13. FBI Agent Gavin Lodge
Chapter 13
FBI Agent Gavin Lodge
I down the last of my coffee, not even caring it’s so strong that there are grounds in the remnants sticking to the side of my cup. I need it this strong. I’m tired as hell. I crumble the foam cup, tossing it in the trashcan. Then, I adjust my jacket, before pushing through the doors that lead to the ICU lobby.
Whitefish, Montana isn’t much different from the town I grew up in. Small, barely a stoplight to its name and deceptively quiet. Since joining the FBI years ago I’ve learned that most of the shit I come across happens in Small Town, U.S.A., and by that, I mean all of it. The people I hunt are… monsters. Monsters are twisted and fucked in the head and like to blend in. They do this best in hole-in-the-wall towns like Whitefish. That’s my usual cases.
The case involving Westin Cross is not my usual. At first I thought it was just a run of the mill murder case. Then we traced a damn gun left in the truck back to an execution my people had linked to the Korean mob before the case went cold. I don’t know what kind of fuck-ups were in charge, but the assholes apparently thought a fire would ruin a gun. They were so sure of it, they didn’t even bother filing off the serial number, or removing bullet casings. The striations of the bullets matched exactly to that unsolved case. I’m not the one in charge of the original investigation, but these fuckers came into my territory and that put them on my radar and I’m not about to let it slide.
I look through the room and there are only two people in here. Men, close to my age, one maybe a bit older. Both hardened by life—you can tell that in others when you have the same symptoms yourself. The older one is the tallest, standing an inch or two above me. He’s got some salt mixed in with his dark hair and scruff on his face that’s at least a week old. He’s decked in biker gear, complete with the leather cut-off that declares him VP of the Savage MC. Motherfucker. The last thing I needed was this to become about a biker war with mafia ties.
The youngest of the two stands a solid six foot maybe even six-two. He’s got brown hair and looks entirely too pretty to be a biker, but there’s something about his face that says he’s seen life at its worst.
“Alexander?” I ask the question-not really a question—to the two, hold out my hand to shake, and wait for a response.
“Crusher,” the older one says, ignoring my hand. Fair enough. I draw it back and look him over.
“I’m Agent Lodge.”
“Figured that. It’s everything else I’m not entirely fucking sure of,” he replies, his tone hateful.
“That would be two of us, although I figure I know more than you.”
“That wouldn’t take very much. You feel like sharing it with me?”
I look around the room and frown.
“It’s not very private,” I tell him.
“I’m not about to leave my brother in this hellhole either. Especially if it’s just to go off to have coffee with a man I don’t know and don’t really care if I get to know—no offense,” he says, laying it out.
His attitude is not unexpected, his kind and mine don’t normally mix. Then again, I’m not the usual type of my kind. So, mostly I ignore his attitude.
“None taken. I guess we just get into it then.”
“I guess so,” Crusher says. I sit down and wait. Crusher remains standing, as does the man beside of him.
“Let’s start at the beginning. How did Westin Cross get on the bad side of Chul Pak?”
Silence.
“Listen boys, the way I got it figured, I have information you need. Your buddy in there, breathing by a machine, is not going to tell you shit. That means you need me a fuck of a lot more than I do you at this point. This is not even my case. So how about we stop the pissing match and seeing who has the bigger dick, because I’m fine with the size of mine and could give less than a shit about yours. You can either tell me what I ask, or I’ll just walk out of here. It doesn’t bother me a fuck either way,” I tell them, only partly lying.
“This is not your case?” Crusher asks, catching onto the one piece of hard information I gave him. He’s sharper than I might have given him credit for.
“I spend my time chasing the monsters that hide in the bright light of day, not filth like Chul Pak.”
“Then why are you bothering with him now?” Crusher asks, seeming to relax and sitting down. The man at his side follows suit. I’m taking that to mean we’re getting somewhere, but who in the fuck knows.
“Because I got a call in the middle of the night by a woman who was terrified.”
“A woman?”
“I don’t like it when men hurt good women. Now, I don’t know if this woman is good, but I get the feeling she is. I know she was laying it all on the line to get your boy in there a good burial and to protect his son. So, to answer your question, she is the reason I’m doing this.”
“My boy in there ain’t dead yet, Agent Lodge.”
“Your man in there was found in a dump face down, bullet holes through him and so much blood gone from his body, I called the coroner not an ambulance.”
“He’s still breathing,” Crusher argues.
“Through a machine.”
“Semantics. Diesel has something to fight for. He’ll pull out of this.”
“I see hope springs eternal in Tennessee,” I mutter.
“You got kids?”
I tap down that burn… the one that has never let me go—even years later.
“Not a one.”
“Then, you have no idea. Diesel would come back from hell itself if it meant making sure his boy was okay.”
“I will tell you what I do know, Alex?—”
“Crusher.”
“Crusher, I know that Mr. Cross’s son is far from okay and so is Rory McDaniels and since they are breathing on their own and I want to keep them that way—they are my only concern. Now, I’m going to ask the question again. How did Mr. Cross get on the bad side of Chul Pak?”
“Chul Pak doesn’t even know my boy,” Crusher says and I frown.
“Right. I’ve had enough bullshit. I didn’t haul my ass all the way across the U.S. to get spoon fed shit,” I shrug. I’m actually stationed in Montana, but I’ve been in Quantico the last few weeks. I’m not one to enjoy dealing with bureaucrats and that’s all I’ve been doing. What’s worse is that when I leave here I have to hop another plane and go back for more meetings and more bullshit. I hope I can find some strong ass coffee to chase the shit already in my system.
“Chul’s stepbrother King, though, that’s different,” Crusher says and I turn to face him.
“Now you have my attention.”
“Timothy King, brother to one Rory McDaniels.”
“You’ve been doing your homework on Rory,” I mutter, sitting back down.
“We’ve been turning over every fucking stone we could find for the last week trying to find Diesel’s boy. I’m hoping you can help with that—which to be frank, is the only reason I agreed to meet with you today Agent Lodge. Your kind and mine, we don’t mix.”
“You don’t know what kind I am, but I’ll give you that… for now. How did your boy get on the bad side of this King?” I ask, finally feeling like I might be getting to the end of this damn riddle I’ve been pouring over for months.
“He stuck his dick in the same skank as King,” the guy with Crusher says, finally proving he apparently can talk.
I frown.
“I’m going to tell you this because I feel like I’m finally getting information I need and I don’t want to see this go downhill and stop that progression,” I warn him. “I happen to have a lot of respect for Rory McDaniels. I don’t take kindly to you calling her names—and by that, I mean, not at all. The woman I met is a good woman, doing what she can to protect a little boy who might not be hers by blood, but is hers in her heart.”
“You met her?” Crusher asks.
“I did. I helped get her out of Virginia. Wanted to do it one way, she wouldn’t agree so did it the best way I could.”
“How did you do it?”
“You might not get this just yet, because we’re strangers. But, I don’t give information without getting it. I don’t see as if I’ve gotten very much from you at all, Crusher. ”
“Fine. Ask a question get an answer and then I get mine,” he says. “Seeing as how I’m easy to work with.”
A ghost of a smile filters across my face. This bastard is about as easy to work with as the bureaucrats in Washington, he’s just a little easier to understand.
“The woman I met, is King’s sister. There’s no way she’d let him touch her and if he did she’d kill him or die trying to make that happen. So, my question is, why does King hate your boy?”
“As far as I know he doesn’t.”
“Bullshit. He was shot several times, left for fucking dead, his truck was torched and his woman and child are on the run. I’d say?—”
“He doesn’t really know Diesel and believe it or not my brother in there has no idea who King is. They fucked the same woman—not this McDaniels chick, in fact before she called me I’d never heard of her.”
“Then—”
“My turn. How did you find Rory McDaniels?”
“She called me. She managed to escape King’s house with her boy?—”
“That is not her child,” Crusher growls.
“She says he is, and it’d take an act of God to separate that little boy from her side. I got to warn you, I’m not even sure that would do it. The woman I met and that child have been through hell together and he trusts no one but her.”
“She’s protecting him?”
“That woman is doing more than that, and that’s all you’ll get on the subject of Rory McDaniels.”
“You really like her.”
“Let’s just say your friend in there was a lucky SOB to get her on his side before he bought it.”
“He’s not dead. I wouldn’t be putting him in the ground just yet, Agent Lodge.”
“Like I said, hope springs eternal.”
“Diesel will pull out of this for his son and when he does, if this McDaniels chick means something to him, he won’t let you around her.”
“I don’t think he’ll have?—”
“Let me clarify that. My brother has been fucked over by women again and again. If this Rory is half the woman you seem to think she is and my brother wants her, I won’t let you get within shouting distance of her.”
“Are you threatening a federal agent?” I ask, for some reason finding his response something to smile about.
“More like a friendly warning,” he shrugs.
“So noted. You going to ask your questions now?”
Just as I ask the question, a doctor comes in and heads straight to Crusher.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he says and Crusher stands up immediately, his friend standing beside him and I can tell from the look on the man’s face, hope is slowly dying.
I hate it for him. I’ve seen this side of the coin too many fucking times to count—each time it sucks.
Knowing that this Diesel is leaving behind a good woman and a child makes it suck that much more.