Friday, April 29^th

Trent and Booth spent the remainder of the week going through the files the detective had put together. Booth took a circuitous route to get to Darcey’s condo each day. He never went the same way twice.

He drove his own vehicle, an old pickup truck, the first day. On his second visit he took a taxi half the distance to avoid being followed. He walked around the block and hailed a second cab for the remainder of the trip. On Friday he hopped on a cable car, stepping off when he was still a mile from his destination. He went to great lengths to avoid establishing a pattern.

While Booth’s files were light on information relative to money laundering, he had details on the Rossi Family, Spitting Cobra, the Barons of Lucifer, and the Scourge. By the end of the week Trent and Christopher knew only one thing for sure about the movement of the alliance’s money. It was an international operation. But Trent understood how the gangs operated, both in their own spheres of influence and together. He had the names of the key leaders and charts outlining how each was organized.

The Rossi Family. Spitting Cobra. The Barons of Lucifer. The Scourge.

All from very different cultures. All with similar goals and operations. Taking on one of them was dangerous. Taking on all four, as Booth said in his first meeting with Trent, was a war.

Both men thought they had used the time productively. By the end of the week, Trent told Booth there might be some things he could do before returning to San Francisco in July.

Trent liked the policeman. He found the self-described beat cop to be far more intelligent than Booth considered himself to be. Darcey liked him, too. They considered inviting him to join their upcoming Sunday brunch. But the work Trent and Christopher were doing was far too dangerous. It was best that they avoid being seen together for as long as possible.

It was already too late.

At the precinct, Officer Harry Sherman was looking over Booth’s desk. Sherman kept a close eye on the sergeant. He saw him rush out of the office after receiving a phone call on Wednesday. He noticed that Booth downloaded files onto a flash drive, which he pocketed before leaving the office on Thursday and Friday. He was out of the office for most of both days. Sherman was sure something was up. It might be to his benefit to find out what.

“Has anybody seen the file on the Lenore Hale case? I can’t find it anywhere. The last time I saw it Booth was looking at it,” Sherman said as he rummaged through the papers on Booth’s desk.

“I’d wait for Christopher to get back before I searched his desk, Sherman,” one of the other officers warned. Sherman was not well liked.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sherman said. He walked back to his own desk, palming a small slip of paper. Back at his desk he picked up a stack of papers and pretended to be thumbing through them while he read the note he had lifted from Booth’s desk. A New Orleans phone number. A name.

At the end of his shift, Sherman hustled out of the building. He drove to a park halfway between the precinct and the small apartment he rented. Parking in a secluded spot, he took the prepaid mobile phone from his car’s console and dialed a number.

“Yes?” was the answer.

“Mr. Rossi, this is Harry. Harry Sherman.”

“Yes, Harry. What do you have for me?”

“You told me to keep an eye on Christopher Booth. I found out that he’s been meeting with someone this week. The name is Trent Marshall. And there’s a New Orleans phone number.” He repeated the number.

“Interesting. That could be useful, Harry. I’ll see that you’re rewarded.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rossi,” Sherman said. Rossi had already hung up.

Sherman popped the phone open and removed the chip. He would drop the two halves of the phone and the chip in separate dumpsters before he got home. Tomorrow he would pick up another prepaid phone.