“Yeah?” said Danny. “And how was I supposed to know that?”
“Look up ‘willful blindness’ or ‘conscious avoidance,’” Yeager said. “The court assumes you didn’t ask any questions because you didn’t want to know where Galvin’s money came from. You deliberately closed your eyes to the crime.”
“Which means,” Slocum said, “you can be prosecuted even if you claim you didn’t know a thing.”
Danny swallowed hard. The room seemed to tilt one way, then the other. “Prosecuted? For what? For innocently accepting-”
“Please listen closely,” said Yeager. “We are a phone call away from making an appointment with the US Attorney. Once that happens, the toothpaste’s out of the tube.”
“What the hell is this?” Danny’s mouth had gone dry. He was having difficulty getting the words out.
Slocum gave a small, nasty smile. “This is conspiracy to commit money laundering, mail and wire fraud, and bank fraud. And that’s just for starters. You’re looking at thirty to forty years in prison.”
“That’s federal time,” said Yeager. “Know what that means? No parole.”
“Then again,” said Slocum, “I don’t think you’d last very long in prison. Our Mexican friends are going to worry about how much you know, whether you’re going to start cooperating. They have guys in our prisons everywhere. We can’t protect you.”
“You don’t seriously think you can prosecute me on these bogus, trumped-up charges, do you?” said Danny.
“I like our odds,” said Yeager.
Slocum shrugged. “Even if these charges don’t hold up in court? You really want to spend the next five years of your life fighting the system? We’re the government. We’ve got hot-and-cold running lawyers and all the time in the world. You, on the other hand? You hire a half-decent lawyer to try to get you out of this, your legal bills could reach a couple million dollars by the time all’s said and done. Doesn’t look like you have that kind of money in the bank.”
“And I wouldn’t count on your friend Galvin to bankroll your defense,” said Yeager.
“Not once we seize his assets,” said Slocum. “And yours. Your condo, your crappy car, and that thirty-two K in retirement money? Gone. Poof.”
“Sure, in the end, you might be able to persuade a judge and jury to acquit you,” Yeager said. “Though I wouldn’t want to bet on it, since the Department of Justice rarely loses a case. In the meantime, you and your family will be dragged through the gutter. Good luck trying to get your good name back. Your poor daughter-Abigail, right?-having to live under that shadow? Terrible thing to do to a kid.”
Dazed, his head reeling, Danny sank down into a chair. “What the hell do you want?” he said.
14
“Your help, that’s all. We just want your cooperation,” Yeager said.
“On what?” Danny said.
“Access to Galvin. You seem to be one of the few people he spends time with.”
“I barely know the guy,” Danny said. “Before last night, I don’t think I’d said ten words to him.”
“Yeah?” said Slocum. “What happened to ‘he’s a friend, he trusts me’?”
“Your daughter certainly spends a lot of time with his daughter,” said Yeager.
“Keep my daughter out of this.”
“I wish we could. But if you refuse to cooperate, we’ll have no choice.”
Danny felt nauseated. “Meaning what? What kind of cooperation are you talking about?”
Yeager looked like he was about to reply, but then he fell silent. He slid a piece of paper across the table toward Danny.
Then Slocum said, “As soon as you sign the cooperation agreement, we’ll get into the weeds.”
Danny scanned it quickly. It said Confidential Source Agreement and DEA form 473.
It felt almost unreal, as if he’d stepped out of his ordinary life and into another world. Confidential source. The Drug Enforcement Administration.
It was sickening.
He tried to steel himself, to gather the resources necessary to fight back. “What do I get if I sign this?”
Yeager said slowly, “A pass on prosecution. A chance for a happy ending.”
Danny’s heart thudded and he felt acid rising in his gullet. Was there actually a way out of this nightmare? “But… what do you want me to do?”
Yeager turned to Slocum, who nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Slocum said, “We need an ear inside Galvin’s house.”
Danny looked at him for a few seconds. “Jesus Christ… You want me to wear a wire?”
“Sign the form and we’ll talk specifics,” said Slocum.
He shook his head. “I want to talk to a lawyer. I have that right.”
Yeager shrugged, palms up. “Be our guest. But one word of warning?”
Danny looked at him and waited.
“You might want to be careful who you talk to.”
“Actually, I’ll talk to whoever the hell I please.”
Yeager shrugged. “Of course you will. But there’s a reason we brought you in the way we did. These cartels have eyes and ears everywhere. If the word gets out that you’ve been meeting with the DEA, your value as a CS is blown.”
“CS?” asked Danny.
“Confidential source,” said Yeager.
“If they find out you met with us,” said Slocum, and he sliced a finger across his throat. He gave a leering smile. “So you might wanna be careful who you confide in.”
For a long moment, Danny examined the floor, the worn gray industrial carpet. His head swam. He needed to gather his thoughts, get some top-notch legal advice, be very careful about his next move. Whichever way he decided to go, the consequences were serious and permanent.
“If I decide to sign this,” he said, “how do I get in touch with you? Just… come back here?”
“Absolutely not,” said Yeager. “This is a satellite office for our group. A gray site. Undisclosed working location.”
“Think about it like this,” Slocum said. “The cartel keeps a close watch on the main DEA headquarters in the JFK Federal Building-who comes and goes. They see someone associated with Galvin going in for a meeting at DEA? They’re gonna do something about that.”
Yeager wrote a number on the back of his business card and handed it to Danny. “Call this number when you want to come back.”
Slocum said, “You really don’t want to take your time about it.”
“Or what?”
“Or the deal’s off the table. And we come after you with handcuffs.”
15
Danny stumbled out of One Center Plaza into the blazing sunlight. He felt numb.
He found a Starbucks and got a coffee and sat for a while and thought. He was, it seemed, well and truly screwed.
He signed on to the Internet. Googled “sinaloa cartel.”
Google’s autocomplete feature suggested a few similar searches:
sinaloa cartel chainsaw
sinaloa cartel members
sinaloa cartel news
Unable to stop himself, he selected “sinaloa cartel chainsaw.” He clicked on that link and clicked ENTER to confirm he was eighteen years of age or older, and a video started to play.
It showed a couple of paunchy shirtless guys in Mexico. Talking in Spanish. Probably dope dealers or hit men for the Sinaloa cartel. Very bad guys, looking scared as children, tied up on the ground, against an adobe wall.
Then someone comes out wearing military camo fatigues and starts up a chain saw, the kind you’d use to cut down a tree. In a few seconds, he beheads both of them. Once second they’re alive, the next they’re decapitated.