DC - Chapter 17

   Washington DC is the central big city area, around which the state was long ago forced to build a beltway. That is to say a giant multiple lane, high speed highway that encircled the inner DC area and allowed DC outskirts to "grow".

   This became such a needed and useful device to handle all of the high volume daily traffic in and out of the nation's capitol and all of its attracted commerce, that another beltway soon enough had to be constructed. Further out than the first, this even bigger circle became the outer beltway. The limited but not insignificant area in between both beltways became the prime area to put things like fast food franchises, motels, gas stations and convenience stops and the like. To keep it confusing, the way governments generally prefer to plan things out… even though they're separate roads, both are collectively called "the beltway".

   This was to free up each and every exit from becoming too clogged with the usual rest stop businesses, but it never really worked exactly as it was intended to. The exits were famous for confusing travelers both to and from the area, and, even to people passing through.

   The original beltway was conceived to be a part of the national 95 system. The 95 north to south east coast national highway, would "become" for instance "495" while you were traveling around DC. To a seasoned local, it all made sense. A giant circle with mile markers and exit numbers. Hit the beltway at "3 o'clock" and travel down to "6 o'clock", and you could exit out at the township you intended.

   Miss your exit? You had two choices, neither of them preferable. The easiest but longest was to go around the whole beltway, wasting time and gasoline and your patience, until you "hit" your exit again. Or alternately, you get off quickly, and navigate the regular roads to get back on and get another chance to hit your desired exit.

   Now, with the inner beltway going one direction, and the outer beltway going the opposite direction, and with a belt-land of small townships in between… it was more helpful to the seasoned locals, and even more confusing to newcomers. People who had never traveled on the 495 beltway know of it's infamy.

   Lanes are "added", exit by exit, on one side of the highway… and are "subtracted", again exit by exit, on the other. Forcing you to constantly fight to change lanes in fast, heavy traffic. If you simply stayed in your lane? Every exit moved you "over" another lane. You could literally get on, and simply stay in your lane… and after several exits? You would be forced off onto the exit. Hence, you had to fight your way "left" constantly into the next lane over to stay in the running.

   Some exits bear off, some circle around… and others cloverleaf off in various looped directions. All confusing enough to newcomers and those traveling through. Then the addition of another bigger circle, going the opposite direction? Really capped it off well. With more cloverleafs than ever to allow a seasoned veteran to change directions by switching belts, it was a nightmare for travelers.

   Hence, the necessity of the bypass. The beltway(s) themselves were nicknamed by the locals… to be the "circle of death". Some years back it became public knowledge that insurance actuaries had figured out that anyone, no matter how good their driving statistics? Stood a full 1% chance of being in a possibly fatal beltway accident, each and every year of their lives they worked 5 days a week, 9 to 5, utilizing the beltway to and from work.

   Human beings are very strange creatures. Most intelligent animals on the planet, when they find themselves living in a somewhat dangerous area? Will spontaneously relocate. Usually right after seeing one or more of their friends fall off a cliff, eaten alive, etc. Not human beings, no way.

   What? You say there's a road somewhere? That gives me a 1 in a 100 chance of dying, every year? For no fault of my own? Where is this wonderful place, I just gotta live there! So, naturally the more dangerous the road became, the more people moved into the area, which made it more dangerous yet. Human beings, go figure.

   There was hardly ever any "good time" to take the beltway. 6 to 8 lanes of 90 mile an hour bumper to bumper madness. Tuesday night, 4:00 am? All the travelers coming up or down the 95 corridor tried to hit it at night to make it easier, and this ironically had it running as bad as in rush hour commuter traffic. Holidays? Weekends? Same thing, and sometimes increased holiday or weekend traffic.

   The joke was, the circle of death needed yet another third one, an even bigger and farther out circle around it all, and it was found it was never, ever going to happen. Too much land to acquire, too much expensive real estate already on it, too much infrastructure existing to disrupt. You had no choice but to use it, and it was dangerous even if you knew what you were doing, where you were going, and everything else.

   Everyone knew, it only took ONE spoiled 17 year old daughter, daddy gifting his little princess a cell phone and a new Camaro? To create a hundred car and truck pile up that could stretch for a mile or even more. At 90+ miles per hour, bumper to bumper, all lanes filled to capacity… shit happens quick. You either get where you are going in record time, or… you were a grease spot.

   And really, that's how DC welcomes you. Just driving past, on I-95, going through to down south? DC doesn't wave to be friendly, like some other localities. You hit the heavy congestion of the 495 bypass, and speed increased. DC gave even passer by, the middle finger.

   Want to come inside and visit? Maybe try your hand at staying here? Well, prove your worth and mettle by surviving the highway to get here, and every day getting around.

   The very streets of DC, for less than middle class residents? Well, pretty much the same system, just on foot. DC. The nation's capitol. From politics, to driving, to simply living and walking the streets downtown. DC dares you to survive.

   It was a small, nondescript and otherwise unremarkable looking rib joint. Which suited Panic just fine, in that it more or less reminded him of something from home, small town life. He talked about it and said so… and Speedy and George and his lawyer, all agreed that was likely the appeal of the place to the Washington DC FBI agents proselytizing the place as "rib joint Alpha".

   The two FBI agents were already there by the time they arrived. Small wonder, what with getting around and out of DC, and navigating the inner and outer beltway system. Speedy's top of the line GPS ordered him about perfectly and efficiently… which was in no way going to beat the locals to a known spot of any distance. They would know when to ignore a GPS and other little tricks.

   The FBI agents were now three of them. Speedy's main contact man. His contact's best pick, and now the young agent that was the "go to" new agent arrived as well. They all had barely a chance to say hello, bullshit some and glance at the menus on the place-mats before the two other state police rolled in and found them. The place simply screamed "cop establishment". Stickers on the doors and windows of all the various law enforcement agencies they catered to. There were decorations around that were all cop related. Old badges, pieces of uniforms, framed forms, old handcuffs and billy clubs, untold numbers of patches nailed up.

   Even the name, once Panic realized it… proclaimed it for what it was…

   "The Pig Palace".

   Pig, pork, cop… pork BBQ? Once you realized it, it was good for a chuckle, Panic figured. Looking around the place, Panic realized he was likely one of the only people that weren't either a cop, an agent of some kind, an investigator… or working for one of the above. At that point? He realized he did now fit in. He was after all, working even if for free… for a state police investigator. Who insisted on introducing him to anyone he met as "an investigator". Panic had never been the type of person to crave a title, but… he decided he didn't mind it all the same.

   Everyone was him hawing over what they wanted. The three agents decided the thing to do, was to get the big special. The Pork Palace Pileup. Which the menu noted as "A.K.A… the 666 platter!"

   Six whole giant racks of ribs, proclaiming they were the biggest and fattest available. Six pork steaks instead of chops, again proclaimed to be the biggest you ever saw for sale anywhere. Six side dishes that were mostly fairly predictable, with the noted exception of deviled eggs. Which kind of polished off the whole 666 menu nickname. Six bowls of six different BBQ and dipping sauces rounded it out.

   The main agent said they weren't planning to talk shop, but… was wondering. What was the mild mathematical association between the victims that the statistics had picked up on. He remembered Speedy glossing it over, saying it went nowhere. But… what was it, just for trivia's sake.

   Speedy explained he didn't want to go into it on tape, because it went nowhere. When pressed though, him and Panic had to take turns relating the whole convoluted story. Apparently, the slight statistical linkups between the victims, ended up being wholly the result of several of the victims being Jewish. Made sense when you figured in that the victims were all straight white males, clean cut, clean nosed, and smart go getters from good families… all attending colleges and universities, with a few extra bucks in their pockets. Enough extra money as young adults in college that they could still invest in crypto currency.

   Speedy had to sheepishly explain how he lost an expensive bet on an expensive trip to an expensive dinner joint in New York City, to be met by a very gay, very Jewish man… who had claimed to know what the slight statistical link was between several of the victims. He had claimed that if the geneological workups were performed matriarchally, that is to say, from mother to grandmother going back… it would become clear.

   Though that angle had gone nowhere, it had still been a "valid" answer to the slight statistical match-ups, which since it didn't involve Bigfoot or UFOs… meant that Speedy had lost his bet and had to pick up the tab for the very expensive night out. Many small rich areas started the place names with the word "Mount". Or ended with the word "Hill". Seeking to stay in the good graces of their Rabbi's? Many of them married other members of their own tribe. It all showed up as a rise in the confidence interval, mathematically, that indeed there was "some" slight relationship among many of the smiley victims.

   When asked why he hadn't mentioned it…

   "Christ almighty… last thing I wanna do, on tape, is to be talking about Jewish stuff. How the hell do I know there ain't gonna be some Jewish captain or whoever look at the tapes and get all offended. Plus, like I said, it didn't go anywhere, so… I was happy to just gloss it over, and was happy no one asked me while I was on candid camera."

   The three FBI agents all looked from one to another, and back again, smiling…

   Speedy wanted to know what it was…

   "Well, one of the things an investigation needs, among six other things… is to pass the budget meeting. The chair of that budget committee? He's Jewish… now, what I'm sitting here thinking is… honest to fucking god… one of the first things that made this get picked up on? Was that statistical thing Panic was working up on the web, right? I was thinking, that when he finds out that a band of 'killer gypsies' were robbing and killing Jewish university students? He's gonna shit flaming potato pancakes and wanna shoot exploding matza balls at these sons of bitches…"

   Speedy's man in the agency looked at his buddy, and wanted his opinion of his assessment of such…

   "Hm. When you put it like that… yeah… he's the chair of the committee. We'll probably get a decent budget and manpower. Might even issue us a blank check, if he's pissed off enough about it."

   Panic just shook his head…

   "I don't believe this shit. Me and Speedy are standing on our heads and juggling with our feet, trying to get people to take this seriously. I mean tons of people are being murdered for fucking ZIT-coins for Christ's sake… and we gotta play a goddamned race card to get some help? I just can't believe, this is how the whole system works."

   Speedy started to say something, and his friend cut him off… but speaking gently…

   "Let me field this one, huh? Panic… I keep forgetting, you're the only one in on this that doesn't wear a badge. What, uh, what was your career again… didn't you say you used to be a computer programmer?"

   Panic nodded…

   "Okay, so… you're used to office buildings. You can't just go and work on any programming project you feel like, you gotta have someone higher up like your idea, what program to make, right?"

   Panic nodded again…

   "Quit thinking about the FBI, or the State Police, or any other fucking agency as anything except what it is… a big fucking office building. Now, like any office building… there's a hierarchy of people. People that get to approve or disapprove of things. Take personnel as a department for instance… most fucking personnel staff? Handle most of the hiring and interviewing, and ain't about one of those motherfuckers usually knows dick about the business that the business is actually into."

   "I just… well, I always thought that a thing like the FBI was too important a deal, to have regular everyday bullshit fucking it up… to be honest."

   Everyone laughed wholeheartedly before the man continued…

   "Hey. Like I said, it's just a big office building. Now, there is one thing that all cops know… and I want you to learn it right now. We do not make the rules, but, we do have to play by them. Some of the rules make perfect sense, some of the rules make no fucking sense whatsoever, and there's nothing that can be done about it. Now… that said… here's what all cops know, if they're worth even half of a lame fuck on Friday nights…"

   "Whats that?"

   "They know its just a fucking game. I need some very particular pieces of paper, in a neat little pile on my desk… then? I can make magic happen. One of those pieces of paper, is that in the world we live in, I need money and manpower. If I can demonstrate, if even off the record, that some Jewish college students are being robbed and killed? Then, the Jewish committee chair is going to shit kosher kittens. I mean go figure, right? There's that piece of paper. And I bet I can get more men and more money if I ask for it later on, as long as it looks like it's going anywhere at all."

   "Okay…"

   "See? It's a game. Now, I need another piece of paper, and that's a sign off from the "solve-ability" committee. It's called something else, but that's what it boils down to. Bunch of guys sitting around, and trying to guess what the fucking odds are, that it might actually get solved. We all call that the 'crystal ball committee', by the way… well, the chair of the crystal ball committee? He GOLFS every weekend he can, with the Jewish budget committee chair… so… there's my second piece of paper I need. I don't get it? I can go back to the Jewish guy, and he'll get his golfing buddy to sign off on it."

   "Oh. He's Jewish too?"

   "Fuck no. He's Italian Catholic… and to hear him talk? He's a fucking atheist of all things, but, his wife's very Italian and very Catholic, so… he is too. But, the Jew and the Italian Catholic atheist? Both love goddamned golfing, so… that's two out of six pieces of paper in the bag. We're already one third of the way home, baby…"

   Panic laughed out loud…

   "I don't fucking believe this shit…"

   "I need to pass… basically the health and safety committee…"

   "What do they do, dare I even ask?"

   "Eh… they sit around, and try to guess how safe it is. Probability any agents get shot or killed or hurt. Ah… my crystal ball says… we're good there. Why? Gypsies are not known for violent crime in general, and even this is what we call informally a soft murder. No guns, no explosives… little bit of poison and gently shoving them into the river. From all indications? Probably the 'hit team' is one or several unarmed young pretty Gypsy women. Bang. I bet I get that piece of paper, as soon as I get those first two to wave around. Existing paper, attracts new paper. And, the more papers you get? The more likely the remaining ones sign off. No one wants to be the only asshole that shut it down, then later on it turns out they fucked up."

   "Three out of six, you're already batting 500…"

   "Like I said? It's just an office building, it's just a game. Now, I know how to play that game, I been playing it for a while now. Then? There's the profile committee. We call it the PR committee, and that's what it really is. These guys discuss what any PR might come back from the case. Will it make the agency look good? If we pull it off, its a high profile big case. That's good. Will it piss anyone off? Will people claim its a politically motivated case? Will minorities go marching in the streets claiming we're violating their fucking rights investigating them for murder? Once again… I'm pretty sure I got that one in the bag, too. Gypsies don't have any big political pull that I'm aware of, I never see the motherfuckers marching in the goddamned streets demanding their rights. Low risk case, big payoff case if we nail it. That's FOUR pieces of paper on my desk… that's two thirds home free, if your keeping score…"

   "What's left?"

   "Eh. I need an assistant director to give it a once over, and run his pen across the dotted line. I'm on good terms with my assistant director, I have a good rep. If the case ain't a lame duck, if the case ain't some kind of obvious ticking time bomb? I can get his signature on it, I'm sure. I can whine and cry if I have to, and get his John Hancock on it. That's fucking five…"

   "What's six?"

   The guy looked at George and his lawyer…

   "No offense to your pet lawyer there, George? We gotta get through the legal committee. Bunch of senior agent lawyers. Are we doing anything illegal, do we have probable cause. Shit like that. We call it the 'legal eagle' squad. My crystal ball? Ah… these guys, among other things… try to figure out what the defense lawyers will try to come up with to get the assholes off. I can hear it fucking now… some asshole lawyer on the fucking ten o'clock news… whining the FBI is 'targeting the poor, hard working gypsy people' and try to whip up minority support. The fact they had a TV show and shit like that doesn't help any."

   "We need all six?"

   "Yeah. Now, the ace in the hole here? George is an eyewitness. He can ID the perpetrator. Now, I agree with Speedy here on this. This… Mr. King? That's not mister King, I bet they were calling him KING… and it was misunderstood as his name, when it was his title. George? This thing hinges right now, on you getting an ID on a face. We got many thousands of known and/or suspected 'gypsy kings' and known associates on file, and… I'm betting one of them is our boy."

   "Why is that such a big deal?"

   "See, this whole thing could be… 'misunderstood' by regular citizens… who by the way make up jury boxes… as something cooked up just to 'target' the Gypsies. But, we get an ID? It bypasses that whole line of bullshit. And? That will be… six out of six… batting 1000, in the major leagues, baby."

   "What happens… what if George can't match a face?"

   The man sighed… lowered his voice…

   "This doesn't leave this table. Capiche? Like I said… it's just an office building… it's just a game… I know how to play the game. As all cops and all citizens know perfectly well? Criminals do anything they have to do, to win. They have no rules. We're cops, we have rules. That said? There are ways around rules, if you're creative enough…"

   The man was obviously trying to pick his words carefully…

   "Look. You ever play Euchre, Panic?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Okay! You any fucking good at it?"

   "Yeah… I'm decent…"

   "Okay. Tell the goddamned truth then… you ever renege in a Euchre game?"

   "Hell yeah. Part of the game. I never renege on the first hand, some people tend to watch the first hand. I'll renege on the second or third hand, usually no one's watching it then, they're too busy trying to figure out whether to hit it or not, and who might smack their hit with a bar…"

   "Okay! See, your playing BY THE RULES… and you're plotting like a goddamned THIEF to get away with it. Trying to just slip it through… I got a way around it…"

   "Which is…?"

   "All right. I'm hoping for a straight ID. Just in case I don't GET a straight ID? I'm gonna go with two other things, simultaneously. One, I'm gonna let George give his best description to a good sketch artist. I don't care HOW long they spend together. Two, he's also gonna work with a computer version of the sketch artist… see, that way… if both the artist sketch, and the computer sketch, come out looking even remotely similar? I can hang my hat on it then. That'll let me go through the mug shots and surveillance photos, and mark matches that look fairly similar to those two sketches. That let's me avoid the targeting the gypsies shit, I'm still looking for my perpetrator. I'll just need more manpower to get the same effect."

   "But it's better for an ID?"

   "Fuck yeah. I get one positive ID? I only gotta track one guy and a couple vehicles. I get a couple "good" ID's? I track a few more… now, if I have to go the route with the sketches and the possible matches? I just go BACK to, you remember the Jewish guy? The money and manpower committee chair? 'Hey! I need a few more bucks, I need a few more guys, to get these assholes killing the Jewish university students!'… and? I bet I get it."

   "You make this sound so complicated… once you get a perpetrator or some perpetrators… can't you just track them?"

   "Remember the six pieces of paper I need?"

   "Yeah…"

   "I also need warrants… now, a positive ID? I get a warrant for the ID guy, and, I easily get a warrant for each and every known associate we ever even heard of. Every vehicle will be GPS tracked if I can. I'll have the traffic cameras all looking for those vehicles. They go through toll booths? Documented. I'll probably get cell phone traces running too. Calls recorded. All texts. Websites. Everything. Now, that's optimum… the more possible kings I have to cover? The more it spreads out our money, time, and manpower. Think of it as… a bigger net, with bigger holes. I want a smaller net, with smaller holes."

   "Okay… you… got about everything covered, then."

   "Panic… Speedy told me… and I kinda like it, I'll tell you up front. He told me, you got this big… morality thing. Philosophy of morality or whatnot… right?"

   "Yeah, I do. I ain't ashamed of it…"

   "Okay. I don't want you thinking… I don't know… the FBI is a bunch of lying scumbags, who break all the eggs to make a little omelet. I'm playing by all the rules as best I can. You just gotta appreciate this, Panic… we already talked about Euchre. A renege is a foul, but, its also part of the game. If you can renege and get away with it? You do it, or you're not a good euchre player, right?"

   "Right…"

   "Okay. Now, Speedy said you were a fighter, am I remembering right?"

   "I'm no pro, but, I can handle myself."

   "Now… if some drunk asshole insists on trying to hurt you, for no good reason… you will fight dirty, am I correct?"

   Panic smiled and his eyes hardened slightly…

   "I fight dirty. So yeah…"

   "Speedy tells me, it's all dirty wrestling tricks you use?"

   "Yeah. Grappling, but… honest to god, anything a wrestling ref would blow the whistle on and separate the wrestlers, saying 'potentially dangerous move!'… that's where my best grappling moves come from. So yeah, really dirty wrestling, basically."

   All right… so, I'm pretty sure, you've been around wrestlers, right?"

   "Yeah… my young guy crowd I ran around with? Turned out it was half the wrestling team…"

   "Okay… good. So… I bet you've heard them talk about… dirty tricks. You hit the guy with a cross-face, bloody his nose. You ball tap him, deliberately, incidental contact going in…"

   "Oh. Yeah… the guys talked about that shit. You rotate the guy a little, so the ref can't see from the side he's on when you do that shit…"

   "Right… everything is legal, if the ref don't see it. Football? Same thing. Now. Before you go getting all morality on me? I want you to remember this… in our country, we have all bipolar shit. Democrats versus the republicans. Conservatives versus the liberals. Gun owners versus the anti gunners. Everything is bipolar, right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Okay. We have… victims versus criminals, too. The criminals? By definition, don't have any rules. The cops are all the victims have on their side trying to help them. We're up against a team of con men, thieves… turned into cold blooded murderers to cover up a string of robberies. And? Unlike the criminals, I gotta play by a goddamned rule book six inches thick… so yeah… whatever I can do, that the ref don't see? You can bet your ass, I'm gonna go for it."

   "I already know Speedy is on board… I worked with him before. Me and my two buddies here, we play on the same team. We're good. Carolina? How's your comfort level on this one?"

   "Ha. I know why I'm here. Soon as you emailed me, I drove like a bat out of hell to get here… you already know I got a hard on half a mile long, for the Gypsies. Those motherfuckers bed down in my state, and they're a royal pain in my ass. Drive all around the north, committing frauds, felonies, and misdemeanors? Then they come home to roost. You put the word out? I can get every state police barracks in my state, to do whatever they have to do, and quietly, to help out."

   "George? My best guess, is your friend got killed by these motherfuckers, and they chased you out of your career, and into hiding halfway across your state. My crystal ball says you're on board."

   "Honest to god? You hunt the motherfucker down like a wild dog and set him on fire, I couldn't care less."

   "Panic understands. I already had a pow wow with the PA state boy over there, he's good with it. That just leaves… you…"

   Indicating George's lawyer…

   "Look. I want what's best for my client. It's been enough years? George is my friend as well as a good client. Getting these people, makes George and his family safe? Then I want that too. Hell, I'm not practicing here, I can't get disbarred. So, I'm with George… set the asshole on fire, I don't care…"

   "I got your word on that?"

   "You don't charge my client with any incidental misdemeanors? I don't care what you do. I don't have a dog in the fight otherwise. I'm basically here, to make George feel… comfortable. Dealing with… the system, if that makes any sense…"

   "Yeah, it does."

   "I just wish I could have got half this level of concern for my client's life, YEARS ago, when this first went down and the trail wasn't cold… accidental drowning, my ass…"

   "I know, I know. No one, in a shitload of Yankee states, has ever had anything to go on before. We finally got something we can maybe sink our teeth into. Okay. I outlined, I can get my six pieces of paper I need to get the FBI's end going. So… I'm gonna spend the next week or two… starting to line up my papers. While I'm doing that… I would really love to get… a couple of state police requests, for FBI involvement…"

   "Carolina can send one in. My chief knows I'm here. Technically, I took a couple of personal days to be here? But… he has a rough idea what's going on. He doesn't know the word 'smiley', he just thinks it's a… possible operation against the Gypsies in general. Like I said, my state is kinda embarrassed about those assholes roosting there."

   "Okay… so you think you can get your chief to whip up a little request for help with the Gypsies?"

   "Oh yeah. Especially once I explain, its just a formality… that we're already expecting the request back from the FBI with a case rolling. See, these assholes roost up in a very specific way… they only buy property in UN-incorporated towns in my state. Basically so they can live somewhere with no local police force. BUT, that means that the state police have to run routine patrols all over god's creation in the middle of nowhere. Once your request comes back? Yeah… you'll get the official, and unofficial, help of every fucking barracks in my state. I mean honestly, you have no idea how many shitty little warrants we have to try to serve those motherfuckers, they're a complete pain in the ass."

   "Okay… so, let's say I get warrants. Probable cause. Surveillance authorization… I get anything, I'll get all that. How hard would it be… if we hand out magnetic GPS trackers, to get them clapped onto a few vehicles?"

   Carolina smiled…

   "Ah. Chalk a few tires… pull them over for whatever… pretty easy to tell them to stay in the car, and during a quick walk-around, clap it under the rear bumper, gentle and quietly… no tell tale thump. I done it before, got my technique all down pat and everything. Smile, apologize, tell them to have a nice day… pretty easy…"

   "Well, if you're chalking a tire, why not just clap it under the car better while you're there in the first place? Remember, I'll already have surveillance paperwork…"

   "Yeah. Just write up a little 'operation' paper… shouldn't be too much a problem. We're talking about rural areas anyways. Won't be an issue."

   "What if… you then stopped them after the GPS units were running… any way to get the boys with cell phone sniffers? You know, it collects the cell phone numbers in the vehicles. If the vehicle was later stopped, all their cell phone numbers would likely be on, and would pop up into the memory card. See where I'm going with that?"

   "Oh… yeah… we all have them, we're just not allowed to check them out, without paperwork… but, if you have surveillance authorization already…"

   "Okay… that would be mainly it, to start out. We ID the suspect or suspects. Just like putting a radio collar on a few wildlife specimens. We GPS tag the vehicles. That will allow us to get cell phone numbers later on with a soft, gentle 'catch and release' pull over… then? Any state, any town they spend too much time in? I got it documented. ANY smiley shit goes down and those vehicles and cell phones are around? It'll be obvious. Not to mention, once they reach the target areas in Pennsylvania? Boom."

   "Pennsylvania… how hard will it be to get a request for help from your neck of the woods?"

   "Oh, Christ… you have no idea how many homeowners get scammed every year from these assholes. The standard driveway sealer and roofing tar scams? Are bad enough… now they branched out into distraction thefts on elderly homeowners… I bet you I could bury you with requests to help with the fucking Gypsy problem. Without the murders, mind you."

   "Yeah, I already know. Pennsylvania requests fly in every year like a flock of birds. We get them from the other northern states too. You know the problem, it's all misdemeanors. Most jurisdictions quit sending the requests in, it never did any good before. Could you start a quiet, and I mean very quiet… email campaign? Get the requests coming back in? Only with barracks captains you can trust to keep it quiet. Because THIS time, I can promise you the FBI request back…"

   "Now, that, won't be hard at all. Do you want us to track them through our state?"

   "No, not really. Remember, the GPS is a radio collar, it does all the work for us. I actually want them not to be pulled over… I don't wanna SPOOK them. I want them to be nice and safe in their comfort zone… it's just another day at the office for them, and everything is going fine this year for them… you understand?"

   "I read you."

   "Okay… Speedy mentioned the possibility of the State Police Academy… volunteers?"

   "Yeah… if we get a request from the FBI? I can guarantee volunteers will be chomping at the bit. I got the line on that end, that's my sandbox. I can cherry pick all the best candidates. They understand that if they volunteer, to take time off from training? That they get major brownie points when they come back… plus, everyone knows it looks great on the resume for a new trooper fresh out of the academy to have the volunteer work on their rap sheet."

   "Well… that's my pool of manpower to handle all the fucking cameras in Pittsburgh, and in the university these two have lined up. I need young kids, quiet and polite, that will 'fit in' on a college campus, walking around like local yahoos. In Pittsburgh? Looking like young yuppies marching around at the shops and bars and walking the tracks."

   "Hell, that's pretty much what they all look like anyways. The age is right. How the fuck do I train them to do what you want them to do, though."

   "You wont have to… I'll send someone up to run a little class on them. But remember… secrecy is job number one. Job number two? See job number one. I want buttoned lips only. No bragging to mom and the girlfriends. No internet rumors. Threaten them with a gag order if you have to, just keep them gagged good enough I can trust there won't be any leaks…"

   "If you can draw up some kinda gag order? Looks official? I can get them to sign it. Put scary shit in it… you know the drill… I understand that I risk ten years in jail and a ten zillion dollar fine, if I so much as make a peep to my grandma and it shows up on the evening news. Like that…"

   "Yeah. Scary paperwork that looks official… I can print that out by the fucking ream if you need it. George?"

   "Yeah…?"

   "Your main job, is to spend the next few days like I said… I want that ID… and I want a police sketch, and a computer sketch. That's your job. You make a credible ID, that's a home run out of the park for me."

   "I'll try my best. I see him, I'll know him. Fucker killed my friend. Or ordered him killed. Same thing."

   "George? You realize, we're never really going to be able to pin anything from your friend's murder on anyone. But… an operation like this? I would guess… flip a coin. Zero or hero. If we get a swing and a miss? You're no worse off than you started, I figure. But… if we get a base hit? We'll be blowing this whole thing wide open. It will shut it the fuck down. So… if and when that happens… the ones we do get? One of them will in all likelihood… be the one that did your friend. We'll get them, it just won't officially solve your friend's murder. I'm sorry about that. Honestly, I am."

   "No, I appreciate it. Better late than never."

   "Panic… this is my A/V guy… he's my electronics guy. I was told you brought sample cameras? I want you to run it all by him, you spend the next couple days with him, if we're not in a meeting. I'm pretty sure you'll speak his language, we got a lot of toys you'll have fun playing with. You let him play with your toys and go over them? I bet he'll let you play with his toys. That's your ballpark, right?"

   Panic suddenly realized, that all FBI agents are required to have a college degree…

   "I'm math and computer science. Associates and Bachelors. What's your degree in?"

   "Associates in pre-law, Bachelors in Electronics Engineering. Minor in A/V production."

   "you a HAM?"

   "Fuck yeah… K3LTY…"

   "KB3OYZ here…"

   "Like I said, I kinda figured you two would have fun huffing solder fumes… I'm pretty much thinking… would you mind being in the field? You'll set up all the cams, of course. You'll handle the GPS units. Handle the cell sniffers… and you'll have to come up with a quick training course for the academy boys on helping you set up all the cameras, and get them to help you monitor them. I'm guessing you want field work…?"

   The younger agent gave him a very sarcastic look back… no young agent likely existed that didn't want field work in their file…

   "I know, just checking."

   Panic got up and headed to the bathroom.

   Speedy wondered aloud…

   "What's my job?"

   "Hell, I hadn't gotten that far yet. I don't have any real leg work for you planned out yet. I know you're getting close to retirement, but, as long as you still got that shield around your neck, how about you stick with me and help me plan this thing out? I got request forms out the ass to get sent out, I got interoffice memo's out the wazoo… I got my regular reports on this to make out… just… stick close to me and try to help me?"

   "That works. I'm just… me and Panic? We've been running around like two dogs with four assholes. Couple months now. I'm not used to taking much of a break…"

   "How long till you throw down your brass star?"

   "Not very long…"

   "Well. Once you're officially retired? I can't get you any pay, but… I can definitely get you titled up as a 'consultant'. I mean, I wanna keep you around. You're a long time SWAT unit…"

   "Yeah, but, I ain't gonna be worth shit to you once this shield comes off me…"

   "Eh. That… I'm probably gonna end up short on manpower. I want every swinging dick I can get a hold of, and you swing a mean one. I wasn't kidding about the free consultancy paperwork. Now, a freshly retired state cop, with your long and distinguished career, senior SWAT unit, sniper and trainer on top of it? I ain't wasting that…"

   "Day you retire, I'll hook you up with a federal carry permit. You're already a shoe-in for it, the FBI consulting will guarantee it. I can't get you arrest powers, but… I'm gonna want you with my team. We'll be short handed, I can guarantee it. I can't put arrest powers beyond citizens arrest on any of the academy volunteers, but… you? Your citizens arrest would be a lot more legit than any of them. No… if you can wait to go on your African safari you been talking about for years, well, I'll be grateful to have you stick around."

   "Cool beans…"

   "Not to mention… I know this thing is you and Panic's baby. I feel like I'm robbing the cradle off of you guys, if I can pull this all together, and it looks good right now. Especially Panic… I mean, we're all cops, we all understand going the extra mile, but… Jesus H. Christ, he's a straight citizen, and you're telling me he started this whole thing, and already gave up his job and his woman, all to keep pushing on this case? For nothing? Where did you find this guy?"

   Speedy laughed…

   "Honestly? On the internet… we're on a reloading website together, it's how we met…"

   "Fuck it… I can't pay him either, but… I'm gonna have to give him consultancy paperwork too, just to keep him around. You trust him with a gun?"

   Speedy gave it a few seconds…

   "Yeah. Can you get him a federal carry permit too?"

   "You personally vouch for him? I don't know him from Adam. But, I know you, and I trust your judgment…"

    "Honestly? I'll go through it quick. You know the drill… first up? Is attitude and mindset. You know how most people, get louder and more… confident sounding, when they're carrying?"

   "Yeah…"

   "He doesn't. He gets quiet. He gets polite."

   "He's… always kinda quiet and polite."

   "Yeah, but… he gets even more quiet and polite."

   "That's rare… is he any good with a handgun?"

   "Yeah. He's actually something of a quick draw artist, when he carries where he likes it."

   "Really?"

   "Oh yeah… up close and personal? I'd put money on him getting the drop on just about anyone."

   "A fucking cowboy…?"

   "No, he has trigger control."

   "Any accuracy?"

   "His quick draw, up close? Lightning quick, but, its only good for in close. After personal distance? He comes up straight and out, his thing is slow aimed fire. Which he is good at. He just doesn't work on fun house drills like we do."

   "All slow fire, but, it's accurate."

   "He can hit a man's chest at 50 yards, it's just all slow aimed fire."

   "What's he use at 50?"

   "Ha… pretty much anything. I've seen him do it with his little 38 snub-nose, I've seen him do it with pretty much any handgun you toss him."

   "Rifle?"

   "He's decent with a shotgun. He can walk a field and hit birds he flushes up. He's half decent at skeet, but, he doesn't work at it. He doesn't do skeet but just for fun."

   "Bolt? AR?"

   "Either one. Pretty much the same as with his handgun… by that I mean, he will do slow, aimed… but very accurate fire."

   "At what range?"

   "For quick? 100, 200 no problem for center mass… he likes long range shooting. He's actually pretty good for a non-competitor out to medium distances and beyond. After 5 or 6 hundred yards, I have to call wind for him. If I call wind for him, though? He can shoot almost a grand…"

   "Really?"

   "Seen it myself more than once. By himself, on a rest? Center-mass out past 400, easy. Head at 200, easy."

   "Shit. I assume he's safe on a real range?"

   "He prefers ranges with RSO's… he doesn't like to shoot on 'Bubba' ranges, just like us."

   "All right, I'm sold… for now. Before I get you boys papered up, we'll have to play on a range somewhere, let me see him work, but… don't tell him he's being gone over, okay?"

   "Mum's the word."

   Panic was coming back out the restroom and making his way over, looking at all the decorations like a lot of first timers to the place…

   "I miss anything, Speedy?"

   "No. We're still waiting on them to kill the pigs, I guess…"

   With shop talk all squared away, the rest of the evening was fairly predictable. The triple six platter came with two large pitchers of beer. Since everyone had to get up early for "work" tomorrow, they got one pitcher substituted for a pitcher of iced tea. After everyone had a large iced mug from the big pitcher of beer, it was about kicked anyways. Everyone toasted succes on the case that looked like it was going to come together.

   When the food finally arrived, Panic and Speedy and the two state cops visiting in couldn't believe the sheer size of the pork steaks. The FBI regulars laughed, they were used to this from newcomers. Six bowls of six different sauces for everyone to dip into. Between the giant pork steaks, and all the side dishes, and the gigantic basket of french fries… everyone was patting their bellies and picking their teeth afterwards. Packing up doggie bags to take home.

   The other state police said their goodbyes to Speedy's man and left first. Promising to stay in touch, and get the requests in to get the FBI requests back in return. After goodbyes in the parking lot, the FBI agents drove back together, and Speedy, Panic, George and his lawyer all went back to their two motel rooms again.

   George made a wisecrack going in his motel door…

   "Now, don't you two boys keep us up over here… the walls are paper thin, you know…"

   Speedy chuckled…

   "No, it's only two days in the field. Now, after three days in the field? It doesn't count…"

   Everyone laughed at the old joke, and everyone went in and tried to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be another busy day. Trying to get ready for smiley.