Mark Young - Off the grid

Taylor shook his head, the cigarette bobbing in the dark. “I’ll bet Summers wants to handle this herself. One of our informants almost gets wasted by a hitter right in front of us, then the shooter vanishes off a boat.” He winced, his dark skin and clipped Chicago accent seeming out of place here in Washington. “I hope this doesn’t come out of our paycheck. Brothers always seem to wind up in more trouble than you white guys.” Taylor grinned at him before taking another hit on the cigarette.

Gerrit laughed. “White or black, we’re both in trouble, partner. Don’t play that race card with me. It won’t fly.”

Taylor chuckled. It was a politically incorrect game they played with each other, since they had become tighter than brothers. Taylor knew Gerrit would always have his back. And Taylor always backed his play even when they got into serious jams. “Where’s the snitch?”

“I gave him a few bills and sent him on his way. No use letting him sit around here and give the shooter a second chance. Right now, he has a better chance running on his own than sticking around for police protection.”

Blades from an incoming helicopter beat the air behind them. Gerrit turned just as the craft emerged, rotors whirling through the night like a giant wind machine. The aircraft hovered, slowly settling to roost somewhere behind the terminal building.

“Here they come. Get ready for them to turn up the heat.” Taylor dropped the cigarette butt on the ground, grinding it with his heel. “Well, Einstein, did you tell the state troopers about the evidence you snatched?”

Gerrit shook his head, leaning against a concrete pole, hands thrust in his trouser pockets. Taylor’s self-appointed nickname irked Gerrit. His right hand circled around the thumb drive. “No need to complicate their investigation.”

Taylor snorted, reaching for another cigarette.

A door opened, thrusting shafts of white iridescence from inside the building across the black asphalt. It was the same WSP investigator who had been ordered to wait before interviewing them. He leaned through the doorway, one hand resting on the knob. “They want to see you inside.” He thrust a chin in Gerrit’s direction.

Pushing off the pole, Gerrit glanced at his partner. Taylor returned the look. “Good luck, my man.”

“As far as I’m concerned, no harm, no foul. No one’s dead. No one got hurt.”

“Yeah, but shots were fired and you scared the crap out of everyone on that boat. I’m sure the whole thing will wind up on YouTube before we get interviewed.”

Gerrit shrugged before entering the building behind the trooper. Once inside, he paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. A man and a woman stood at the top of a flight of stairs to his right. The man wore a dark-blue suit and red tie, obviously FBI. The woman-Marilynn Summers-turned and glanced down at him.

“Detective, why don’t you join me up here where we can talk…privately.” She gestured toward a door a few yards away from where she stood. As he climbed the stairs, Marilynn turned toward the FBI agent. “Why don’t you contact the other detective and have him debrief you on the incident. We’ll compare notes after I’m through with Gerrit.”

He tried to mask his irritation while Marilynn and the agent continued chatting. She glanced at him, still conversing with the other man. Her soft blond hair, cut shoulder length, added a certain softness to her navy-blue skirt and black waist-length leather jacket. Any softness coming from this woman was merely a means to an end.

As he reached the top landing, she gave him one more look. “Okay, Detective. Follow me and let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, sir.”

Marilynn seemed oblivious to his comment as she opened the office door and gestured him inside. Gerrit strode into the room and leaned against the only desk, a gray metallic bruiser positioned dead center in a large, vacuous office.

She closed and locked the door from inside. A slow smile emerged as she advanced toward him. “Well, honey. I wish we could make good use of this private office. Door’s locked and the window shades are drawn.” She pulled off her jacket and flung it across the desk, pushing herself against him. Her arms encircled his waist as she moved in close. “Can’t wait to get you home.”

Gerrit raised himself up, grasping her shoulders. “Get a grip, Marilynn. I almost lost an informant out there, and I know my boss will be planting his boot up my butt over this. We need to get our stories straight.”

“ Our stories? Don’t draw me into this. You and your partner wanna play cowboy and meet an informant without backup knowing Nico’s lurking out there…well, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

He eased away, putting distance between them. Since when did she start playing it safe? Her willingness to take chances, to walk a fine line between the law and the lawless, to get the job done had been the magnet that drew them together. Gerrit never stomached unnecessary rules. Even worse, he hated rule makers sitting behind a desk and coming up with reasons why the job couldn’t get done. Impatience always drove Gerrit to scale these obstacles any way he could.

He thought he’d found a kindred spirit in Marilynn, whose job as a federal prosecutor gave her many more rules to bend or break. Sometimes, she seemed willing to go a lot further than Gerrit. Lately, he began to have second thoughts.

And now, she wanted to distance herself from this incident. Why?

“Come on, Marilynn. We haven’t much time before the suits show up to figure out who gets to tear into me first.” He eyed her for a moment before continuing. “Just because your old man is a senator doesn’t protect the rest of us when things go sideways. I’ve got to be careful. Can’t afford any more mistakes.”

“Okay. Have it your way.” She brushed a strand of blond hair from her brown eyes giving him an irritated look. “Did you salvage anything from this screw-up with our informant?”

He circled the desk, trying to gain control. This woman seemed to know how to set him off. Spending time with Marilynn was like throwing a lighted match into a pool of gasoline. Someone always got scorched. He should have stopped this relationship a long time ago. Tonight was not the right time.

“ Our informant?” he said. “ I’m the one who recruited him months ago while working undercover. Remember? A bottle of vodka, a sympathetic ear, and a promise of a better life earned me fresh eyes and ears into Petrosky’s organization. Mark and I-with Gregori’s help-turned up leads to Nico’s criminal enterprise. Smuggling. Narcotics. Call girls. Even stolen gasoline sold on the black market tax free.”

And one bombing in Seattle. But he would never reveal that to anyone. They might question why he focused on the Russian in the first place.

“Old news,” Marilynn said, her face turning red.

“I’m reminding you of this because the guy who made this case almost got killed. Because I pushed, Gregori discovered Nico stepped up to the big time. Selling technology on the black market. More money. Less exposure. The guy taking all the chances,” Gerrit said, “has a name. Gregori Vasiliyevich Pyotor.”

“Now, there’s a mouthful.” She smirked. “In any event, he survived.”

Gerrit paused, clenching his teeth. “I almost got him killed because I missed something. And now the suits will want to crucify me for all this bad publicity. Wild shots on a ferryboat full of passengers. Almost getting my informant wasted. Letting the gunman slip away. Violating protocol-although whoever made up these rules never worked out in the field.”

“That’s why you always wind up in trouble. Making it an ‘us against them’ thing. That just sets people off, Gerrit-including me.” She folded her arms, giving him her prosecutorial stare as if cross-examining a hostile witness. “ Your informant has been exposed because you screwed up. Because you did not follow the rules.” She let that hang for a moment. “Let’s just hope you can salvage something out of this mess that’ll make my boss happy. Otherwise…”