Fighting with Angie was like screwing with her—it blinded me to anything else that was going on. Once she was gone, the scary stuff came right back. I had stirred up a nest or two. A million a year wasn’t going to be worth it, if the Kid was in danger. I was in danger, too, but that bothered me a lot less directly. If I were gunned down by Central American midgets, the Kid would go back to living locked up in his grandma’s attic. But at least I wouldn’t have to be there to see it. Either way, the threat was to the Kid. I called in the cavalry. My good buddy, Brady, at the FBI.
“Jason Stafford,” he greeted me. “Whenever I see your name on my caller ID, I know my life is about to become much more interesting.”
“If it weren’t for me, Brady, you’d still be carrying a calculator in your holster. Instead of being part of a hotshot team on a multiagency antidrug task force, you’d be adding columns of numbers all day as a forensic accountant.”
“Any number of people have helped me in my career, but you are the only one who reminds me of it every time we talk.”
“Working on Sunday? No wonder crime is down.”
“I am a Special Agent. One of the perks of reaching that exalted rank is covering the desk on weekends while more senior agents are otherwise occupied. Is this a social call?”
“I need your help.”
“Excuse me for not feigning surprise.”
I quickly rattled off the highlights of the confrontation with the four Latinos. He didn’t interrupt.
“I need protection. Not for me. For my son. I can’t protect him twenty-four-seven.” Another thought occurred to me. “And I’m afraid that Angie’s on their radar screen now, too.”
“I seem to remember a conversation earlier this week—”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling.” I tried to cut him off.
“—right here in my office, in which you were warned that just such a scenario was in the cards unless you backed out of whatever nonsense you were up to with Castillo.”
“What can you do for me?”
“The short answer? Nothing.”
“Can’t you pick them up? You must have them all on file, right?”
“Four Latinos? One of them is short. Are you joking? It sounds like a landscaper’s crew.”
“You have no idea who they are?”
He was polite enough not to answer. “And second, they committed no crime. I can’t even put you in witness protection—which you would not want—because you haven’t witnessed anything. So far, a man stopped you on the street and complimented you on your son.”
“No, no, no.”
“Hear me out. You know they were threatening you, and I believe you. But I can’t sell that story. Your witness, the doorman. What’s he going to contribute?”
Nothing. “I get it. Any suggestions?”
“Take your son and go to New Zealand for six months.”
“Not possible.”
“In six months this group of toughs will all be in prison or dead. There’s a lot of turnover in their line of work.”
“Not even funny.”
“I wasn’t being funny. The way I hear it, talking to your buddy Castillo won’t help either. They don’t take his orders.”
“I could just find them their money and be done with it.”
“If you do, let me know. We would be very interested.”
“I still need someone watching my back for the next week or so.”
“I hear the family you’re working for has a full security team these days. Maybe they’ll lend you some muscle for a few days.”
Great. The Kid could have his own pet mercenary.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good luck. Call me if anyone commits a crime, will you?”
FBI stand-up humor. Did they teach it at the academy?
“Hey! You can do something for me. I just thought of it.”
“Oh, good. Now I feel better.”
I could see his snarky grin right through the phone.
“An SEC guy. Gibbons. Charles Gibbons. Is he for real? The guy has been following me. He is not like any SEC accountant I ever met.”
“Don’t know him. But I’ll ask. Give me a day.”
I didn’t like the idea of Blake’s crew watching over my son—I didn’t trust them or him—but safety was a bigger concern. I called Virgil. This time he answered right away. I filled him in.
“It’s your investigation that put me here. I can’t work for you if my son is in danger. Period. I’ll need twenty-four-hour protection for him until this is over.”
“For you and the boy?”
The only way to get these guys off my case was to find Castillo’s missing bonds. And I wasn’t going to be doing that with the dogs of war looking over my shoulder. “No. Just the boy. But it’s got to be twenty-four-seven.”
“Talk to Blake. Tell him I authorized rotating two-man teams for the next ten days. He’ll set it up.” He gave me the number and hung up.
It was a start. I wanted castles with shark-filled moats and minefields and barbed wire and Navy SEALs with machine guns, and maybe a company of Marines—but two big tattooed mercenaries was a start.
“Blake here,” he said, answering his cell on the second ring.
I gave him the bare bones—it wasn’t enough.
“I’m interested in how this connects to your investigation for the family.”
“I explained it to Virgil,” I said. “Threats—quite legitimate threats, I would say—have been made against me and my family, directly as a result of my involvement. I think the people who made these threats are both capable and experienced in this kind of thing.”
He knew he wasn’t getting the whole story. He remained silent for a minute, on the chance that I would keep talking and tell him more. I didn’t fall for it.
“What do you know that makes these people think this is a productive strategy?” he finally asked.
Interesting. Virgil hadn’t asked that question. I thought I knew, but I wasn’t quite ready. But I wasn’t going to share anything with Blake. When in doubt, equivocate.
“I’m not sure. I might know something, but I don’t know that I know it.”
He sucked on that for a minute.
“I can have two men there in less than an hour.”
A small piece of the granite boulder that was resting on my chest broke off and rolled away.
“I’m not sure how to say this, but the type of men you had up in Newport the other day are going to be a bit conspicuous hanging around the lobby of the Ansonia.”
He chuckled. “You’d like the special Upper West Side package? I can send you a pair of out-of-work community organizers and a drum circle.”
“I’m just saying, Blake, that there are people living in this building who won’t like seeing guys with Odin tattoos riding the elevator with them.”
“My men will be discreet. It is one of the truisms of this business that genuinely nice people, the kind you might invite to a dinner party, are less effective as bodyguards than large, unimaginative types who have never read much good fiction. And don’t worry, we’ve worked the Ansonia before. I’ll contact the security people there before my people arrive.” He clicked off before I could respond.
I didn’t know the Ansonia had “security people.” What did they think of me? Ex-con. Marginally employed. I vowed to try smiling more when I walked through the lobby.
But even with two berserker mercenaries in attendance, the Kid was only partially protected. The only way I was going to ensure all our safety was to come up with some answers. Soon.