Chapter Twenty-Two

Jarvis held back one page because it contained a name he recognized. All the others would be hard to find by the FBI and cops – word had probably gone out about the explosion in Tarzana. And the deaths at the distribution center in Racine. The folly at the coffee shop would seal it and whoever was calling the shots would tell the other cells around the country to go underground. But only for a while. Once the investigation failed and attention turned to other news headlines, the poisoning would start again. Jarvis could stop it.

 

He headed home to pack a bag. He could make the 2:00 pm flight to JFK if he hurried. A black SUV parked in his driveway made him think the 7 o’clock non-stop was more likely. The front seat was empty; at least it appeared to be as Jarvis squinted through the tinted windows. The front door of his house, though, was open. The government plates on the SUV weren’t forged so he left the Glock on his hip and went inside. He expected one Fed to be standing off to the side, positioned behind anyone coming into the room. The partner would be straight ahead, facing the door. They’d be cautious, but not paranoid since Rayford would have given them a heads-up on who Jarvis was. He swiveled his head left and right as he walked in. There was no one. Only one man, wearing a standard issue black suit, lace-up shoes, and black tie, sitting at Jarvis’ small living room table blowing steam rising from a mug. It was Jarvis’ favorite Colombian blend. The Fed’s sunglasses were on the table and he sat with his side toward Jarvis instead of facing him. His knees were bent as he blew the steam and Jarvis caught a glimpse of checkered socks, black and gray and white. Not standard issue. The whole tableau was the equivalent of a lion rolling over on its back, exposing its belly to show vulnerability – to show trust.

 

“Can I get you a scone to go with that?”

 

The Fed looked up and over, as though he hadn’t heard Jarvis’ car pull up and every step he’d taken since. “I checked. Only some stale Oreos in the top shelf of the pantry.”

 

Jarvis snickered. “They’ve been there since I moved in. Help yourself.” He went into the kitchen and poured a mug of his own. There was an easy silence. Coming back to the dining room he took the seat to the agent’s left. “Should I ask for a warrant? Or is breaking and entering SOP for Feds now?”

 

Leaning back in the chair, the black suit smiled. “Ahh, c’mon, the door was practically unlocked.”

 

“So, FBI? NSA? Girl Scouts?”

 

“Hey, if I were the Girl Scouts I’d’ve brought better cookies.” He looked Jarvis up and down. “Timmons. Anthony. Homeland Security. Bet that was your next guess.” Timmons pulled out an ID wallet from his inside jacket pocket and flashed it briefly. Jarvis didn’t look. Everything about Timmons screamed legitimacy.

 

“You guys move pretty quickly.”

 

Timmons drank some more coffee, appreciatively. “Yeah, we got a flag when the old woman keeled over, plus the little fireworks in Tarzana. This morning the FBI station chief in town got the word from some local cop. Seemed to piece together pretty easily. Except for you.”

 

Jarvis nodded.

 

Timmons leaned back and crossed his hands on his stomach. He looked at Jarvis a long time. Jarvis managed to still his racing heart. Or at least to keep from laughing at the intimidation attempt. He held the agent’s stare, softly and unthreateningly, but inexorably. “I get that you’re a war hero or something. And I get that your pal Brin is important enough to you that revenge seems like a natural course of action.” He said ‘course of action’ as if he were teaching a class on business practices. “But you’ve already gotten yourself in pretty deep.” Jarvis noted that ‘pretty’ seemed to be Timmons’ favorite adverb. “Could be some trouble for you, going cowboy in the Palisades.” Timmons looked for a reaction. Jarvis disappointed him. The disappointment elicited a sigh.

 

Jarvis drank some more of the coffee. So did Timmons.

 

“Y’know, a Fed trying to get to the bottom of this might want to haul you in for some serious questioning. Here in LA,” and he paused for effect, “or out in Racine.”

 

“You guys work really fast…” Jarvis assumed his guest knew about everything he’d done in the last forty-eight hours. “So what would keep that agent from wanting me to spend my evening in an interrogation room?”

 

Timmons smiled warmly. “Well, it’d be more than an evening, probably a few days, and might just result in the loss of a license to practice being a private detective here in California. Or anywhere covered by Homeland Security. And it’s a pretty big homeland.”

 

“I was thinking of making muffins, Special Agent. Would you like blueberry or banana nut?”

 

This got a laugh and Timmons came forward, setting the mug down on the table a little harder than he needed to. “Jarvis, do us both a favor – you more than me – stay outta the way. If this is a terror cell, you’re gonna get stung hard if you obstruct or even look like you are. Let us do our jobs.”

 

Timmons took another sip and stood. He slipped a card from his pocket and balanced it on top of the mug. “Give a ring if you think of anything you didn’t tell the locals. Or if you get itchy to go out and try to do something to help your pal. I’ll talk you out of it.”

 

Jarvis let the Fed find his way out. He waited to hear the heavy thrum of the engine work its way down the street before he got up and headed upstairs to pack his bag. He could still make the early evening flight to NYC. Timmons’ card went in his back pocket.