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Mac was torn as he ended the call with Angie. He knew she was upset by his decision — and his vague description of what he was going to do. She had every right to be, he conceded. She organizes a rescue he desperately needed, and he says ‘thanks, babe,’ and heads off to more trouble?
Yeah, she was right to be angry. But he just couldn’t let this go.
He probably should have done this earlier instead of the ride-along, actually. If he had known McBride was going to step in and take over the ride-along, he would have.
Well, maybe not.
Never let them see you flinch.
He rotated shoulders, easing the stress out of them, as he sat in front of the Boar’s Head. He was damned tired. He’d led those bastards on a merry chase through the reservoir’s woods. Fortunately, they weren’t particularly good at tracking — or being quiet. Mac could always hear them coming.
He’d already tested all the perimeter roads for an exit. There were a couple of places he thought he might be able to elude them, but then what? The best spots to escape were the farthest from the precinct building and his car. He’d been about ready to try one of them, when he got the text from Angie.
And he got sloppy.
He ran right up on top of the younger cop who had protested doing this. The man stared at Mac, and Mac had stared back. He had his keys clenched in his fist — just like they taught women to do in self-defense classes. He had always figured if it worked for a woman with limited upper-body strength, he ought to be able to mess someone up bad with them. Looked like he might find out.
The man’s radio crackled: Sergeant, I think someone slipped past us on the perimeter. Can’t find them, but I think we’ve been compromised.
The officer met Mac’s eyes. “Remember this,” he said, and he turned and walked back toward Sgt. McBride — because, of course, that asshole wasn’t combing the woods. He was sitting back at his car.
Mac swallowed hard, seeking to control the nausea that surged up. Too damn close. He had been more cautious as he made the rest of the way to the parking lot where Angie and Sherry Grant waited for him.
He tipped his head back on the headrest. Angie was right. He should go home. But he knew if he did, he wouldn’t get a chance at this guy again.
First thing, he needed to call Shorty — he’d probably saved his life, even if he had put Angie in danger.
“Yeah? You ever try and stop that woman from doing what she thinks she should?” Shorty said sourly when Mac fumed at him. “And over the phone? She just hung up on me and ignored me. Everyone ignored me! What the hell is going on, Mac?”
Mac frowned. “You called Dunbar?”
“Dunbar, Warren — I even called your boss.”
“From what phone? You were on the line with me.”
There was silence, and then Shorty swore. Mac waited, because Shorty rarely lost it like this. The last time Shorty had made him promise he wouldn’t need to carry a gun again. Well, that ship had sailed more than once.
“I sent texts from my computer line,” Shorty said finally. “Probably came in as number unknown. In fact, I know it did. So that explains the cops. But wouldn’t Janet check out an unknown number?”
Mac paused. “A text? Maybe, maybe not. Depending on what it said. If you used my name, then yeah, that’s disturbing. Can you call her? On your real phone? That does worry me.”
“No,” Shorty said. “You call her. And then let me know she’s OK. Because if something’s wrong, it’s not going to be me who can rescue her. And it was what an hour ago? More? I’m going to bed.”
“Shorty?” Mac said quietly. Shorty paused. “Thanks.”
“De nada,” Shorty said. “Just, can you stay out of trouble for a while? I sat here worried I was going to listen to them kill you alternating with fantasizing that everyone but me had a Friday night social life. I think I’d like a Friday night social life. Don’t you?”
“You usually have one,” Mac said puzzled. He’d never known Shorty to have trouble finding a date.
“Not since Parker House,” Shorty said finally. “I.... Never mind. It’s not important. You’re safe right?”
“I’m safe,” Mac assured him. Not really a lie — he was safe right this minute, wasn’t he? “Thanks to you.”
“Good,” Shorty said. “I’m turning my phone off and going to bed. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
Mac set his phone aside and stared out the window at the bar. He could go home. Should go home. Then he shook his head. No, something said do it now. He considered his next steps.
What did he know?
What did he want to know?
Two questions that often helped him focus on an upcoming interview. Really, that’s what this was, he thought. Just another interview. He snorted.
Kind of.
His cousin had said to get on the look-away list, you went into the Boar’s Head and told the bartender you wanted to buy Josh Hill a drink. The bartender poured a drink, pointed him out, and you negotiated with Hill for whatever you needed.
So the bartender had to be in on it. Did he get a cut? A finder’s fee? How much did he really know about what Josh Hill was up to?
The Boar’s Head lived up to Mac’s admittedly low expectations. It was a trendy spot just north of Green Lake, in a trendy neighborhood. Mac liked Green Lake — liked that Seattle had places like Green Lake. But bars like this made his skin crawl. It was in mock-Tudor style, and was supposed to mimic an English pub. The first floor was painted dark brown, the second floor and the pointed arch was white stucco with dark brown beams. But it was too large, too squared away. Nothing sagged. Mac had hit a lot of English pubs during one memorable leave, and they were great places. But they were old, ancient by American standards, and they creaked a bit. Corners had settled, things listed.... They tended to be dark, small places, where old-timers came for their nightly pint — or two. And people really did play darts in them. Mac smiled reminiscently.
This place was new — crisp — although not as big as Mac had feared. Bright spotlights focused on the door — did they think people couldn’t find it? And the parking lot — a very large parking lot — was also well lit, and quite full. Popular place, apparently. But it made Mac grumpy. Well, that might have as much to do with McBride as with this so-called pub, he acknowledged.
He parked his SUV down the street and left everything but his keys and wallet in it. There was a bouncer, but he just nodded at Mac when Mac entered the barroom.
It was everything Mac had feared. The waitresses were overworked and practically running. They were wearing white peasant tops with those black corsets that emphasized their breasts, and tight black trousers. The tables were crowded with 30-somethings. His age? Mac winced. Was this what he had to look forward to? He preferred the Bohemian on Queen Anne with its dance floor and a DJ who cared about music, and a crowd that represented the best of Seattle’s diversity.
Getting grumpy, he chided himself.
Mac pushed his way through the crowd to the bar — a heavy dark-wooded thing, that had been chemically aged to look old, with a mirrored backdrop and racks of bottles. There was a chalkboard with beers on tap — local microbrews. Well that was a step up from what he’d feared.
Not that it mattered. He didn’t drink. Not anymore. It had been — and he had to stop to figure it — nine years. Ironic that. He’d only been legal to drink for a few months when the Marines strong-armed him into rehab. He’d been an alcoholic binge drinker since he was 13.
He shook his head. There were two bartenders, but one was a woman, and Mac had gotten the impression from Toby it was a man he was looking for. Given McBride’s attitudes about women, he rather doubted he’d use a woman in a critical role like this.
The male bartender was in his mid-30s, much like the crowd. He had sandy brown hair, and a square face flushed a bit from the heat and the pace he was working at. Mac thought he was probably 6-foot tall, heavy through the shoulders, like he might have played high school football but didn’t work out much anymore. He was laughing at something a man at the bar said.
Mac watched for a bit, getting a sense of him. He knew a lot of bartenders. Good people, most of them. You had to like people to do the job. It wasn’t one anyone would ever hire him for, Mac thought with amusement. Bouncer? He’d done that — did a lot of that in college, actually. Good money. And DJing. He liked to DJ — that he did for free if anyone would let him. Most of the DJs at the Bohemian were happy to have him sub while they took a break out back. But he’d make a piss-poor bartender.
Mac shouldered his way up to the bar, ignoring a man’s protest. He’d been on that barstool too long already, Mac thought, noting his slurred words.
“What can I get ya?” the bartender asked, barely looking at him.
“An O’Doul’s,” Mac said. He slid over a $20. “I’d like to buy Josh Hill a drink — have you seen him?”
The bartender looked at him then. “Not the usual time to catch Josh,” he said. “Try after work — he’s more the happy-hour crowd.”
Mac nodded as if that was to be expected. “Kind of time sensitive,” he said a bit vaguely. “You know how it is.”
“Yeah?” the guy said. “You got a name?”
“Mac,” Mac replied. “You?”
“They call me Sandy around here,” he said with a laugh and a gesture toward his hair. “But I’m Daniel.”
Mac accepted his O’Doul’s and took a sip. He nodded. “It would be a favor to me if you could help me out,” he said. He left the change on the counter — a pretty generous tip for a $5 beer.
Daniel hesitated. “I could make a call,” he said slowly. He glanced at the money and waited.
Mac snorted. Nothing subtle there. He pulled out a $50 and slid it under the other bills. “If he shows,” he said.
Daniel pulled out his cell and punched in a number. Has him on speed dial, Mac noted.
Has someone on speed dial, anyway.
The bartender turned away slightly and murmured into his phone. He turned back to Mac. “No can do,” he said. “Not tonight. Tomorrow at 5 though. He said he’d be by then.”
Mac reached out and snatched his phone away from him. Ignoring his indignant squawk, he looked at the call history. The call had gone to McBride, not Josh Hill. He paged through the contacts, glanced at the phone number for Hill, and memorized it.
“You and I are going to go out back and have a chat,” Mac said softly. “Tell your partner you need 15 minutes.”
“A bit busy for a break,” Daniel protested.
“Tell her,” Mac repeated.
Daniel whistled softly. When the other bartender looked his way, he tapped his wrist. She nodded.
“Good job,” Mac approved. “Now, does this place have a back door?”
It did. Daniel-the-bartender led him down the hallway past the bathrooms, and out the back door to the alley. Mac could smell the dumpsters. And someone had vomited out here not too long ago. He grimaced. There were things he didn’t miss at all about drinking.
Mac turned to Daniel and, without warning, threw him up against the wall. Jamming his fist under Daniel’s chin and raised him up slowly on to his toes.
“So, I’m feeling mean,” Mac said conversationally. “It’s been a rough day, and you just called the cops on me. Not Josh Hill... you called Sgt. McBride?”
The bartender flinched. He tried to swallow, but it was hard in this position. Mac waited until the bartender looked at him.
“Is that standard procedure?” Mac asked.
Daniel shook his head.
“Why did you call McBride?”
“I recognized you,” Daniel got out. “Saw you on television. I doubted you would need to buy Josh a drink. So I called the sergeant — see what he wanted me to do.”
“And he said?”
“Tell you that Josh wasn’t available, and to come back tomorrow,” Daniel said.
Mac frowned. What was McBride doing that he wasn’t down here right now, sirens blaring?
“You should go,” Daniel said. “He sounded pissed.”
Mac laughed. “Oh, I just bet he is. We played cat and mouse all evening, and he lost.” He considered the man. If he was running a criminal conspiracy, this man wouldn’t have made the cut. Too guileless. Too easy to read. “How the hell did you get in the middle of this anyway?”
“Might let up a bit? I’ll tell you but it’s hard like this,” Daniel said through clenched teeth.
Mac let him slide down the wall onto his feet and pulled back his fist. “Talk.”
Daniel’s story wasn’t all that surprising. McBride had it down to a step-by-step diagram, apparently. Ask someone to do a small favor, let the favor grow, add money. Add a lot more money....
Josh Hill had been a regular at Boar’s Head for happy hour practically since the bar opened. He was a good tipper, an easy drinker, and he seemed to draw a crowd — all things that made him a welcomed customer. So he asked Daniel for a favor. “He said sometimes he did business with people he didn’t know well. And they might seek him out here. Give him a heads up, and send them his way, he said. And there’d be money for my trouble.”
Daniel shrugged. “Didn’t seem like there was all that much to it, to be honest. And an extra tip wasn’t to be sneered at. But it became a daily thing, and I’m starting to wonder what is he in to? Is he dealing drugs? Because that wouldn’t be cool. Get in trouble with the Liquor Board over something like that. Cops are bad but losing a liquor license would mean shutting down.”
“You own the place?” Mac asked.
He shook his head. “No, but I’ve worked here for a decade. It’s a good place to work. The owners are good bosses, and I make enough money to have a family, own a home. That’s not often said in my business.”
“Not in mine either,” Mac said ruefully. “How much of that money comes from what Hill pushes your way?”
“At first? Not much,” Daniel said. “But like I said, the traffic grew, and I got worried. I said something to a cop I know. And I got a visit from Sgt. McBride.”
Mac’s interest sharpened. “And?” he prompted.
“He wanted to let me know that Josh Hill was a friend of his, and he was just trying out a new way of doing face-to-face marketing.”
“When was this?”
Daniel considered it. “God, time flies,” he muttered. “Probably four years ago.”
Mac nodded. “Did that make sense to you? That visit?”
“Hell, no,” Daniel said with disgust. “Why would a cop know anything about new marketing techniques? And need to come vouch to a bartender about a friend? No, that didn’t make sense.” He hesitated. “Besides, there were rumors about McBride. So my alarm bells are going off.”
“But here you are,” Mac pointed out. He was happy to let an interview, even an odd one in an alley behind a bar, take it’s time and weave through whatever. But his instincts said McBride wasn’t going to let go of him, not if he knew he was down here.
“Here I am,” Daniel said with a sigh. “We have a baby who needed extra medical care, and I needed extra money. And Sgt. McBride came back, said he’d heard about my difficulties, and if I wanted to help him out, I could make better money. And I bit. He’s a cop, right?”
“A dirty cop,” Mac said.
“You have no idea. So it became a side gig. People come looking for Josh, and I point him out. They take over a drink for him, and I get a big tip. But then I send Sgt. McBride a text to let him know a customer has come in.” Daniel reflected on that and shrugged. “No trust among thieves? I don’t know.”
“And that’s it?” Mac said. “That’s your role?”
Daniel hesitated, and Mac frowned. “Don’t,” he said softly. “You’re no match for the trouble I can deliver. And trust me, I want to pound on someone so bad I can taste it. Don’t let it become you.”
“So, Josh asked me to card the people who ask to buy him a drink,” Daniel said rapidly. “And I scan it when I turn around to get the drinks. I’ve only gotten caught a couple of times — people are really clueless — and Josh handled it for me. I send the scans to McBride.”
“So you know everyone who has come to Josh Hill to pay for look-away protection,” Mac said slowly.
Daniel paused, and then nodded, as if he hadn’t really thought about it. “On my phone,” he said, looking at it in Mac’s hand.
“Did you know what they were buying from Josh?” Mac asked.
Daniel gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah. A couple of people talked to me, while I got the drink. Nervous about what they were doing, I guess. And then I started picking up things. I just kept my mouth shut, and my head down.”
“And how do they pay you? A finders’ fee? Or a percentage?”
“Finders’ fee, I guess. I don’t know how much they are paying Josh.”
“And you started seeing things in the paper that matched the people who were coming in,” Mac speculated, figuring it out. Daniel nodded. “Demanded more money?”
Daniel nodded again.
“Did you see the story about Josh Hill’s wife?”
Daniel closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “She’s a nice lady. I guessed Sgt. McBride was protecting him, because he’s still free. Still comes in here most afternoons after work.”
A door slammed, and Mac pushed Daniel back against the wall, again, his hand over Daniel’s mouth. “Daniel? We need you,” said a female voice. The other bartender. “We’ve got cops. They’re looking for you.”
“Tell her you’re sick, you vomited, and you need to go home,” Mac ordered.
“Smell the vomit?” Daniel said weakly. “I’m sick. I’ve been trying to get it together enough to go home. You’ll have to handle it. I can’t go back inside if I’m throwing up.”
“Jesus, Daniel,” she said with disgust. “You owe me. Get out of here.” She went back inside and the door slammed again.
“Listen hard, because you’ve a choice to make,” Mac said softly. “McBride has lost control of the operation, and by Monday it’s going to break wide open. He’s doing cleanup. He might be looking for me — probably is. But he’s gunning for you, too, because you can finger him, Josh, and all of their clients. So you go back in there, and you’re a dead man. You need to know that.”
Daniel stared at him terrified.
“I know a guy in Internal Affairs,” Mac said. “This is your one option — your one get out of jail free card. And it’s going to expire in minutes. You come with me, I’ll take you to him, and you can turn state’s evidence. They’ll protect you and your family. In or out?”
Daniel hesitated. They could hear shouts now from inside the restaurant — cops were rousting the place. Both of them knew the sounds.
“Can you get us out of here?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“Let’s go.”
Mac walked down the alley to the street at the end of it. He had a grip on Daniel’s arm, because he didn’t trust him not to run. Couldn’t blame him really. But he had the man’s cell phone and he wasn’t giving it back. No, that was going to Nick, with or without the man.
The phone rang, and Mac hastily shut the sound off, glancing at the caller ID. Sgt. McBride. He wondered if the cop had a ‘find me’ on this phone. Maybe not. Mac didn’t think Daniel had ever given McBride reason to be suspicious. He moved faster.
Once on the street, Mac made a right, and the two of them walked quickly around the block. Mac was still holding onto the man, hoping anyone who saw them would see him helping a sick friend get home. It’s just a quarter of a block, he reassured himself.
Mac beeped his SUV open and told Daniel to get inside. He locked the door before walking around, and then unlocked it again for himself. Starting the car, he pulled away from the bar, and headed south to the freeway.
“Jesus, there must have been every cop in town there,” Daniel said shakily. “I saw four patrol cars. What the hell did you do?”
“Escaped,” Mac said grimly. “And now I’ve not only escaped, I’ve got you.”
“My family,” Daniel said suddenly. “McBride knows where I live. Will he go after them?”
Mac glanced at Daniel and handed him his phone. “Call your wife,” he said. “Tell her to go visit family — preferably family outside of King County. Tell her to leave now. Make it clear; it’s urgent.”
Daniel nodded. He took a deep breath and pushed a speed dial number. The phone rang, and Mac heard a sleepy woman’s voice. “Belle, there’s trouble,” he said rapidly. “Get the kids up. Go see Mom. Do it now. I’ll call you and explain.”
She said something. “I know,” Daniel agreed. “You were right. But it’s blowing up, and I’ve got to take care of this. I need you safe, you hear?”
She said something else. “Love you too,” Daniel said softly. He ended the call and started to pocket the phone. Mac shook his head and held out his hand.
“I get the phone,” he said briefly. Daniel hesitated. Then he handed it back to him and just stared out the window.
“Call Rodriguez,” Mac said to his phone. Daniel jumped.
“Mac?” a sleepy voice asked. “What’s going on?”
All these people who actually got to go sleep were making him sour.
“I’ve got someone you’re going to want to talk to,” Mac said. He summarized his evening, and what he’d learned starting with Toby’s tip about the bartender at Boar’s Head. “I have him with me,” Mac finished. “We left out the back door, while the cops were coming through the front of the bar. I’m guessing McBride wants him as badly as he wants me. You got some place to stash him?”
“We can take him into protective custody,” Rodriguez said slowly. Daniel vigorously shook his head no.
“They’ll get me there,” Daniel said. Mac glanced at him. The man knew more than he’d given up so far.
“We’ve got to do it by the book,” Rodriguez said.
“And how has that been going for you?” Mac asked. “Nick, your enemy isn’t playing by the rules, and you’re losing. I get that the rules matter to you. I’m glad they do. But you put him in a 24-hour hold, and he’ll be dead in six. And you know it.”
“Mac,” Rodriguez began, then stopped. Mac waited.
Finally Mac said, “I’ll call Stan Warren. See if the FBI has more cojones.”
“It’s not like that,” Rodriguez said. “But if I cut corners, if I discard procedures, I’m no better than McBride is. You can’t become the enemy to defeat him. Then the enemy wins.”
“I’m sure that will be a comfort to his widow and children,” Mac said coldly. “Jesus, Nick! These are the motherfuckers who came for us at Parker House! You know that he’s right — they’ll get him if you put him in a jail cell.”
“What about his wife and children? Are they safe?” Rodriguez asked sharply.
“What do you care?” Mac asked. “We risked our lives for your children. You don’t even seem willing to risk a slap on the wrist for giving a man a safehouse instead of a jail cell.”
“That’s not fair,” Rodriguez said. “Besides, if he isn’t safe in a jail cell, he won’t be safe in a safehouse.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Mac asked softly.
“Unfortunately,” Rodriguez said. “And I’m not much liking the person I hear either.”
He sighed. “You think his testimony will break this case? Really?”
“He’s got photos of names and the ID of all the people who got favors from McBride through Josh Hill,” Mac said. “And McBride seems to think so — he wasn’t at the bar looking just for me. He was asking for my bartender.”
“Meet me downtown,” Rodriguez said. “I’ll take him in as a material witness. We can put him up in a hotel.”
“And undisclosed location, and an undisclosed name,” Mac countered.
“Yes,” Rodriguez said.
“Be there in 15,” Mac said. He ended the call. There was silence in the car, and then Mac said, “He really is a good man.”
“A good man who could get me killed,” Daniel said shakily.
Mac didn’t argue.
Are you a journalist? Or are you a vigilante? Now why did Janet’s question pop up in his head? Think like a journalist, he told himself. Where’s the story?
He grimaced. He needed those images off Daniel’s phone. Shorty? He thought he probably had exhausted his ability to call for a favor there.
Timothy Brandt. He’d been a part of the tech team at Parker House. And it would give him a chance to check on the Fairchild women. That look-away earlier should have been a higher priority for him anyway.
“We’re going to make a stop on the way,” Mac said abruptly. He took the University District exit. “I need to check on some friends, for one thing. Their address came in over McBride’s radio as we were getting to the reservoir. He told dispatch that the campus cops needed to take care of it themselves — a look-away, right?”
Daniel nodded. “That’s the usual request, I think,” he agreed. “Not to do anything bad themselves, just... look away while bad people do things.”
Mac grimaced. “Does an address in the U District ring a bell?” It had to be related to Maiah, he thought. Why else would anyone target Naomi Fairchild?
“No, but once a client has established a relationship with McBride, I think they sometimes go directly to him,” Daniel said. “I don’t see a lot of repeats. And if I do, they’re a very irregular client.”
Made sense. But holy shit, there had been a lot of IDs on Daniel’s phone.
Mac made his way down 45th, past the Ave, and slowed down for Greek Row. A lot of drunk frat boys headed home about this time of night. “Are those cops?” Mac asked, puzzled. There looked to be campus police standing on street corners. He grimaced. Should have followed up on this earlier. Maybe Daniel could have waited.
He glanced at the man, who was staring out the window. Mac didn’t think he was actually seeing anything. No, Mac really believed if he’d waited, Daniel would be dead by tomorrow. Mac didn’t think they’d been at the bar for him at all — Sgt. McBride’s instructions had been to get Mac out of there, and Daniel back to work.
Mac turned onto the street for the Fairchild House and drove slowly down it. He looked down the alley, hoping the second parking spot would be vacant. No luck — Mac thought that was Rand’s car. He was still here?
And then he spotted Stan Warren’s car. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
Mac found a parking spot a block north of the Fairchild residence and got out. He reached under his seat, pulled out his handgun from the locked box, and checked it. Ready to go. Ignoring the expression on Daniel’s face, he wrapped an ankle holster around his leg, and slid the Glock 43 9mm in place. He stomped his foot to get his pant leg to settle, and immediately felt better to be armed.
“Come on,” Mac said to Daniel. “Stay behind me and be prepared to duck if there’s problems. Upside is she’ll probably feed us.”
Daniel relaxed a bit and attempted a smile. “Lead on, then.”
Mac looked up and down the street — no police here, not even campus security. Well, they were out of the campus territory; that was why they’d called the north precinct for backup. If they’d gotten the backup, and Mac doubted they had, they weren’t still here.
But there were lights on, so someone was still up. He climbed the stairs to the front door, knocked, and then stepped back so whoever came to the door could see him.
It was Stan Warren who came to the door, and he had his service weapon held down by his leg. Mac’s eyes widened. Must have been quite the evening. “Where the hell have you been?” Stan growled. “Don’t you look at your phone?”
“It’s been a hectic evening,” Mac apologized, and pushed past the man. “This is Daniel.”