Chapter 8
When Con awoke, Beth was already gone.
He was fairly certain that his wife was cheating on him and had been for some time, in fact.
Beth Striker was a partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in Orange County. Not a named partner yet, but she was knocking at the door. She worked long hours, always had. They both did, but over the past six months or so, things had been different between them.
With their stressful careers, they didn’t have much time for intimacy. It had been a full six months since they’d had sex. Hell, it had been probably twice that long since they’d actually kissed.
But Con didn’t blame his wife for her transgressions.
It was his fault.
There had been a time when they’d been in love. Not young, puppy love, but deep romantic love.
That had been a long time ago.
Before The Sandman had taken his sister.
Had taken everything from him.
After a quick shower, Con made himself a coffee and got into his car.
He started it up and was immediately met with two things: a blast of warm air from the air conditioner, which he must have left on when he’d parked last night, and the sound of Matthew Nelson Niel’s voice.
His cell phone had automatically connected via Bluetooth and started playing The Great California Gold Rush from the very beginning.
Scowling, Con shut off his phone.
Last night had been a disaster. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to accomplish by listening to the book and he made a note to delete it later.
No, not delete it, return it.
He didn’t want to give Matthew a cent for his fucking commissary.
Con pulled up to the Orange County Field Office at just before nine in the morning. When he saw his partner Agent Chris Hale’s car in the lot, his expression, which was already sour, grew even more grim.
Con got out of his vehicle and slowly made his way to the entrance with his hands jammed in his pockets. He stopped to light a cigarette before entering and indulged in just one drag before the doors swung open.
“Hey, Con?”
Grimacing, his lips curled tightly around the cigarette, he looked at his new partner. Somehow, the man had grown fatter overnight—fatter, and more difficult to look at.
He was wearing a navy suit, heavier than yesterday’s variety, and the Owl was sweating like a whore in church.
“Sorry,” the man said with a lopsided grin. “I mean, Agent Striker.”
Con just grunted and continued to smoke.
“So, how did your day go yesterday?”
It went fucking terribly, thanks for asking. I met with Dwight Dozier who informed me that the serial killer who murdered my sister is now spending his time on Death Row narrating audiobooks. Then I went home, drank too much, smoked too much, fell asleep listening to the man’s voice. I burnt my chest—which fucking hurts like hell by the way—and almost got attacked by a rabid coyote. Oh, and my philandering wife hates me.
Con exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.
“Busy.”
“I bet! Well, I couldn’t find the pirated versions of those movies,” Agent Hale said. “Searched everywhere, but I guess they’ve all been taken down. I did, however, watch all three films. I have to tell you, Rise of the Titans is better than I remembered. I mean, the character development isn’t great but the special effects? Top-tier. Maybe not as good as Avatar , definitely not as good as Avatar Two , but at least as good as the last few Marvel movies. Which is saying something, you know? I’d give it probably like an 8.2 out of 10. Knocked off a point because of the cliffhanger. Totally a setup for the sequel. Oh, and no post-credit scene? I mean, if you’re planning a sequel, you have to have a post-credit scene. But, no, I was forced to watch ten minutes of scrolling credits with zero payoff. Nada .”
Con finished his cigarette, opened the door, and ducked inside.
Agent Hale followed.
“The other two movies? Not so good. I’d give Quantum Guardian a 6 out of 10 and that’s only because of that scene with Penelope Cruz—she’s wearing this real skimpy dress. But—Con?” Agent Hale shook his head, “Sorry, I mean Agent Striker? I keep doing that, geez . Where we going?”
Con kept quiet as he approached Marcus Allen’s office, knowing that the Special Agent in Charge would be inside. The man always arrived first, always trying to impress on everyone how important he was.
Con entered the office, closing the door behind him before Agent Hale could follow.
“Sure, come right in,” Marcus grumbled.
“I can’t do this, Marcus. I can’t .”
Marcus seemed to be suppressing the urge to smile. Despite the lack of preamble, he knew what Con was going on about.
“Just finish the case. Figure out who is releasing the pirated videos.”
Con shook his head.
“You don’t understand… Agent Hale won’t shut up. He just won’t stop talking. I can’t do it, Marcus.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“Con, you find something wrong with every partner I give you.”
Give you, like the man was doing him this huge favor.
“This is different. You gotta let him go, cut the man loose. I’m telling you, he will not be quiet. All he does is talk. All the fucking time. I can’t even think.”
“It’s been one day. One day , Con. Give him a chance. He came highly recommended by the LAPD. A decorated detective.”
“I find that hard to believe. He was working undercover…” Con felt his shoulders rise. “How could that man possibly work undercover? All he does is talk.”
Con was aware of the fact that he’d raised his voice, and he knew that the office had thin walls—on more than one occasion he’d overheard, while at his desk, no less, Marcus ream out a young Agent.
But he was too tired to care what Agent Hale thought. So fucking tired.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Con. Make it work. I’m not letting him go. Not this time. Not again.”
“But—”
“Con, that’s it. We’re done here.” Adding credence to his words, Marcus Allen dropped his eyes to the folder in front of him. The man always had a folder on his desk, and Con suspected it was the same one each time.
Probably empty, too.
Because the only thing that Marcus Allen ever did was give Con a hard time.
And shitty partners.
Con cursed under his breath and left the office. He expected Agent Hale’s fat face to be directly in front of him, maybe looking hurt, silently pleading for an explanation.
Or worse, an apology.
But Chris Hale was back at his desk.
“Hey, what do you want to do today?” If Chris had overheard, Con couldn’t tell. He secretly wished the man had been eavesdropping; maybe he would have gone quiet, fallen into a funk. Wouldn’t that be something. “You want to go down to the tech department? See if they can dig into the dark web and track down where those videos came from? Unlikely to find anything, you know, considering how difficult it is to track anything on the dark web. But… maybe?”
That was a waste of time. What they needed to do was interview the people on the list that Martin Yeo had given them, the employees who had access to the completed films prior to their release.
But the idea of spending another moment with Hale, and listening to his yapping, was enough to make Con’s insides squirm.
“I think we should divide and conquer,” Con suggested. “I want you to watch the movies again.” Agent Hale’s cheek twitched. “There might be something there.”
If Marcus Allen didn’t want to cut Hale loose, then Con would bore him to death. Rise of the Titans might be an 8.2 on its first and second viewing. But what about after the fourth? Fifth? Tenth ?
Con doubled down.
“Yeah, take notes this time. I want to know if there’s anything hidden in there that we might be able to use.”
This made zero sense. They weren’t looking at the movies themselves, they were searching for the person who had uploaded the pirated versions. But if Chris Hale had any complaints, he kept them to himself.
“What are you going to do?”
“Just let me know if you find anything,” Con said. And then, as quickly as he’d arrived at the office, he was gone again, hopping back in his car and lighting up another cigarette.