at the Phoenix P.D. headquarters on the heels of a uniformed female cop.
A single plainclothes officer occupied one of the many desks within the squad room, and he barely gave them a cursory inspection as they passed before returning his attention to a newspaper. The rest of the room appeared abandoned—quiet as a morgue, almost. The officer led Bolan to an office in back and rapped on the closed door. At the sound of a muffled reply she opened it and poked her head in.
“Someone here to see you, sir,” she said.
“Who is it?” the voice asked with an impatient tone.
“Says his name is Cooper. Claims he has information about the shootings today.”
“Have him give his statement to Murach.”
“Sergeant Murach stepped out, sir,” the officer replied with some trepidation.
“Oh, for crissakes, don’t—” The man broke off and said, “All right, send him in.”
The officer stepped aside and smiled, obviously a bit uncomfortable, and gestured for Bolan to enter.
The Executioner smiled back and nodded as he stepped through the doorway and far enough into the room that the young woman could close the door behind him. The man who stood and came around the desk wasn’t anywhere near Bolan’s imposing height, maybe five foot ten, and Bolan immediately recognized him as the lead officer he’d shoved out of the way of enemy gunfire earlier that day. Bolan wondered if that man was Captain Joseph Hall, but the letters stenciled on the door of his office had now confirmed it.
The guy reached out a hand and Bolan shook it. Scrutiny, not recognition, flashed in Hall’s eyes and Bolan eased out the breath he’d been holding. Hall hadn’t gotten a look at his face.
“Have a seat, sir,” Hall said.
Bolan casually plopped into the chair as Hall returned to his desk and adjusted his tie. “You have information about what happened today?”
“I was part of what happened today,” Bolan replied easily.
Hall’s eyes flicked up from his desk and locked on Bolan with a hard stare. Then something dawned on him, something like a realization, and his body tensed.
Bolan held up a palm. “Easy, Hall. I’m not looking for trouble.”
“Then you shouldn’t have walked in here.”
Bolan remained impassive.
Hall continued, “You realize I can arrest you right here just on the suspicion that you were involved in today’s incident?”
“As long as you realize I’m the one who spared your wife and kids a lot of grief today,” Bolan said.
“That’s the only reason you’re not in handcuffs yet.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
“No. And why not?”
“Let’s just say that we’re on the same team.”
“How do I know that? You a cop?”
“Not exactly.”
“Work for the government?”
“Sometimes.”
Hall chuckled and sat back in his chair a little, although Bolan noted he still hadn’t let down his guard. The Executioner didn’t doubt Hall had a gun in reach. “You care to show me some kind of identification to prove that? An authorization signed by the FBI or Justice Department, perhaps?”
Bolan smiled. “Let’s pretend for this moment that I’m telling you the truth. Give me five minutes to explain. After that, if you’re not convinced, you can do what you like.”
“Why should I?”
“The intelligence you got on that meet today was bogus,” Bolan said. “The Sinaloa cartel was setting a trap and you walked right into it. If I hadn’t intervened when I did, you’d all be dead. That enough reason?”
Hall sat in stony silence for a while before finally saying, “Fine…you got your five minutes.”
“Hector Casco wasn’t going to be at that meet,” Bolan continued. “In fact, I doubt there was any meet at all. I got there before you and I marked five scouts, two above, three at street level.”
“It was you at the diner?”
Bolan nodded.
“Yeah, you were a real hit for the waitress there,” Hall said matter-of-factly and scratched his neck. He smiled at Bolan and then said, “You care to elaborate on how you know about Hector Casco?”
“I have sources of my own,” Bolan said. “I called one of them right before your raid went down. My source told me that this was some of the best hard evidence you’d obtained since the beginning of this year. When I heard that, I figured you’d be itching to jump on it and that you’d do whatever was needed to obtain a warrant. Problem is, Hector Casco had already figured that out.”
“So you still haven’t answered my question,” Hall said. “What do you know about it?”
“A lot. Casco’s recent activities here make it obvious he’s trying to take over the pipeline from Nogales. Only trouble is, he’s playing for keeps, which means he’s not looking to take on partners or put up with the competition.”
“What’s your point, Cooper?”
“That you’re about to get in over your head,” Bolan said. “Take Ann-Elise McCormack. You think that was about ransom money?”
“Why not?” Hall asked. “What happened this morning. That you, too?”
Bolan nodded. “Montera was already gone when I arrived, but yeah, I’m the one who took down the kidnappers and returned the girl to her home.”
“She’s one tough kid,” Hall replied. “Apparently, every time the FBI asked who it was that rescued her she’d just start crying, insisting she really didn’t remember.”
“She was grateful,” Bolan said. “Look, the fact is that if Casco plans to take control of the drug and gun-running action in this area, things will heat up quickly between him and the competition. Before you know it, you’ll have a war on these streets between Los Negros and Los Zetas that’ll make what’s happening down in Mexico pale by comparison. You’ve already gotten a taste of how little they care for innocent bystanders.”
“So what are you offering?”
“At this point, a sort of partnership,” Bolan said. “You can still handle the cases the way you feel you need to, and any intelligence I gather during my own operations, I’ll screen and pass on to you if I think it’s relevant.”
“If it’s not enough to get warrants, it does me no good. I got plenty of CI’s out there willing to rat out a nickel-and-dime-bag crook for a few bucks. I don’t need any more of those.”
