“Don’t say it like that!” Wallace shouted. “I’m going to be killed. Loman is going to have me killed, understand? Oh God.”
Conklin said, “If I’m God, I’m pissed off, buddy. Your crew put a lot of innocent people in danger today, and maybe a US Marine, a passenger on his way to Cincinnati, is going to die. You should pray that he lives.”
Wallace nodded and my partner went on.
“You want us to help you? Or do you and your pacemaker want to take your chances with the FBI and DHS?”
Wallace started to sob and shake his head no.
Conklin put his hand on Wallace’s shoulder, and I could see something shift inside the young man.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
He knew that he was done.
Conklin said, “Hey, Ben. We’re the good guys. San Francisco police. In about three minutes the Feds are going to come through the door. They outrank us. The federal government trumps local PD. We won’t be able to help you, my friend, and that’s the truth.”
Wallace shook his head some more, choosing between a rock and a hard place. He looked up and said to Conklin, “Loman’s going to hit a computer company. That’s the real job.”
My adrenaline spiked again.
Jacobi had been working on a tip about a hit on a computer company. Had that tip now been confirmed?
I asked, “Where did you get that?”
“Leonard told me.”
The dead guy. I said, “What computer company? Give us a name.”
Wallace was panting now, sweating profusely, lips trembling. I found him believable. Then again, I’d been wrong before. I cautioned myself not to interrupt Wallace as he went on.
“If I tell you, that’s worth something, right? That’s worth a cell out of state, where I can get protection?”
Conklin said, “You’re going to have to give us the name of the computer company.”
“Black Stone,” said Wallace. “No. That’s not right. Black something. BlackStar.”
Conklin put his card in Wallace’s breast pocket seconds before two DHS agents came in and took our crying, pleading subject out of the room.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Brady.