percent clear on: that the ghost guns—and the gun shipment we lost track of—were two distinct and separate things.
“So tell us.” Frank kept his voice casual and raised his hands, palms up toward the ceiling. “Where are the guns headed?”
“No, no, I tell you that… I need immunity.”
“You’re not getting immunity either way.” Frank shook his head.
“Then get that lawyer back in here. I’ll take my chances in court. ’Cause if I tell you what I know about this, not only am I getting immunity, I want ten grand. Plus, I get dropped in Baja.”
Frank narrowed his eyes in a look that telegraphed pragmatism, but I was intrigued. Wells was a key member of the Sandoval crimeorganization, and he was effectively asking us to leave him in another country, far from his own crew.
I wasn’t the best at communicating with criminals. I thought about what Cassie or Shooter might say here.
“Give us a tease, brother,” I said, the words sounding mechanical. “One word. A taste.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you two initials: D.C.”
My mind moved through everything we knew about the case. As far as I was aware, there was no connection to the District of Columbia.
I thought again about the shipment of 186 guns we’d lost track of. A pile of weapons in our nation’s capital wasn’t something I wanted a blind spot on.
I stood up. “Give us five minutes,” I said. I left the room, and Frank followed me into the observation area.
“Tell me you’re not considering this,” he said once we were in with Cassie. “He clearly doesn’t know a thing about these gun kits.”
