“Federal agents?”
Throughout the studio, crew members began removing their headsets and deserting their cameras and lights and other production equipment. Several came down the metal stairs from the control booth. All converged to form a semicircle around Busby.
Mitch said, “DEA, FBI, New Orleans PD narco unit.” As he named the various agencies, men and women in plainclothes raised their hands. To them, Mitch said, “I’ll let y’all sort out who’s going to lock him up and charge him first. But I get dibs on booking him for my wife’s murder. That was in my jurisdiction.”
“Hey, Mitch? Tucker asked to talk to you.” An agent who’d been up in the director’s booth approached and extended a phone to him. Mitch took the phone and said into it, “I told you not to call me at work.”
Tucker snorted a laugh. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Your people were great. They hustled. Everyone was in place by the time he got here. Glad I caught you before you sent them to the FBO.”
Once Tucker had agreed to let him be in on the arrest, he told him that Busby had reserved the studio. Tucker had rerouted the agents he’d sent to the airfield and helped alert the other agencies while Mitch was making the mad drive to the city.
Tucker said, “I haven’t had time to ask how you knew he would be here.”
“I called the twenty-four/seven hotline he brags about, pretended to be a grateful client who wanted to thank him in person. I was told that Mr. Busby was getting ready for a recording session at five o’clock, but that my thanks would be passed along to him. However, to trap a mole in our department who was on Malone’s payroll, I did make up some bullshit story about his jet taking off at six this evening.”
“Did the ruse work?” Tucker asked.
“She’s in our jail.”
“Well, I heard you had Busby scared. You put on one hell of a performance.”
“Wasn’t a performance. Believe me, for a moment there, with that pistol in my hand…”
“But you got him.”
“Wegot him. I couldn’t have done it without you, Jim. Thanks. For everything.”
Never one for sentiment, Tucker said, “Don’t call me again for a long, long time. Bye.”
“One more thing.”
“Fuck. There always is.”
“El Paso did break. I broke him. And he cried for his mama.”
Mitch clicked off before Tucker could say anything, but he envisioned him smiling.
Mitch handed the phone back to the DEA agent, thanked him, then pulled out his own phone and called John. He answered, sounding stressed. Mitch said, “You have a baby yet?”
“You have Busby?”
“In cuffs.”
“Damn, Mitch. That’s great.”
“What about the baby?”
“Working on it. Beth’s cursing me for doing this to her. Says we’re never having sex again.”
“She’ll get over it. Andrew and Dylan still at your house?”
“She offered to stay with him as long as needed.”
“Okay. Go hold Beth’s hand and stroke her forehead. Tell her how much you love her and how beautiful she is.”
“What, and get kicked in the nuts?”
