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SUDS AND SAM~ The Prequel

Chapter 1

Suds

“The FBI thinks what?” Clunking my beer bottle on the small table, I clench my back teeth.

“Keep it down.” Always on high alert, Slate glances around this hotel’s drinking establishment but I’ve already vetted the place.

To our right, a young couple gazes into each other’s eyes, ready for sex. Three large guys in cheap suits talk animatedly behind us and those gathered around the bar focus on a soccer game.

I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. “Y’all want to explain, boss?”

Slate eyes me over a short glass of amber liquid. “The FBI reopened the investigation of the bombing in New York last fall.”

Shit. I’m about to share a few choice words on the matter when I glimpse in the mirror behind the bar. One of the businessmen touches his ear, a sure tell he’s wearing a listening device. With a toss of my head and a meaningful glance, Slate nods. We need to change topics, then vacate.

Eager to help out, I wink at a long-legged women ogling me from the bar and give her a panty-melting smile.

My pal shakes his head. “When are you going to stop playing the field and settle down?”

“When you gonna make an honest woman of your gal? If y’all don’t marry her, I will.”

Slate sighs. “Lilac wants a big wedding with showers and bridesmaids but says she doesn’t have time to plan a big affair.”

“Better you than me.” I raise my beer bottle and glance in the mirror where the guy still watches us with too much interest.

Slate throws a few bills on the table, rises, and slaps my back. “You’re not getting any younger, my friend.”

Grinning, I scrape my chair on the hard wood floor, and stand. “Just because y’all are pussy-whipped, doesn’t mean I need to join the ranks. C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

The three in cheap suits look up, none too happy as we pass by and I can’t help but add some sage advice.

I point at my ear, then at the man with the nervous habit. “Y’all need to keep your hand away from your ear. Might get you killed. You’re welcome.”

Chuckling, I follow my boss past the lobby’s six-foot fountain and exit via the front entrance.

My black leather jacket keeps away the chill. More importantly, it lets me fade into the shadows. Slate, in a dark suit, shirt and tie, disappears as well.

We lean against the building and wait to see if we’re followed.

After about five minutes, I ask, “What’s going on?”

“The Joint Task Force is looking into the restaurant explosion in Manhattan. Patten suggests you play dumb. It should be easy enough. For you.” His white smile gleams.

“Smart ass.” I smile but there’s nothing amusing about that day and as the memories rush in, air gets sucked out of my lungs.

A Sunday morning, it should’ve been no big deal. I’d volunteered to guard a fucking baby shower, mostly so I could hang out with best pal, Lucky. His wife was the guest of honor and I figured we could catch up while the ladies opened gifts and cooed.

There were balloons, giggling women, and stupid games. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.

In Technicolor slow-motion, the events play out in my mind’s eye. I’m laughing as Callie lifts a tiny pink outfit with our company’s logo. Then, the waiter has me at gunpoint. The cook exits the kitchen with a rapid fire rifle so I drop my weapon.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I recall the bullet going through my gut, getting locked in the freezer, and smelling gas.

“It wasn’t your fault. You had bad intel.” My boss eyes me the way he does when he thinks one of his employees needs time off so I light a cigarette to calm the fuck down.

“It don’t sit right. I almost got them killed.” I inhale slowly and puff out, letting the nicotine do its work. Then, smiling like I got no worries in the world, I change the subject.

“Lucky’s wife, Callie, sure is something. Still, I can’t imagine him changing diapers. If you ever hear me say I’m in love, just fucking shoot me.”

Slate laughs. “It’s bound to happen someday”

“Not to me.” I shrug.

He hands me a printout with a name, office, and address. “So, are you good for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Just ask for Sam, right?”

“She’s supposedly one of the FBI’s best analysts and by the way? Patten said to keep it in your pants.”

I chuckle, relaxed for the first time this evening. If our company’s owner said that, she must be my type. I figure she must be older than twenty but less than forty. And pretty.

Maybe this interview won’t be as bad as I thought.