O’Donoghue rolled his eyes. “If a smart mouth was all it took to do this job, the suspects better give up now.”
As Lucky turned toward the elevator to the parking garage, O’Donoghue called out, “Harrison?”
“Yeah?” Dear Lord, what did the man want now?
“It’s an honor to work an assignment with you.”
What the fuck?
Lucky used the drive over—in his favorite chicken-shit green, department-issued Malibu—to run the facts over with his partner. Salters. Partner. Hah. “How’d you get saddled with this assignment?”
“Begged, pleaded, and offered up my firstborn, sir.” Lucky caught the man’s wide grin out of the corner of his eye.
More softly, Salters said, “I’ve seen a lot of shit in my time with the bureau, but treating people as less than human? These guys have an ass-whipping coming.”
Lucky stopped at a red light and gave his latest protegé a sidelong glance. “And you think you’re the man who can pull that off?”
“No, sir. I thinkyoucan. If I learn all I can from you, then one day someone might have that kind of trust in me.”
What the ever-loving fuck? The guy sounded smarter than Lucky gave him credit for. Now to see how much he studied up. “Who are we meeting?”
“A guy named Pablo. Medium build, early twenties, five-six or so, noticeable scar on his right cheek and a cross tattooed on his upper left biceps.”
Lucky nodded. So far so good. “What’s his involvement?”
“He supplied the labor. He’s supposed to bring the raw material supplier with him to this meeting. If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, there has to be a special place in Hell for the mutherfuckers.”
“Any qualms about sending them there, if you have to?” Lucky’d known good agents who fucked up and couldn’t pull a trigger fast enough when needed.
A muscle clenched in Jimmy’s jaw. “As you say, it’s not my first rodeo.”
Nope, not based on Jimmy’s record. He far outstripped any of Lucky’s other trainees.
The light turned green. Lucky waited for oncoming traffic and made a left turn. “I checked out local gang and cartel activity, but no known presence appeared tied to this venture. An unknown. Maybe a startup. The less experienced the better.”
“I still can’t believe some of the people tied up in this.”Salters popped a piece of gum into his mouth and set about slowly chewing.
“You’ll get used to it. I’ve brought down soccer parents turned drug dealers, a doctor who wouldn’t have drawn anyone’s suspicions, and an otherwise mild-mannered secretary winged me a couple years back.”None of them would have pinged anyone’s radar as criminals.
“I read about that.”
Unsurprising, since Salters seemed almost obsessed with Lucky and his career when they’d first met. Nurse Jimmy, Lucky’s stalker at the Virginia hospital where Lucky donated part of his liver to dear old Daddy Lucklighter. He wouldn’t mention his own brother’s basement packaging operation and subsequent death when he’d tried to play with the big boys and lost.
Sometimes cases hit too close to home.
Besides, with live mics, Lucky had learned to watch his mouth.
He pulled the car up to the abandoned-looking building he’d reconned with Bo and Johnson, and where they’d staged their raid. In exchange for a plea deal, the guards cooperated, luring the bosses into a false sense of security.
Still, they took one hell of a risk.
Faint light shone inside the front door; emergency exits signs if he remembered correctly. “Everybody in place?”
Across from the warehouse, Keith and his team set up shop, monitoring Lucky and Jimmy’s movements from a panel van.
“Affirmative,” O’Donoghue replied.
Lucky banged his hand on the dashboard. The glove box fell open. He took out his latest Glock and checked his weapon. Jimmy did the same without prompting. They both holstered their guns at the small of their backs. Lucky had also gotten himself an ankle holster after his last takedown. The damned thing proved useful.
