“I think it was something religious, like Moses, or Peter, or Paul.”
“Paul? Religious?”
“What, you don’t know the Apostles?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Gasper. All this and no name?”
“Well, I can tell you where he hangs out.”
“Where?”
“The Winchester. A bar over on Main Street. He’s some kind of a pool shark. I do a lot of business down there.”
Nick went to the door and called Jennifer Steele into the office, then closed the door behind her. She wore a borrowed FBI windbreaker and had on her black baseball cap minus the ponytail. If she were bald and wore a lavender sports jacket it wouldn’t have detracted from her looks.
Gasper jumped to his feet and offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Gasper Continelli.”
Steele had one eye on Nick whiled she exchanged pleasantries with the character.
“He’s a big fan of the police,” Nick deadpanned.
“What’s up?” she asked, shaking off Gasper’s groping handshake.
“Are you familiar with a place called the Winchester?” Nick asked.
“Sure.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Yes.”
“Are you familiar with anyone who might be hustling pool down there?”
“Well, hustling might be a strong word considering the amount of money-”
Nick held up his hand. “No, you misunderstand me. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just looking for a name. Anyone in particular you might remember shooting pool and,” Nick chose his words carefully, “winning fairly often?”
Steele looked down in deep thought. Gasper dropped back down into his chair and waited for Steele to come up with someone.
Finally, Steele looked up at Nick. “The only person in this town that could even be considered a pool shark is a guy by the name of Angel.”
Gasper snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Angel. I knew it was religious. I’m good at association.”
“And numbers and faces,” Nick quipped. “What’s his last name?” Nick asked Steele.
“I don’t know,” Steele said. “I’m not even sure Angel is his real name. Nicknames are real common up here.”
“She’s right about that,” Gasper chimed agreeably. “Something about small towns and nicknames. I never quite understood it.”
“Great.” Nick looked down at his watch. Less than two hours to go and he was discussing nicknames with a bookie whose major concern in life was having to attend a driver’s education class.
“Tell you what,” Gasper said, “it’s a little early, but there’s a chance he’s down at the Winchester shooting pool right now. I’ll go down there and check it out. If he’s there, I’ll bring him to you.”
Nick couldn’t afford to augment his band of mercenaries any more than he already had. He looked at Steele. “You know what he looks like?”
She nodded.
Nick walked around the desk and offered Gasper his hand. The bottom-heavy man lifted himself from his seat and vigorously shook Nick’s hand. “Thanks for the offer,” Nick said, “but we can take it from here.”
“It’s been my pleasure.” Gasper smiled. “That’s all you need?”
“That’s plenty,” Nick said.
“Give Tommy my regards.”
Nick clasped his free hand over their handshake in a sign of respect. “I’ll take care of the speeding ticket.” He paused and eyed Gasper intently. “You did your country proud on this one. You know that.” Nick struck the proper chord to send the man off with a smile on his face.
Once Gasper was gone, he looked at Steele and Silk. “I want both of you to head down to the Winchester and find this Angel character. I don’t care what it takes, find him.”
Steele looked at Silk. “No offense, but I don’t need an escort.”
“None taken,” Silk said.
“I want Silk with you,” Nick said. “In case Angel isn’t there and no one wants to cooperate with an FBI agent.”
Steele’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”
Nick spoke deliberately, trying to reason out his response with the slower tempo. “I’m simply suggesting that Silk can do certain things that go beyond the scope of your capabilities.”
Steele frowned. “You mean things like intimidation and brute force?”
Silk stood silently, allowing Nick to do all the work for him.
“Yes, I mean intimidation, brute force and animal husbandry if it’s called for. If this guy knows where the KSF headquarters is then he’s our best chance to save the White House, and maybe even our country.”
Steele looked as if she was ready to walk out, but didn’t want to be insubordinate. “Don’t you think this is going over the line?”
“Probably,” Nick said. “The line’s getting blurrier and blurrier all the time. But I don’t have time to debate protocol with you, Agent Steele. If you don’t want to go, tell me, and I’ll send someone else.”
Steele looked over at Silk who appeared to be suppressing a grin. “Are you at least going to give me a chance to do this legally?” she asked him.
Silk looked offended. “Of course. What do I look like, a monster?”
She looked back at Nick and seemed ready to agree, when Nick said, “Whatever Silk needs to do, he does. No questions asked.”
“And he receives a get-out-of-jail-free card?” Steele asked.
Nick walked behind Skrugs’ desk, sat down, and placed his hands flat on the desktop. “Look,” he said, “you saved my partner’s life. I owe you. Please work with me here. We’re dealing with someone who will kill woman and children just for something to do. He tried to kill my wife. I need you to give me some room to maneuver.”
Steele’s look softened. She nodded.
Nick didn’t say any more. He’d taken on more responsibility than he could handle and it didn’t hold up to the scrutiny of a fellow FBI agent. It seemed the faster he acted the more palatable his commands became.
Steele left with Silk trailing her. He was on his toes. A lion on the prowl. Nick wondered exactly what he had just unleashed. He looked up at the cable dangling from the ceiling. “Fuck you, Kharrazi,” Nick spat. “Fuck you and everything I’ve become to get you.”
Chapter 34
Jennifer Steele’s house was less than a mile from the Winchester, so she decided to stop for a quick change of clothes. Walking into a cowboy bar wearing an FBI windbreaker wasn’t the most effective way to extract information. She had decided to use another tactic and by the time she reached the bar, the transformation was complete.
“You’re one talented FBI agent,” Silk said, leering at her spaghetti-strapped top and tight-fitting jeans.
Steele was uncomfortable using her body as a tool, but she despised the alternative that Silk presented.
They were outside of the Winchester. Steele applied lipstick while looking into a compact mirror. “You are going to give me a decent shot at this aren’t you?” she asked.
“Hey, a guy takes one look at you and he’s spilling all of his secrets including some stuff about his mom.”
“Thanks. I think.” Steele put the finishing touches on her face, then snapped her compact shut and slipped it into her tiny purse, next to her gun. “Give me a couple of minutes head start,” she said, leaving Silk to pace on the creaking wooden floorboards that fronted the bar.
The Winchester had been a large barn that was converted into a cowboy bar over twenty years ago. The Berlin wall had crumbled and private citizens were planning space travel, yet time seemed to stand still inside of the Winchester. Other than a few obvious tourists, the standard attire included jeans, cowboy boots, Stetson hat, and the occasional bandanna. There were piles of hay bound up in strategic spots, giving the place more authenticity than it really needed. On the overhead speaker system, Willie Nelson pleaded for mommas not to allow their babies to grow up to be cowboys. It was already too late for most of the clientele.
Steele scanned the room. The bar itself was a square-shaped wooden frame with shelves of whiskey covering up a full-length mirror. A bartender rang a cowbell, then dropped a few dollar bills into the silver bucket tip jar that hung from a nail.