INFAMOUS TRADE by Andrej Koymasky (C) 1998 - 2002 written the 20th of July, 1995 translated by the author English text kindly revised by Jer
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"INFAMOUS TRADE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
THIRD
Manhattan - December 1988
At four thirty two p.m. detective Kevin Black entered the almost empty restaurant on Columbus Avenue. He approached a lonely woman sitting at the bar. Kevin observed the woman who was nervously smoking and looking at her wrist watch. Then she became aware of Kevin's presence. Making an effort to smile, she got down from her bar stool and threw herself into the detective's arms.
While he was holding her tight against himself, a thousand buried memories flooded Kevin's mind. The woman was Grace Dos Santos. Once they planned to marry, but this was before he returned from Vietnam, a completely changed man. Kevin confessed to her that he was Gay. Told her that the man who made him understand that, was now dead, but that he could still not marry her. Grace, disappointed, married another man, Peter Dos Santos. A man of Spanish origins he kept just the name, but he was completely American.
"Eight years, eight long years... I can't believe how much time has passed since the last time we met, Kevin."
"You are more and more beautiful."
"Liar! But thank you. God, you are always hard like rock. Do you still practice karate?"
"Always. My old man always told me that physical exercise was a waste of time. He said that if you are healthy, you don't need it, and if you are not, it is useless..."
"A wise man, your old man. I was afraid you wouldn't show up, after our fight... Thank you for coming."
Her head bowing down, Grace was silently crying. Kevin tenderly put his hand on her arm. He regretted that fight, but he had forgiven her, since he knew she was right -- he really looked with desire at her husband, even if he had denied it. And now, two days ago, she called him at the district -- her adolescent son Terence, Terry, left home as always to go to the private school he was attending on 73rd street, but he never reached school. Grace was in complete panic, she wanted Kevin to find him.
Kevin Black was thirty five years old, slender and muscled, a mane of dark brown hair and a smile that made him seem an obliging man, which he really wasn't. Back from Vietnam, he obtained his detective's badge in less than two years. He also succeeded in hiding his being gay. During those two years the memory of Juan's body torn to pieces was still too vivid and he had no desire for sex. Afterwards, reaching again a good psychic balance and feeling again sexual desires, he had been very careful to keep well separated his professional and his sexual life. At karate training he met a quiet twenty four year old boy. The young man name was Dan, and was a TV cameramen at the CCB. They became closer and closer friends, until they discovered both were gay and mutually attracted. So, from time to time, they met at the home of one or the other, to make love. Quietly, without being in love, like two good friends giving each other mutual relief, without sentimental complications, but with affection, tenderness and virility.
Kevin, besides the official tasks he carried out for the police district, had also secretly been hired by the Internal Affairs Division, and he had been directly hired when he attended the police Academy. The agents in the field had the task of reporting directly to General Headquarters all cases of incorrect behavior by the policemen, a task which made them the most detested men in the Corp.
If they were discovered, they were isolated, menaced, at times even physically attacked by their colleagues who nicknamed the agents in the field "cock sucker agents". A risky job, that at times implied real dangers, which Kevin liked.
To reduce their risks, the agents in the field had at General Headquarters only one contact. They normally dealt with a lieutenant or a captain. They used code names and the meetings happened in out of the way places. Kevin insisted that he and his contact, he knew him only as Ron, never meet directly. They always communicate by phone, and it was always Kevin called first, and always from public phones.
Kevin pulled off his hat putting it on the counter near a Christmas wreath, the kind that normally hung outside the house on the front door, and unbuttoned his coat. He had difficulty catching the attention of the young bartender, engrossed in watching a baseball game on the TV, and ordered two black coffees.
Grace seized his hand. Small, brunette, she too was thirty five years old, but looked older than that. She wore an elegant black dress and had white shoes and hat. He saw her wither after her marriage to Peter Dos Santos, a slender and elegant adman, owning a prosperous TV publicity firm. During her call to Kevin, Grace told him also that her life was about to change. After fourteen years, a few days before Terry's disappearance, her husband told her he wanted a divorce. He fell in love with another woman, so, suddenly... But Grace surprised him telling him that she too was tired of their relationship, as it had less and less appeal. Peter was ready to grant her everything she wanted, alimony, money, even part of the publicity firm, Terry's custody, if only she agreed at once to the divorce, in order to marry at once his new flame. Grace accepted without batting an eyelash. Getting rid of Peter allowed Grace to dedicate full time to the publishing company of children books where she worked, and this was important even more, now that Terry was growing up. She liked her job, her salary was really good, and she was about being promoted to assistant director. The future seemed to smile again on Grace, who felt relieved by that decision. Moreover, the fight between father and son would end. Peter was closed, scarcely demonstrative, hypercritical with everybody but mainly with his son. On the contrary Terry was independent, impulsive, extroverted and had no problem to say what he thought, felt.
The last time Kevin saw the child, he was five years old, but he liked the description that his mother gave of the boy. A picture that Grace gave him, depicted him as a blond kid of uncommon beauty, showing a touching mixture of insecurity and a desire to challenge the world. His eyes were in particular very beautiful, fascinating. Kevin thought that this boy when adult would have all the women at his feet. And not just women, he added to himself with a smile.
When Terry knew his parents wanted to divorce, he said he was glad, and that anyway he wanted to stay with his mother. Peter became angry, took that as a personal offense so the couple fought for the umpteenth time. Terry went to shut himself in his room, declaring that he would not come out until his father left their home. Peter, furious, started to hit the door of his son's room with his fists, and it was then that Grace quarreled with him. He slapped her, and she chased him out of the house, slapping him at her turn. A painful scene but at last, Peter gone, the peace was back. The day after Terry left home to go to school and since then nobody saw him any more.
"Have you received a ransom request?" Kevin asked Grace.
"If only one came! At least I would have a proof he is still alive..."
"I contacted the roving squads of the police, hospitals, morgues... there is nobody corresponding to Terry's description."
"And the FBI? You hinted at the possibility of contacting them too..."
"I did. Sadly, unless it is a case involving two different States, they do not look after missing people. We don't know where Terry could be. We hope he is still in New York, as we would have better chance of finding him. A colleague in the FBI promised me they will send a note about him to their General Headquarters in Washington. This is all they can do."
"I don't want words, I want my son back!"
"Listen, Grace. My colleague at the FBI says there is a problem -- there is no proof Terry has been kidnapped, no ransom request, no telephone call, no one who saw him abducted against his will. He says that all we can do is to work together with the local police and hope all goes well. Look, I deal with drugs, sex, dirty money and all the other filthy things I don't even want to talk about. But unhappily I know nothing about missing boys, and not even my informers. I'll maintain all the contacts I can. I'll try all the old ones, but we need all the help we can get included that of the policemen in your neighborhood..."
Grace let her chin fall on her chest: "Peter is busying himself, he too. He feel guilty because of the bad fight. He went to the school, phoned Terry's friends, their parents..."
Kevin put his arm around her shoulders: "Grace, ninety per cent of the missing kids return to their parents in twenty four hours after they run away. I know well that at least two days have elapsed, but Terry could be on his way back right in this moment."
He didn't tell her that the biggest part of run away kids returned after being, sexually molested, quite often raped. Or that thousand of them never returned home at all, because they were killed, victims of the growing wave of ritual homicides, or by serial killers who preferred children as targets. Ken shuddered to himself.
"I told the police about Terry, as you advised me..."
"Yes, I know. I contacted them to alert them that I'm involved in the investigation as a family friend. They said that there is no problem at all, if just I keep them informed. They will investigate at his school, the neighborhood and along the way from your house to school."
Kevin knew why the district policemen didn't see Terry's case as urgent. Urgent was the case of the eight Dominicans slaughtered, the youngest one eight years old, the oldest seventy two, because one of them tried to cheat on a drug pusher. An urgent case was the twenty two year old policeman who was shot in the head because some big trafficker wanted to warn the neighborhood it was not convenient to collaborate with the police. A thirteen year old run away from home and who would possibly be back as soon as he felt hungry or scared or cold, was not an urgent case.
"Peter also published two ads on the front page of the Time. One says -- Terry, come back home, we love you. The other offers a reward of twenty five thousand dollars to who ever returns him to us..."
"That money will attract mad men and mythomaniacs, profiteers -- they will swear they have information they really don't have. But we can't help it. Drink your coffee."
"I don't know how one feels when someone he loves is killed... But I know how one feels when a loved one disappears and you don't know what happened to him -- it is horrible. Jesus, and I'm sitting here and don't know if my son went away forever or..."
Kevin squeezed her lightly, affectionately -- yes, she was really his sister, Grace. For her, he would do everything he could. He prayed in his heart that nothing irreparable happened to Terry... that he was still alive. He could have been killed. He could be dead in an accident. He could even have killed himself. Possibly he was already at home, sacking the fridge, while thinking of an alibi to justify his absence. Or he was chained in the cellar of a mad man, who was doing to him things that would shake the most hardened policemen... Kevin asked Grace if Terry had ever taken drugs.
"Good Lord, no! Not my son. Terry would never touch that disgusting stuff!"
Kevin nodded to the barman for the same. Now the young man was watching an episode of the serial "Magic Love Island". He thought that, leaving Grace, he had to eat something. And fast.
His district commander, vice-inspector Donald Stanford was a man of few words. He wouldn't allow Kevin to officially work on the Terry Dos Santos' case. Only on his own time. And he didn't have that much free time. So Kevin busied himself with official duties, and while he was doing other investigations, he profited to get up the nose of the patrol policemen at the bus station, showing them Terry's picture. He threatened the boys hanging around the slot machines, he menaced the tramps who lived by stealing from the trucks on the West Side docks, he showed Terry's picture to prostitutes, girls and boys, to pimps, to the con men playing three cards and to the owners of porno shops.
He also contacted several swindlers and people dealing in illegal betting, the owner of a twenty-four hour bowling alley, and the bouncers at the discos for young boys. He pushed on as far as places where a policeman was more disliked than a black pest, places where one needed to move with prudence, but where one could learn interesting facts.
He came back from his tours empty handed.
No witness, no rumors, no hint in any place. Apparently nobody saw or heard about Terry Dos Santos. On one side Kevin accepted reality, but on the other hand he never liked to lose and so he couldn't resign himself to defeat.
"Tell me he is alive..." Grace almost whined while he was helping her put on her lambskin jacket.
"He is alive." Kevin said asking himself if he fell once more into his own trap -- he lied to her as he lied to other people since he was a policeman.
Soon he was watching Grace leave in a taxi. He ordered a bite to eat -- he felt uncomfortable eating in front of his friend in anguish, a kind of odd, delicate reserve. But he was hungry.
Then, back to work. He had other cases to follow. For at least ten days he had been investigating the murder of two of their infiltrators; killed during investigations into the drug world. One of the agents was Danny Masterson, a twenty four year old boy hired from the Academy as he had been. The other, Steve Shallow, twenty five, had been hired from outside. They were strangers, unknown to the drug traffickers, perfectly trained, strong yet prudent, and still it had not been enough. Both had been found dead in Kevin's district between 59th and 86th West, between Central park and Riverside Drive. Both shot dead with a 22 caliber. Danny had been a karate student under Kevin, since he was seventeen. Kevin was affectionate to the boy. At first, Kevin thought that the two boys had been killed by a blockhead who thought it was worth taking away from those two presumed pushers drugs and money. Or that they committed some rash act. But the rumors circulating in the streets were that the two men had been sold away. Sold by policemen and killed by policemen. So people kept silent, feeling scared.
Kevin didn't belong to the homicide squad but when he asked to be assigned to the case, because of his long friendship with Danny and his family, to his amazement the case was given to him. For sure, for this case, the competence and experience of Kevin could be an advantage.
First thing, he phoned his contact, Ron: "Yes, the Internal Affairs Division is also convinced that there is a leak some where and until we stop it, all the operations are compromised. Though more were killed just a little before your two boys. Catch the bastard selling our men, before the media begins to suspect, or we will be in serious trouble -- the police do not a good reputation now days."
"I'm centering on Danny -- with whom he had business, who sold what to who, who were his enemies..."
"Start with his reports."
"A very good idea."
"If you need anything, I really mean anything, just call me. Ah, one last thing..."
"Yes?"
"The one, or those we are looking for, could be very close to us. Understood?"
"Perfectly."
"Don't trust anybody."
"I would trust not even my mother, who died fifteen year ago..." Kevin answered.
Next morning Kevin went to the Decs, the data bank used by the federal agents of the narcotic section, to avoid repeating efforts looking for things that others had already found. There flowed in from all the States reports of all the agents. The agents working at Decs were the managers of the traffic, avoiding conflicting information that appeared to touch the same field, and supplying all the stored information to who ever needed it for his investigations.
Kevin was interested in all the profiles of traffickers that Danny passed to the Decs. The profiles contained a physical description of the trafficker, his family and personal history, eventual aliases and names of previous offenders he frequented.
Before starting his work, Kevin spent some time doing his usual exchange of gossip about his colleagues, agents and secretaries. Coming to know about who had been transferred, who went on retreat to become the body guard of some TV preacher, who was planning to rear dogs in his free time and who during a raid in a brothel got a kick in his balls from a furious prostitute.
The item that Kevin told and which was a real success, was about a boss of the Pescia family. The judge had practically buried him in prison -- first charge thirty years, second charge fifty years, third ten years and so on for a total of three hundred twenty six years of prison.
The boss, exasperated, stood up suddenly and asked aloud: "What do you think I am, a sequoia?"
Forty minutes after telling this episode, Kevin was entering the Decs archive. He hugged and kissed Susan Decker, a thirty four year old woman needing affection who collected all the profiles. In the last years, Kevin had passed her a great number of them, they knew each other well. She was a hard worker, three times divorced and with a reputation to be really erotic and always on the hunt. She was perpetually mixed up in love stories, usually with black policemen, starting and ending with the same speed.
Susan loved to travel. The bulletin board behind her was filled with pictures shot of her in the Caribbean, during week-long skiing holidays in Aspen, in Las Vegas. On her breaks Susan only wanted to talk about her trips to Miami or to the Bahamas. She was an eternal chatterbox, a source of gossip.
He was about to ask her for all the profiles turned in by Danny when Felicia, a young assistant of Spanish origin, told her that there was a call for her on line two. The way how she barely arched an eyebrow on her childish face meant that it was a personal call. When Susan took the line, she transformed in another person. With her hand she instinctively caressed her breast and her face softened. She turned her back to Kevin and Felicia and whispered in the telephone. She burst in laughter with a sound so full of lusty promises that Kevin wished that some man laughed like that for him.
"Is she still with Russell?" he asked Felicia.
"You know how it is... A shame they had to closed his shoe store..."
Kevin nodded, it was really a shame. Russell Fort was a black ex-policeman, the same age as Kevin, with his head shaved and a deep and seducing voice. Kevin saw him once in the showers and thought that he had something else seducing, besides his voice, a pity he was a famous womanizer. He left active service when he got a permanent disability from the collapse of scaffolding during a pursuit. So he started his own business, opening a sport shoe shop in the elegant neighborhood of Columbus Avenue. Nothing he sold was cheap, just the wealthy yuppies could allow being pickpocketed in that way from Russell. But he always offered his former colleagues a good thirty per cent rebate, then it became convenient. Italian shoes, incredibly soft and well finished, really strong. Kevin liked Russell's shoes, but less the ex-policeman. Fort was the guy who in front of his clients laid the blame on the underpaid boys who worked as his shop assistants. And then, when they left the shop, laid the blame on the clients. He was the guy who answered you before you finished your question. The guy who thinks he is being witty, clever, better than you. He had to close his shop as he for the umpteenth time dodged taxes, both State and local.
Susan was continuing her telephone conversation, whispered and apparently indecent, forgetting about Kevin and Felicia.
"I'm somewhat busy. Can you please photocopy for me all the profiles made by Danny Masterson?"
The detective and Felicia talked briefly about Danny's death. But when the girl told him how Danny was so handsome and how she would have loved having dates with him, Kevin cut things short remembering he was in hurry. A few minutes later Felicia gave him a big envelope with the requested copies.
Right then Susan exclaimed: "Hurrah! Really they will send a limousine to take us this time too? It's fantastic! I am so excited that I feel wet... I have my luggage with me, what time do I need to come down?"
"What's up?" Kevin asked in a low voice to Felicia, nodding toward Susan.
"Russell. He's taking Susan to Atlantic City for the week end. They often go there. She always talks about it. She likes to be envied. Russell likes shows and games, and she too, I think. The hotel always sends a limousine to take them."
Kevin's eyes moved forth and back from Susan to Felicia. Trying to have a natural, casual tone, he asked the girl: "Do you know in what hotel they stop?"
"The Gold Castle, if I remember rightly. You know, I don't really listen to her when she starts to brag. I just let her talk..."
Kevin winked her and made a salutation gesture: "I understand you. Well, thanks for the copies. I have to run, now! Bye!"
Leaving the Decs, Kevin went in a telephone box and called Ron. Told him about the failure of the commercial activity of Fort, and about his relationship with Susan. About his next trip to Atlantic City on board of a limousine sent from the Gold's Castle Hotel. The hotel offered rides only to big gamblers. Fort's shop was closed. Where did he find the money to gamble there? The curious mind of Kevin wanted to know the truth. He wanted to discover who gave the money to Fort and why -- was not by chance that trough the girl he could have access to information that the traffickers would pay for its weight in gold? And about girls, was Fort faithful to Susan or did he soak his long cookie also in other bowls?
Thirty six hours later he came to know from Ron that the Gold's Castle supplied Fort with lot more than a few rides with the limousine -- meals, drinks, tickets for all the shows and a suite overlooking the main boulevard of Atlantic City. He moreover had a credit of fifty thousand dollars and the use of a car each time he was in town. In short, the treatment reserved to the very best clients. And all that for a man clearly lacking in means.
Fort was a inveterate gambler -- two months before he won a hundred and ninety thousand dollars. The following night he lost all of them and fifteen thousand dollars more. His ex wife asked and got the divorce, as he forced her to have sex with two men with whom he had a poker debt.
Fort opened his shop with a loan from the Li-Mac Associates Inc., a finance company of New Jersey dealing in commercial proprieties and loans on mortgage. The Li-Mac was a cover activity of the Mafia and belonged, not officially but practically to the Pescia family. When Fort was forced to close, the Li-Mac took over the shop.
"Fort borrowed the money from Paulie Pescia but couldn't give them back. The bastard has been lucky he had something that Pescia wanted -- they expanded the shop and now use it to wash dirty money." Ron concluded.
"Yes, but... how it comes that Fort is still alive? That a bit fishy..."
"Because he is protected by a man with whom neither you or I and nor Pescia's men, like the men of four more families, want never have nothing to do. Fort is protected by Dan Firestone."
"Oh Christ! This is the last straw! Dan Firestone?" Kevin said shuddering with a chill worst than that of the coldest winter.
Dan Firestone was a stout forty year old man. He had been a shrewd and violent policeman, before leaving the corp in nebulous circumstances. He always talked in a gentle, calm, monotonous tone and always behaved with perfect manners. It was whispered that when he was in the corp he made a large amount of money extorting money from drug peddlers, owners of night clubs and managers of gay pubs, all people who were not in a condition to complain. Doing it would have been dangerous -- Firestone was known as one who shot before asking for the papers, he had an appropriate name. He was known in service as the bully of the bullies.
His career as a defender of law and order ceased when he was accused of trying to sell, for fifty thousand dollars, a ten year old Porto Rican boy to a Belgian businessman who was suspected to manage an international racket of small boys for prostitution. But everything came to naught when the mother and the little boy left for South America and the Belgian man committed "suicide" jumping from the twenty eight floor of a London hotel. No witness, the case had been closed. And Dan Firestone gave notice.
Now Firestone lead Dan Firestone Associates, a company of private investigators with suspicious fame. Firestone hired only ex-policemen who had been kicked out of the corp for their violent methods and for infringing on the rules. It was suspected that Dan and his men carried out activity as killers for organized crime. But there were no proofs. They were able to work in a clean way, as they all knew the police methods.
Dan Firestone was a mystery for the largest part of people, including Kevin. The man had gathered not a few mentions for valor. He got a gold badge after a shooting where his companion lost his life -- he shot dead all eight of the opponents! And he had a IQ. decidedly above average. So then, how to explain his choices? Madness, sadism or simply bored? The fact was that the mafia and organized crime also feared and respected Dan Firestone -- being against him meant to have one's days numbered.
And he was protecting Fort. Why? He possibly, through Susan came to know about the infiltrators and... If you let a trafficker understand that you are able to identify an infiltrator, you have only to fix the price.
Kevin asked Ron one last thing -- did Fort have other women?
"If he's a pig? For each time he goes to Atlantic City with Susan, he goes there four more times with different women. And all of them younger and prettier than our Susan. I'm afraid you're right, Susan to him is just the goose that lays golden eggs."
Ron was laughing, but Kevin's thoughts were elsewhere. If Dan Firestone was his opponent, he could not allow himself mistakes or fast moves. That fucking bastard Dan Firestone! That afternoon, while he was reading the profiles written by Danny, he received a call from central -- had to go immediately to an office of the Treasure Department, on Church Street. He again had to deal with the Federals. A direct order of his highest superior, Kevin Black had to assist the Treasure agent Silvan York, until he received new orders. He couldn't allow himself to refuse. They said, at the Treasure, that this new task would not interfere with the other cases he was following.
He had worked before with the Federals, very seldom of his own spontaneous will, and each time he had been cheated. They were real professionals in getting all the credit for investigations reaching a good end. Moreover they had the means and authority that the local policemen could only daydream of.
Silvan York was in his forties, big, or let's just say impressive, a prominent chin, a massive neck and a snub nose. He must weight about thirty pounds more than Kevin who weighted one hundred and sixty pounds. Three quarters of York weight were all muscles and he alone was enough to fill a room.
He had written on his face and in the way he dressed that he was a Texan and if one could have any doubt, it was enough to hear him talk to become sure. He was talking to Kevin, outstretched on his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, and he underlined what he was saying with an extraordinary gesture. Kevin thought he was one of the best actors he met in all his life. The Treasure agent was interested in the investigation that Kevin was starting about Dan Firestone.
"I've heard you are tightening a nice noose around the neck of that turd."
"Yes, I can say we are working to that goal..." Kevin answered feeling bad foreboding.
"I like the way you are keeping your hands on the problem. Yes sir, I expect you will raise a good stink. Am I wrong, or your direct chiefs know nothing about this investigation?"
"No, nothing. For the moment I am centering on the relations between Dan Firestone and Russell Fort. Something tells me that you already know what it's about."
"Don't play smart with me, shrimp! I know what I know, the rest is not important. And that takes us to the reason of our meeting. I'm not here to prevent you from doing your investigation, I am just charged with fixing you some limits concerning something that we at the Treasure are carrying out. Let's say that we don't want you to waste your time."
"To infilter agents, and possibly even four, had been killed and we think that Firestone could have a hand in that. Don't tell me that the Department wants to shelve an inquiry for the murder of two agents!"
"Calm down, son! Nobody wants to shelve any thing. If you are able to lay bare Firestone's dirty tricks, go on -- we too want that fucking bastard framed."
York explained him that Dan Firestone was suspected to pass information to some forgers that the Department was hunting down. A certain forger boasted to his clients he had a sixth sense about the police. But in reality his sixth sense could be named Dan Firestone and the information gathered by several systems, one being to be able to lay hands on the police computers, a thing very difficult to prove.
Firestone was also suspected to trade in human flesh for the prostitution market, but this didn't concern the Department. But also in this activity he had another way to issue counterfeit dollars. York wanted Kevin to carry on with his inquiry, but to pass on to him all the information he acquired. York was really skilled in the interpersonal relations. But Kevin, always on alert, was not easy to cheat.
And finally York got to the point: "Firestone has a big client, most important, with whom he exchanges huge amounts of money. This client is about to come to New York. Firestone is the eyes and ears of this client here in the States, he keeps him informed about everything, and I mean really everything. This client is on our black list from... 1975. He is a Korean, he shot dead some of our men that year, and also for that we want him to pay, but... but first we have to understand how his movement of tax-free dollars works... And we don't want you..."
"Yung Chem!" Kevin exclaimed widening his eyes and feeling his heart jolting inside his chest: "And you think I can mess up the thing putting spokes in Yung's wheels, possibly even doing him in, right?"
"Let's say that we heard a rumor about you having a personal thing to square up with him, and that you are a guy with a lasting memory and that we are afraid you could bite more than you can chew. This must not happen, understood? Ah... I've heard also that you aren't lucky in your investigation about that kid... Terry Something. You will do better forgetting about it, stop it, at least for a while. Center just on Dan Firestone and on the two moles who were killed and see if you can solve the problem. If we frame Firestone, just to start, we will cut Yung's legs. Christmas is nearing. Did you already do your shopping for presents?"
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Like what?"
"When do I have to swear?"
"What bullshit are you talking about?"
Kevin explained to him. He insisted on being named a Marshal's assistant. Experience taught him that it was the only way to survive if you have to work with the Federals. So Kevin could accede to the federal warrants and also to the results of the investigations among State and State. He could carry with him a weapon through the boundaries and on a plane. And if problems arouse, the Federals could not get rid of him so easily. The Federals were not used to conceding these privileges to a state agent, and York didn't seem an exception.
"We are not asking you to invade Grenada, right? You have just to stay in touch with me and remember to stay away when Yung enters the scene."
"Or you can enroll me as a regular, or you will have to wait for a very long time for my reports. And I mean a really long time..."
"A small blackmail, isn't it? It seems like you want me to realize at once with whom I have to deal with. Well. then. Tomorrow morning at nine thirty. We will meet at the office of the District Attorney. Ah, Sergeant Black?"
The detective who was already at the door, turned towards the federal agent. The smile, that died out at his request, was back on the man's face: "I don't like you to force me doing something. You arrived on my path like stinky dog's shit. I want you to remember in future that it is you the one who has to lower his voice in our conversations. Stay well!"
Kevin didn't give a shit having tread on a Federal's toes. And he didn't intend at all to stop his search for Terry -- he promised it to Grace and that was that. Anyway, he would try to stay away from Yung, and would pass to York all the information he could find investigating on Fort and Firestone. All considered, tomorrow he will swear and so he too would have the means and power, much more than now.
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER FOURTH
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