Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Derek was waiting for Markson in the Holiday Inn at seven-thirty A.M. Maddock was lying on the bed, his suit jacket off, flicking through the TV channels. CJ White was pacing, tossing Maddock a look of annoyance every few seconds.
“If there are too many of us here, he might balk,” CJ said.
“Why doesn’t Maddock leave?”
Maddock snorted. “I’ve met the guy before. He likes me, he trusts me. Maybe you should leave.”
Derek sighed, tossing the consent forms he’d been clutching down on the table. These two were driving him nuts. Every time they were in a room together, tension rose about three hundred percent.
“No one is leaving. Now let’s not be bickering when the guy shows up, alright?” He wasn’t about to admit it, but Derek was nervous. Or scared shitless, if that’s how you wanted to put it.
The whole damn case hinged on Markson agreeing to wear this wire for the price-fixing meetings. They were so close, but still had nothing to give the prosecutors that could be considered hard evidence.
There was a knock on the door. Maddock sat up straighter on the bed and flicked off the TV as Derek went to answer the door. Stan Markson was there, looking nervous, sweat on his brow.
But he took a deep breath and said, “Hey, there, Derek. How’s it going?”
“Good, Stan. How you holding up?” Derek ushered him into the room.
“Okay, I’m okay. I think I’m doing okay. This is the right thing.” He nodded up and down, hard, as if to convince himself of the words.
Derek clapped his hand on Markson’s shoulder, hoping to reassure him. “You remember agents CJ White and Wyatt Maddock don’t you?”
“Sure, sure, guys, yep, I remember you.”
As he watched him shake the other agents’ hands, Derek hoped like hell Markson would calm down by the time he showed up at Delco for the day’s round of meetings. Right now he looked and sounded like a guy wearing an illegal wire.
“I just need you to sign these forms indicating that you’ve agreed to cooperate with the federal government by wearing an electronic device on your person, alright?”
When Markson nodded and accepted the pen, Derek let out part of the breath he was holding. When Markson signed the papers, he expelled the rest. Step one done.
“Now if you’ll take off your jacket and shirt, we can attach the recording device, okay, Stan?”
“Sure.” Markson carefully laid his blue suit jacket on the bed and then began unbuttoning his shirt.
The rather nervous glance he sent in CJ’s direction had Derek giving her a nod. She understood his directive and went casually over to the table, sitting with her back to Markson as she flipped through the stack of forms sitting there.
For the next step, Derek tried not to grimace. He’d lost the coin toss to Maddock on this one. He figured there were a lot of undesirable things he’d been forced to do over the years as an agent, but he still couldn’t help but be big-time uncomfortable over shaving another guy’s chest.
“Sorry, Stan, but we’ve got to do this.” He held up the can of shaving cream and a razor to show his intention.
Markson blanched but then nodded.
Derek went as fast as he could without severing an artery. But they both gave a sigh of relief when the job was done. Derek explained how the recorder worked as he attached it to Markson’s back, running the wires around to his chest and taping them in place.
“We’ll program the device to run all day. Give me a quick call when you want to go to lunch and I’ll turn it off.” He handed Markson his shirt.
“You might want to go to the john then, since you probably don’t want that recorded,” he said, hoping to lighten the tension rolling off his CW.
Markson gave a brittle laugh. “Yeah, that would make my wife proud, wouldn’t it?”
Maddock said, “Of course, you never know. Major deals can happen in the men’s room. Chatterton might open up to you when he’s taking a leak.”
They all laughed except CJ, who rolled her eyes.
Maddock stopped laughing and frowned at her.
Christ. Like Derek needed those two having a playground fight right now.
“Now, I want you to act completely natural, Stan. Don’t say anything you wouldn’t normally say, try to relax. Who do you normally sit next to during these meetings? How far are you from Chatterton?”
“Oh, it’s informal. We sit where we want, except for Chatterton, who always takes the head seat.”
That was good news. “So do you think you can try and snag a chair close to Chatterton without it looking suspicious?”
“Sure.” Markson buttoned his shirt up, looking a little calmer.
“Great. So all you have to do it show up and do what you always do, Stan. No big deal.”
“Okay.”
Derek shook his hand again, handing him his suit jacket. “We’ll see you back here tonight about six, then.”
“See you then. Have a nice day, guys,” Markson said, heading for the door.
As the door closed behind him, Derek breathed a sigh of relief. Step two done. Now he hoped that Chatterton said something, anything of importance in this meeting.
“That guy’s a wreck,” CJ commented. “I hope he doesn’t crack before we get something we can use.”
That was Derek’s big fear as well.
“He’ll be fine,” Maddock scoffed. “Sure, he’s a little nervous, but he just agreed to record everything his boss says. That would make anybody a little nervous. Don’t go borrowing trouble, White.”
“And you shouldn’t go around acting like everything’s peachy keen all the time,” CJ shot back.
“Peachy keen?” Maddock let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that’s exactly the words I’d use to describe myself. Peachy keen. Shit.”
Derek started stuffing papers in his briefcase, adjusting his holster under his suit jacket. His stomach burned, his ulcer dumping anxiety acids into his gut.
“Juicy, juicy,” White said, her biting words baiting Maddock as she’d no doubt intended.
As Maddock spluttered and flushed and protested, Derek felt in his pocket for his antacids. As he popped two in his mouth, he realized between this case and Reese, he was going to need to buy more.