DC - Chapter 27

   Panic was actually kinda cool about going to meet with the two Internal Affairs agents. He figured, sure FBI agents would be sweating and shitting themselves… but why should he worry. What real authority did IA have over him, a non-agent anyways. If the absolute worst came to the absolute worst out of it, and he mishandled it completely? He figured he was looking at getting his ID snatched back, his federal carry permit revoked, and his consultancy position disappeared along with his presence in the investigation.

   After all, IA is like someone else's mom… scary to that house, not nearly as scary to you.

   Panic waltzed right into "his" steakhouse, and waved and smiled and chatted with all the waitresses he recognized. Yelled back and said "hi" to the cook, and even poked his head around the corner to yell "hi" to the busboy dishwasher. After all, he was aces with one of the waitresses that had been there for years, and she was an outgoing and popular girl at work.

   The younger woman seating customers recognized him, and pointed to his reserved table. Two guys in suits and sunglasses stood up, looked at each other, and followed him several paces behind on his journey back to his table.

   He went and sat down. In Merry's section. Acting as if nothing was amiss… because after all, as far as he knew? Nothing earth shattering was amiss.

   They came and stood silently for a few seconds by his table, before anyone could attempt to wait on him.

   "Are you… Panic ?"

   "That's the rumor, boys. Jesus, you guys gotta lighten up. The dark sunglasses are one thing, but, the quiet staring thing, is way over the top. I'm gonna guess, that any FBI agent in here already knows who you guys are and what you do. Take a seat already, you're making a spectacle of yourselves."

   They sat down. One slightly older, one slightly younger than Panic himself, it would seem.

   "Well. Aren't you cavalier. Walking in like you own the place."

   "And why shouldn't I be? Everyone talks to me, I met almost all the workers here. I'm dating one of the waitresses, everyone smiles and talks to me. I enjoy being more than an ordinary regular. Guys, I'm working away from home… this is nice. Why shouldn't I enjoy it?"

   The younger of the two of them. Made a sour face…

   "You know, you're really supposed to act with some degree of professionalism and propriety, when you wear the FBI badge and represent the agency to the public, you know."

   Panic smiled, then chuckled.

   "Professionalism? And propriety? Are you two guys shitting me? You're not being serious, right? This… this is a joke. My buddies are gonna jump out and say 'gotcha!' if I fall for that one, right?"

   "I don't kid about a thing like that, sir. You shouldn't either."

   "Oh. You're actually serious. Good lord. Just for that? I'm going to refer to you… as Agent Sourpuss for the rest of the conversation. And? There's not a damn thing you can do about it. How does that strike you?"

   "I don't find your attitude, to be funny."

   "Really? Well, that's just too damn bad. Let me guess, Agent Sourpuss is the one who was rude to me on the phone, that was you, wasn't it? I bet it was… so? I already don't like you, since before we even met."

   "What's with this whole… problem with authority you seem to have, mister Panic?"

   "You know something, Agent Sourpuss? I'm keeping track of your vocabulary. First two vocabulary words you threw around? Were "professionalism" and "propriety". Are you sure you wanna throw the word "authority" into the mix?"

   "What problem do you exactly have with those words?"

   "I don't have a problem with those words, Agent Sourpuss… but, I object strongly to you using them with a straight face. Might I start with the word 'propriety'?"

   "Oh. By all means. Please do…"

   "Well all right then. Yes, I know the meaning of the word. Now, is propriety what you would call it, when practically all your agents are diddling the cop groupies? Married with kids and cheating on their wives? Cheating on those girls, with other girls? Most of the agents diddling each other's wives?"

   Sourpuss paused.

   "Okay. You've made your point. Now, what we need to do---"

   "Whoa! Full stop…"

   "What's the problem now?"

   "Well, for one thing we didn't cover the other vocabulary words. We'll go over those later I suppose. Agent Sourpuss accused me of having some kind of lack of respect for authority. I just want to establish right here and now, from the get-go… what authority?"

   "Well… we're Internal Affairs. We're IA."

   Panic sighed and shook his head. Actually smiled and spoke more lightly for the first time.

   "Agent Sourpuss? Perhaps the… friction? Yeah… the friction here is simply this. I'm sure because you're IA, everyone just shits their pants. Yeah, I'm sure you enjoy it at work, when agents get nervous when you stare at them and act all tough. You have zero authority over me. I'm not an FBI agent. I don't even get paid. So, like I told you on the phone?"

   Agent sourpuss sighed and said…

   "Yeah…?"

   "Stop taking that tone you like to use when talking to me. Stop interrupting me, and talking over me. Stop taking control of the conversation, and telling me what 'we' are going to do. And, you definitely better stop using phrases like 'if you know what's good for you'…"

   Agent Sourpuss stopped. Looked over at his older partner. Looked back to Panic. Spoke quietly for the first time.

   "Anything else to add, Mister Panic?"

   "Well, yes. My own mother? She had a… we'll say a mind of her own. Yeah. Mom was a pistol. Now… my Dad? Real quiet, real polite guy, but…"

   "But…?"

   "If anyone would have referred to my mother in my father's presence… as a 'crazy bitch'…? Well, it didn't happen twice. My father would confront them, and correct them. I started getting this… treatment around the office? I already had my fill of it, and I already corrected one agent. I am therefore going to warn you, up front? We will not be calling my lady friend a 'crazy bitch', and I would appreciate it, if we could refrain from calling her by the nickname you boys have for her. Now, behind my back? I don't really care what you boys say and do. But if we are going to have any kind of relationship at all? It'll be a polite relationship… or, we're gonna have no relationship whatsoever."

   "All right, Mister Panic. Anything else?"

   "So… we're clear on all that?"

   Sourpuss nodded.

   "Yes. I'm sorry. I don't know how this happened, but, we're getting off on the wrong foot here. Why are we having all this… confrontation?"

   The older man spoke up quietly. Smiling.

   "I think I know why. While our friend here isn't an agent, he is spending time around those agents. He's already friends and has a working relationship with the state police. He's already been told war stories about what IA is, and how to treat us. He's already been warned, that we're a bunch of lying scum-buckets, and that if he wants to be one of the boys, he better not get chummy with us. How am I doing, Mr. Panic?"

   "Not badly. Would you mind terribly if I point something out?"

   "Not at all. Please."

   "You know how all police get irritated with the general public's… attitude? Most people don't wanna talk to the cops, even if they didn't do anything wrong? They're afraid not only of the criminals, they're equally afraid of what the cops will do to them, trying to get things done. You know what I mean…"

   "Sure…"

   "Well, I just wanna point out. You guys, as IA? You are… the cops of the cops… and? Isn't it kinda funny, that you guys have the same relationship with the cops you patrol over? The same attitude? I find the irony of that highly amusing."

   "Mister panic?"

   "It's not mister… its just 'Panic'. Colonel Panic, but… everyone just says Panic.

   "Panic. I can appreciate where you're coming from. Honestly? My job, as IA… is multi-faceted. One of those facets, is to try to put a stop to the overall problem. I'm well aware of the average citizen's idea that 'nothing good comes from talking to the cops', and, to tell you the truth? I understand them, where they're coming from."

   "Well, if you understand so well… give me an example."

   "Hey. A civilian talks to the police? They get shit for it. From criminals, and from people around them who don't trust the cops… the citizen doesn't talk to the cops? Some cops treat the citizens bad, trying to get them to talk. It goes around and around, and it only gets worse, never better."

   "Wow. You do understand…"

   "Panic, We're IA. We're trying to put a stop to bad behavior. If me and my partner had our way? Things would get better slowly, not worse."

   "Well? From what I seen so far, you got your work cut out for you, let me tell you…"

   "May I ask, Panic… what your… assessment is of the situation?"

   "What, like my opinion matters."

   "To me? It does. Definitely. You? Are an outsider, coming in. Outsiders? Always have a unique view of things. It's always a person on the outside, who sees things differently. What's your take on all of this world you find yourself in?"

   "Okay. I come from a small town. The local cops? You get what you get. There's usually one or two great guys. One or two complete assholes. The rest? Run the gamut in between. You're lucky if you don't have a selfish criminal in the group. That's every town, up and down my area, over and over again. You have to try to figure out which guy you're dealing with."

   "Okay. That's fair…"

   "We move up to the state police? Hey. I start to get impressed. College degrees. Training. Overall way better behavior. You still got your gamut the guys run, but, it's a way better system. Following me?"

   "I follow. Better education. Longer and better training. More intelligence. Those are the key ingredients you're picking up on. Please, continue."

   "Okay. I get here? Honestly, it's like some weird… combination of those two. I feel like, it should be a step further UP from the state police? And it sort of is, and it sort of isn't."

   "How so?"

   "Honestly, it reminds me of the high school football team, that brings home championships. Guys act like high school football heroes. Running around. Banging the cheerleaders. Frat boy mentality. That's off duty… on duty? Yeah, super-cops. I grant you that. You guys got a whole factory full of big impressive power tools for catching bad guys, really bad guys… but? You… put a bunch of… politicians in charge of everything? It's ruining it. I can't get a fucking thing done, for all the red tape. Meetings. Board meetings. For bullshit that ain't got shit to do, with simply catching my bad guy."

   "That's, not an… inaccurate assessment. Funny you say football team and frat boys, because we have a personality type we look for. Stand out athletes that do well in classwork too? Fraternity officers? Make for men that can take charge and lead, and, tend to already have a mindset to working on a team. They can get the job done, and, they can follow orders. Men willing to stand there and take the hit, so that the ball moves forwards over the goal line."

   "So, everyone that isn't on the team? Has to either cheer for them, or, is encouraged to tolerate all the bad behavior that goes along with having an all star team. Wonderful."

   "All right. Maybe, on some level… sure. Something like that. A little bit. But… IA is more concerned with the occasional bad apple that goes way beyond typical bad behavior."

   "Okay. Which brings us circled back around to the real world implications. I'm on a team. I'm here, on my own time and dime. I have one purpose, and one purpose only… finishing my case. Period. I can't afford to get my case sidelined, because you want me to be your snitch. This isn't my world, I'm just visiting. I can't afford to jeopardize my case, my baby… to help you… control the behavior of your… football team off the field."

   The two men looked at one another, then back. The older one was about to speak, when the younger one, Sourpuss, spoke again.

   "Um, Panic? It's not your team as you say. Now, when you say team, I can only think you're referring to the agents you're working with. The team that's assembling around your case, am I correct?"

   "Yes. We're working together. We have to trust one another. I trust my partner, Speedy. The state cop. Speedy? Trusts his guy here, so… I trust him too. I can't help you dig up dirt on my team mates."

   Sourpuss glanced at the older partner who took over.

   "Panic. To tell you the truth? At IA, we really don't trust most agents that come to us. Most of it, is junior agents who don't like an older agent, and they're basically trying to get them in trouble, to help themselves out. Or? At a higher level… a really bad apple, is trying to appear to be helping, by sending us a bad apple. When we approach someone, if we don't get a good bit of confrontation and refusal to help? We honestly don't really trust them."

   The younger agent cut back in quietly.

   "Panic? We're not here to get you to snitch on any of your own team mates. We're here, just on the off chance, that we can take a bigger bite out of a really big, really bad apple. An apple that… honestly, you don't have any dealings with, and isn't a member of your trusted team."

   Panic regarded them.

   "Guys? You're not here to get on my shit?"

   "No."

   "And, you claim you're not here, to try to get me to snitch on my team mates?"

   "Not at all."

   "Then… why are we here?"

   Younger guy looked at the older guy, who took back over.

   "Panic… most of the… football players? Enjoy dating the cheerleaders. Not you. Now, this all could be happenstance… except? You got your ID, and… you didn't take it out for a spin. You're not out at the bars and the clubs. You're not making the rounds of the cheer-leading squad."

   "So? I'm not a football player, either."

   "Yeah… you know what your nickname is, behind your back?"

   "What?"

   "They call you the boy scout."

   "Oh, we have a witness, in my case? He's called the boy scout."

   "He was. Now you're called the boy scout, and he got nicknamed Trooper."

   "He's not even a state cop, Speedy's the state cop… you guys sure you get your information correctly?"

   "Not state trooper… Trooper in the sense, you're the boy scout, and he's the older boy scout leader. You know, the troop leader."

   Panic smiled…

   "That's funny."

   "Well… any stories that go around about you, tend to center around you being a boy scout, for lack of a better phrase. Then? The… football team started… suggesting you date cheerleaders, instead of who you hooked up with. You didn't go for that. No, you didn't go for that at all, did you."

   "Where do you guys get all this? Seriously."

   "Look, it's normal for IA junior agents, to go around checking up on and talking about any outside consultants. It raises no suspicions. Normal, everyday activity."

   "Okay… where are we getting to, then?"

   "Well… meeting someone outside of work, when you're new to the city to stay for a while? That's a normal activity. But… refusing to go out with the football players, refusing to ride the cheerleader squad… that says something."

   "What does it say?"

   "Well… as I said, it says something. I was hoping you could tell me, what that something is. Why? Is it… religion? Is it… your mom taught you to be a nice person? Give me your explanation. You don't have to, I'm just curious. What's your motivation?"

   "People don't like to hear this usually, but you ask. I'll tell you. We all start out, being little kids. Little kids, by definition, have no power of their own. We all sit and wish, what it would be like… to have personal power. Some people view that power as becoming rich. Some people view that power as being a big scary guy. Sure, as a little kid? I was normal, in that I wished for both. Who wouldn't."

   "Okay. I buy that…"

   "All right. When I was real little? I knew what it was like to get picked on by bigger kids. Older kids. And? What it was like for some authority figures, to… all but do the same thing."

   "I'm listening. It's sort of interesting…"

   "Well. The time came, that I started feeling my oats. Growing up. One day I woke up and looked around me, and I found out that my childhood wish? Was being granted. It kind of snuck up on me. I wasn't being granted money and riches, but, I was being granted… becoming, sort of a tough guy."

   "Okay. Little boys grow up. Some of them become… football players… cops… whatever…"

   "Yeah, whatever. Well, as I was the right age to start losing my faith in religion, and I was having my childhood wish to be… half a tough guy granted? I noticed something…"

   "What was that?"

   "Eh. I still remembered what it was like to be pushed around, to see people walking around like assholes, just because they could… I didn't feel any need to start acting like that. I made it my business? To… never do that. I feel, and I was taught by the actual tough guys that made me into half a tough guy? That… it was my job to protect smaller, weaker men. Women. Children. Old people."

   "A… code of some kind?"

   "Yeah. Yeah, a code. I developed… a code. If in the course of all this? I was going to slowly lose my faith in religion… and also be granted personal power? I felt it was incumbent on me, to see I managed it responsibly. This… code? It grew, and it replaced religion. It replaced normal motivations for money and showing off."

   "You ain't a monk. You still enjoy spending time with women."

   "Let me give you an example. Some young boy? Grows up to be a football star? Might… always have been wishing to date pretty women. It's what he really wanted all along. Without a code? It's too easy to just start using people and throwing them away."

   "Anything else?"

   "Yeah. What exactly people do? Isn't half as important… as their motivations behind it. I want to sleep with a pretty woman. That's fine and dandy. But, if I want to sleep with a pretty woman, just to impress my buddies? That's wrong. Likewise, if a pretty woman wants to sleep with me? And I think it's just because I have some silly team jersey hanging around my neck? She doesn't really want me… she just wants to show me off. I don't want to wipe my dick off with some girl, and throw her away like a tissue. I also don't want used for a tissue by the woman either. Notice, if you will, the main point of all this… sleeping with pretty women? Fine. As long as the motivation, is pure."

   The younger agent said quietly.

   "They got your nickname wrong. They don't teach this in the boy scouts. You mind telling me where they do teach this?"

   "It's called morality. And… it's not really important where they do teach it."

   The older agent simply stated.

   "Well, I do know where they teach this. Someone was in the special forces, it sounds like. Why didn't that come up on your military jacket we pulled? You were a computer programmer, in the Air Force, for Christ's sake."

   "I was not special forces. What I was, was that after the service? I worked around a bunch of special forces. I was a military contractor for a couple, several years."

   The younger guy asked him…

   "You were a mercenary?"

   "That word, mercenary. That word, has a very specific legal meaning. And no, I was not a mercenary. A mercenary? Is someone that will do things for money. I was not a mercenary. You don't do it for the money, you do it because you're doing the right thing. We were trying to protect people, that couldn't protect themselves."

   The older guy came back in…

   "Well… if you weren't special forces, what the hell were you doing working with them?"

   "Someone has to operate the computers and the radios and handle the electronics and tune the antennas. Out in theater. On contract."

   "All right, that makes a lot more sense. The special forces guys, took you under their wing, and gave you their code. Taught you like they were taught. Is… that why you're so damned motivated, to do the right thing? For no money, even if it costs you money?"

   "Do or die. Period. If it's important enough to do it? It's important enough to give it everything you have in you. All your money. All your time. When I go? I go all in… or I don't go. Once I'm in? I don't come back out… unless the job's done."

   The older guy nodded his head…

   "This… makes a lot of things make more sense to me, now. It explains why you're so dedicated, and run yourself ragged on this case you're on. For what it's worth, I hope your case is going well…"

   "Eh. It's still going…"

   "What's the code say about that?"

   "Well… its going. It hasn't failed. I simply won't quit. It isn't in me to quit. If I quit? I fail. Simple as that. As long as I don't quit? I will either die trying to catch whoever, or, I'll catch him."

   The younger agent gave a commentary…

   "Well, within reason, of course…"

   The older agent? Actually made a funny face, and quickly said…

   "Oh, wrong choice of words. I actually know what's coming… Panic? My young friend here? Could stand a slight education on motivation. Please… go ahead."

   "No. Not within reason. Obviously, what everyone thinks "reasonable" even means? Hasn't worked yet. Perhaps we should try unreasonable then. Look… when I stated that I was going to do or die? That's not just a catch phrase. That… is a literal statement of fact. If I only choose to never quit, only two options exist. My death, or my success."

   "There are rules. There are regulations…"

   "Yes. There are, sadly. It's my job, as an investigator? To find my way through and around those obstacles. By being creative. If I have to make sure I touch second base and third base, I will make sure I can prove I touched it. Speedy the state police investigator taught me that."

   The older man made a patting on the head motion in the airspace they shared to his younger cohort, indicating to squelch his line of talk. Panic recognized the idea of it from Speedy coaching him on taking the lead; Panic and Speedy had a similar Speedy Motion that they had arranged betwixt themselves.

   "Panic?"

   "Yes."

   "What does the code you speak of, have to say concerning your woman?"

   "In what way?"

   "Well. We're not here to… investigate you. We're not here to investigate your team coworkers, either. As I said, we're here to investigate some… big bad apple. Now, in the course of things, could I politely ask if you know about the… altercation that your… lady friend had in the past?"

   "I have heard hearsay on the matter, yes. I wasn't there."

   "Hearsay…"

   "Yes. Hearsay. I wasn't there to see it. I have to depend on the people that relate things to me. I've heard more than one version of it, from more than one person."

   "I see. Did all of your versions of hearsay contain the fact that your girlfriend assaulted the wife of an FBI agent, and sent her to the emergency room?"

   "Yes."

   "Does, this bother you?"

   "No. Why should it?"

   "Can you explain to me, why it doesn't trouble you?"

   "Before I politely answer that question? I need to clarify something. You claim you're not here to grill me. You claim you're not here to grill my coworkers. Are you here to grill my girlfriend?"

   "No. I'm not."

   "Then… why are we talking about her? I mean, If I may and all…"

   The agent looked an awful lot like Speedy, with the face he made. He was doing what Speedy did. He was forced to find a path as best he could, whereby he remained polite, yet still meandered through the conversation. He had a destination in mind, just like Speedy did.

   "I'm not here to attempt to bust her, I swear to god."

   "What do you want then, and why are you talking to me, instead of her."

   The older agent locked eyes with Panic, similar in the fashion of once again… Speedy making eye contact.

   "Let me explain everything. It's a somewhat long and circuitous explanation, but if you could bear with me?"

   "Sure."

   "Okay. I'm IA. I track down… bad apples. It's my job. Now, in the course of tracking down one bad apple at a time, naturally I run across other bad apples. This makes sense, yes?"

   "Its logical."

   "Yes. Its logical. Now. By the time I run across yet another bad apple? As you can imagine, that bad apple has been being a bad apple, for a lot longer than the moment I caught wind of him."

   "I'm with you."

   "So… you can see then. Back in the day when something happened? Maybe it got treated by certain people, and taken care of the way it did get taken care of… because of one of those bad apples I talked about? Their old deeds I didn't know about."

   "I still don't understand where I come in, in all of this. Or my girl, for that matter."

   "Do you understand what my bad apple explanation means? Here… you do fine as long as we both talk polite, am I correct?"

   "Sure."

   "Okay. Back in the day, this… incident… it got dealt with whatever way it got dealt with at the FBI back then. It also got dealt with, the way it did… by the local cops. Now… I'm IA. He's IA too. I did not lie to you, Panic… we're both IA. But, I'm FBI IA… my junior partner here? He's local city cops IA. What could you… use your imagination to come up with, that you had some idea what was going on, without either of us telling you? You tell me. I'm not allowed to share my true intentions. But… if you could surmise something? That's not illegal. Go for it…"

   "You're asking me for my imagination? Politely? Well, let me first note something outstanding, that you two refuse to address. I'll ask it. Why are you talking to me, instead of to the material witness?"

   "The material witness? Will not speak to any and all FBI agents. She will not interview. She hates the FBI and anything to do with it."

   "But. I'm talking to IA at both the FBI and the City IA at the same time. If the FBI IA can't get a statement out of her, that means the city IA can't get a statement out of her either. Otherwise, what would I be here for. Once again, one of you two would be interviewing the principal witness, not the hearsay guy."

   The older agent, the FBI one… winked at him.

   "You play the guessing game well enough to keep playing it. Guess the possible connection between FBI and City both being interested in getting this statement now…"

   "Bad FBI apple, his actions back in the day… so… bad apple at the City department too?"

   "Good guess. Now suppose what the biggest problem is getting a statement?"

   "The witness, as you so adroitly put it? Would sooner break a salad plate over your head, than make an official statement."

   "Yes. That is the problem. Do you now see where you come in?"

   "I'll say it. If a bad FBI apple did something way back when, he would be the old married boyfriend."

   "Good guess."

   "And… the city IA… indicates the city cops handled it… in a bad apple way."

   "My FBI IA case? Is about to start a City case. It's going to catch up quick. Both probes are going down already, and will continue. I don't even need a statement, all I need is to be witness to hearing the witness tell me what happened. If my theory is correct, and I know it is… my reports on this incident? Are tainted. City reports? Tainted. We get to charge or at least investigate? Everyone that should have known something was up, and being fixed? And had to have been in on it. See?"

   "No written out, official statement. Just to hear it, to confirm your suspicions?"

   "That would work."

   "What do I get out of all this, supposing I can even pull it off?"

   "What do you want?"

   "I don't know. You two are then, both admitting that both of your own agencies, abused the girl and covered it all up. Yes?"

   "I didn't admit that officially. But… it's another good guess. What do you want?"

   "Oh, I didn't say I would do it yet. I have another question."

   "Shoot."

   "After three drunken FBI wives got drunk and all but ganged up and stalked my girlfriend, the way I heard it? She was being persecuted, outside the law, by the wives of the agents. She went to the CITY cops? For protection… she says that the officers would literally laugh at her, and leave. She ended up, in her search for her protection that the FBI and the Police should have given her… with an outlaw biker ex boyfriend."

   "Yes. I know that part of the story."

   "Okay. My best guess? Is that not only her animosity prevents her from making an official statement now? She now additionally, bears the responsibility to her ex-boyfriend the biker. Those guys have a code of their own, too. I don't blame her, for obeying that code. Judging by her treatment at the hands of the bad FBI apple? Then the hands of a biker boyfriend who she swears opened doors and took her coat off of her and called her ma'am? Why should she put herself in danger now, to help you guys out?"

   "Like I said. No official statement. If all I get is her verbal description? I'm happy. My buddy agrees."

   "Okay. I might be able to pull that off. If I do manage to pull it off, here's what I want in return."

   "Name it. I'll consider it."

   "Me and my partner, Speedy the state cop? Let's say we needed something. Information, help, advice… whatever. I now have a friend at each department. You. And you. In the future, I can call either of you to see if you can get me information or put me in touch with someone else. Okay?"

   "You get me an informal statement somehow? Done. Little buddy, you in?"

   "Done."

   Panic motioned for a passing waitress.

   She smiled, and already knew he had asked for him and the gentlemen to be left alone until he asked for service. Panic sat and smiled to wait.

   "Guys? Wouldn't it be a nice gesture, on both your parts, to leave Miss Merry a really nice tip? I couldn't ask for anything material from you two, for myself, it wouldn't be in my nature. You guys have wallets? Each of you… take out a nice, big piece of paper. I'm gonna give it to her as a tip. Watch me operate."

   Both men nodded, to themselves and to each other. Both came up with a couple of 50 dollar bills. Made a little stack of both their contributions put together.

   Merry came over, and got their orders. When she was about done, Panic asked her…

   "Honey? Remember the other day, you told off my senior agent? JG and Speedy were both chuckling, watching you go up one end of him and down the other. What an ass that feeb had been to you? That was entertaining."

   She posed with one hand on her hip, pointing with her pen.

   "Yeah. I'm not shy about it. I got treated like shit. I honestly don't have anything nice to say about them…"

   "I understand that. Would you two gentlemen, go to the restroom for a few minutes? Give us a second or two."

   Both IA were seated on the same side of the booth. They both took turns scooting out and went off to the restroom at the drop of a hat.

   "What's up? Why did you… order your friends to the bathroom."

   "So we could have a little talk. Why don't you… sit on my lap for a minute, and let me whisper in your ear. So our conversation will be a secret. Okay?"

   Merry smiled at him.

   "Okay…"

   Panic put his legs outside the booth seat instead of under the table. Merry politely sat on his legs sideways, not astride him. They were in public. Panic immediately got his lips right onto her ear.

   "Honey. Would it amaze you, to learn that yer charming third feeb boyfriend, the one that started all the bullshit? Is turning out to be… a dirty FBI agent. I mean, he's in the process of getting grilled. The city cops? Are getting ready to grill the dirty city cops. But, you had a biker ex-boyfriend, and that complicates things, right? You're not supposed to talk to any cops, for any reason if you don't have to, right? Shake your head yes if this is so. It's okay to tell me. I won't tell anyone, and I understand. Once you make a promise? I understand keeping a promise."

   Merry silently shook her head "yes".

   "Okay. That means you will never make any sort of statement or interview officially with a record of it, to any cop. Shake your head yes if this is true. Again? I won't tell anyone. I think it's admirable that you do keep any promises you made in good faith at the time."

   Merry silently shook her head "yes". Again.

   "Okay honey. I don't want you to make any official statements to the cops. What I do want? It's obviously okay for you to tell off any FBI agent that you want to though, like you did yesterday, right? That didn't break any of your promises to bitch at them, right? If it was okay what you said complaining the other day, shake your head yes if this is so."

   Merry silently shook her head "yes", yet again.

   "So… is there any way I could persuade you, to not make any official statement, because that would be breaking your promise. But… since you're allowed to off the record complain about the shitty way you were treated by the dirty FBI agent, and the dirty city cops that looked the other way? Make use of that complaint time. Complain slowly and thoroughly. If you take my meaning. And I think you do."

   Merry put her arms around his neck, and planted her lips now onto his ear.

   "You're saying, that the dirty feeb is maybe about to get his just desserts? And there's a chance that dirty city cops are gonna get theirs too? Shake your head yes if this is so."

   Panic shook his head silently up and down saying yes, scraping his cheek off of her breasts, but through her uniform material.

   "Ooh. I like it. You owe me. I get to do anything with you, anytime I want. Whether you want to or not. Deal?"

   Panic let her feel him accepting her terms through her uniform material.

   "Yeah. And? I'm so happy getting a chance to fuck over the feeb? And the city cops that laughed at me? I owe you, the same way. You can do anything you want to me. We each take our turns, getting whatever we want. No matter what. Deal?"

   Panic agreed again by scraping her uniform material.

   The two IA guys were making their way back to the table, in an exploratory fashion. Panic waved them over.

   They sat down without saying a word. Merry stayed on Panic's lap, and the two agents slid into the booth on their own side, in the same positions they were originally in. Merry launched into a much longer complaint about the shit her ex-feeb boyfriend had pulled, all three of them.

   She explained how the three drunken wives came in three different nights, chasing her around drunk, slapping and kicking at her. Threatening to run the skank out of town. How she finally had to mace the one, and whack her over the head with a salad bowl. How the other wives piled in and kicked her, until her waitresses came and got into it, trying to save her. How she ended up with a biker boyfriend, that treated her so much better, it wasn't even funny.

   Both of the IA guys were astounded to hear her complaint about her biker boyfriend getting run out of town, on what she complained was entirely made up drug arrest charges.

   "There's no way Pound was driving around with that much shit on him, he wasn't allowed to have any shit on him that wasn't small personal use."

   Both IA guys asked why…

   "It's no secret that Pound was an enforcer for an outlaw MC gang. He's the guy that comes in and beats up some guy somewhere because he's messing with someone's friends and family. He's not allowed to have drugs on him like that. Gang rules. So, where did the city cops get that much shit, for the drop-off? They have to be as dirty as any biker anywhere. There's no fucking difference between the cops and the bikers in this city. They just wear different uniforms."

   Merry kissed his cheek and left to put their orders in, and returned smiling with everyone's drinks. When she was gone, the older FBI IA guy commented.

   "Wow. She's a gold mine. She could fucking help fry one or two dirty FBI agents. I'm getting ready to cook their gooses. I wish I could sweet talk her to testify against them, but, I promised. How about you, little buddy? How happy are you now?"

   "Holy shit. I got probable cause to start looking into everyone that touched those complaints. They were all in on a big cover up. Even without her? I already know everyone knew about it working those nights. You honestly wouldn't believe reading the report."

   Panic asked what the city report was like.

   "My report, doesn't mention the first three times the city cops came, and she says they all laughed at her, in her face. Left out the FBI wives coming here what? Three, four times? Story I got, from the report which is now bullshit mind you, was that the one time, the wives had a couple glasses of wine, and came down all nice to ask Merry, what was going on? Then Bloody Mary beat her down with a salad plate, then attacked the other wives."

   "Isn't there video of all this?"

   City IA responded…

   "Yeah. But, I only have the one incident report, not the other three. My one incident, has a short video, of the fight going on from the minute she hits the lady over the head, and a short time later."

   Panic snorted derisively…

   "You got a minute of one night. An edited down snippet. Where's the rest of the tape? If she's telling the truth, there's multiple videos of the cameras on a DVD handed over, and a longer fight sequence, that shows the wives chasing her around for four different nights before she eventually defends herself."

   "You're goddamn right there was more video than that!"

   All three of them looked up into Merry staring and pouting at them. Two hands posed on both her hips. Working the table for them, if the men got engrossed in conversation they were liable to simply all look up to see her standing there.

   "Your business, made a DVD of all four nights? My record only shows a little piece of one night!"

   "We have a little stack of that DVD. My cook makes copies of anything we need for later, that's the whole point of having security cameras. Duh… I have a DVD in my locker, there's one up in the office. I made copies for the girls to show people. We thought it was funny."

   Both IA looked at each other. Both got their wallets out, and started emptying it onto the table, giggling.

   "Ma'am? We will never ask you to testify if you don't want to… but… can we have a copy of the funny DVD? Here! Have a nice night out on us!"

   Merry counted the stack of large bills, and cocked her head.

   "Wait here…"

   She went off into the back where the short row of high school lockers allowed the employees to keep anything they wanted, and returned shortly with a DVD in a little envelope with a see through plastic window. All she said was…

   "Have fun."

   After the one IA guy paid with his credit card on a tray to Merry, the other did it with him. The younger one, the formerly sour faced agent, suggested the three of them go pow wow in his undercover squad car. He had a laptop to watch the DVD on.

   The three did. Both IA made comments constantly what wasn't in the report, and what little had been entered into the record. How it was so obvious the tapes had been edited down to frame the incident just so, in order to make a report that cleared the FBI wives bad behavior on the only night they even filed an incident, notwithstanding the three previous night time cover-up jobs.

   They had a number of camera's viewpoints of the fight. Different points in the fight, were closer or farther depending upon which camera you picked and where in the timeline you started viewing. They started picking and choosing camera views and start points, cherry picking the fight highlights. The two IA guys made a face at each other. This was no girly pushing shoving hair pulling face scratching affair. That was how the FBI wives fought, but, they had evidently brought three knives to a gunfight.

   From the moment Merry maced the one, she whaled more than one heavy salad china bowl onto the lady's head at once, for more weight. She went down. The other ladies came piling onto her, and could barely if at all contain her. She kept getting one arm wrested free and plowing one or another in the face. You could see their heads snapping back violently.

   When they finally got her down, one of the three slipped and it dragged them all down onto the floor. Changing camera views until they caught it better showed that was no salad dressing they slipped on, that was a puddle of dark from the salad lady's head. Slipping around on the floor, Merry was getting one or another down and plowing them in the face while holding them by the hair or the neck. Ouch.

   Any one that got up and out of it, would try to kick her or stomp on her, but… they couldn't do anything but annoy her, or keep pushing her back down. By the time a couple of the other girls came running in, and failed to break it up, they got into it more or less one on one. The waitresses fought like the FBI wives did. Like little girls.

   They could see Merry getting up from the pile up after her girls came into the fray. She smacked the ground with the meat of a balled up fist, and stood up and came stalking over to grab one up. The girl tried hitting her in the face, but it looked like it had no effect whatsoever. She got bodily picked up and all but ran into the wall and thrown down. Merry hauled off and soccer kicked her in the face and crumpled her up into a ball. Then went and got another one, this one got picked up and rammed into the corner hard.

   She had her by the throat in the corner, pinned up, and was free to punch her in the head and face while really leaning into it. Without her head being able to snap back crowded into the corner, she finally just let her drop to the floor limp. She grabbed another from behind and threw her down into a booth and got a knee up on top of her and went to work. The other one got free and came and tried to peel her off of her, tried to punch her from behind, accomplishing nothing.

   Merry finally reached back and grabbed her, and dragged her down on top of the other one, and continued to knee them down, going to work. With the table kicked out and over, she had more room to perform her grim task. More ribs as they were covering up their faces now.

   Then she stalked around hauling off and kicking anything that was still moving. Ribs and faces. The other girls had retreated out of the video by now. Her routine was the same now. Couple steps into a field goal kick to the head, followed by ribs. She more or less kicked them into a pile. Then went and dragged the booth women over and into the pile.

   She finished by leaning over and picking one's head up and looking into her face. She just dropped her head to bounce off the floor. She stood up and simply walked over to sit down at the booth with the table kicked over. Waited. The police arrived shortly after. You could see them checking the pile of wives, while one was talking to her sitting in the booth.

   You could make out the back and forth from the index fingers and palms indicating things. Both were getting heated and arguing as the talk went on. Then the other cop joined the first and started yelling and jabbing her with his fingers. Both started doing it, until she started arguing with both the big male uniformed city cops. One finally open hand pimp slapped her hard, and she just looked at him. The next time that cop touched her with his index finger? She kicked him in the crotch and punched his partner right in the face.

   From the video with no audio, it appeared she had calmed down to wait for the police, and the police certainly looked to be antagonizing her and pushing and slapping her until she responded. The two cops had trouble getting control of her, and one ended up holding her finally while the other maced her, which clearly caught the partner holding her as well. She was blindly by feel trying to wrestle and punch the cop holding onto her when the partner dropped the mace and went for a taser.

   Laying there twitching and convulsing from the taser, the other cop kicked her on the ground a couple times while she danced with electricity unconscious. The taser cop shoved his partner back and shot her with the second load, then dumped the battery until it was exhausted and her already unconscious form slowed its floor dance and subsided. Then they handcuffed her, and dragged her out by the ankles to the squad car. Her lifeless head bounced hard off of every step to get up and out the back door to street level. Unconscious eyes rolled up staring out.

   A couple of waitresses were coming over and intervening, and there was pushing and shoving and screaming. The cops basically took turns backhanding the waitresses to stay back while they electrocuted an unconscious waitress. The waitresses were screaming and throwing salad bowls at the two city cops heads as they dragged her away, one or another had to take turns blocking flying salad bowls.

   Then the ambulance crew arrived. You could see the ambulance crew calling on their lapel microphones for another wagon for multiple injured. The one ambulance guy wants to check the unconscious girl with blood all over her uniform being dragged away, and the cop rudely shoved him over and yelled at him threatening him. The ambulance guy yelled back at the retreating cop dragging his load out, and flipped him the finger with the added arm slap gesture for emphasis.

   Other cops arrive after the ambulance crew loads up the injured onto stretchers and carts them off quickly to the emergency room. Cops arrive and take pictures. Waitresses and the cook are out arguing with the cops, who certainly appear to yell at them, and laugh constantly. Some high strung waitress off video sends one final salad dish careening and exploding into the door closing as the last cop leaves.

   IA just looked at one another before gabbing about it.

   "Holy shit. This is Rodney King level bullshit."

   "I can't believe she doesn't file charges."

   Panic cut in.

   "Doesn't do that much good. Your video disappeared. The cops statements? Bullshit. Where's the witness statements to all this? Poof, all gone, right?"

   "City? That's your arena…"

   "Statement says the workers were uncooperative and argumentative, and wouldn't give video. That's bullshit too. Video comes down the station later on."

   "Which gets edited down to the littlest part to make her look bad."

   "Yeah, that's obvious now."

   They both started commenting on everything wrong…

   "Where's the cop's body cams?"

   "Oh. The usual technical glitch."

   "Right. Biggest problem right off the bat? She's all calm when the cops get there. They poke and slap her and yell at her, until they get her going."

   "Yep. They ignore the scene and the witnesses, and all they are concerned with, is generating something they can use."

   "You know, if they just came at her with handcuffs, and she started fighting, that's one thing. She's calm. No handcuffs. They just start it with her. That's bad…"

   "Yeah. Then beating up a handcuffed woman? Taser her until the battery runs out? Taser her the second time unconscious just for fun? Threatening the witnesses and putting their hands on them? Christ…"

   "So, little buddy. How do we handle this video? You already know the brass is going to want to bury it. Let sleeping dogs lie. Since the girl wouldn't press charges."

   "Oh yeah, way ahead of you. We just make multiple copies? And pretend we're burying it. When it comes out in the end? They won't know what hit 'em…"

   "I see… multiple waitresses. Witnesses. More than one waitress complaining and getting slapped. Even the ambulance driver gets knocked around… Jesus."

   "Why doesn't she get a lawyer? File charges?"

   Panic piped up laconically…

   "You guys are thinking like cops, like lawyers. Look at it like the citizens do. The video disappears. The statements disappear. The cops maul the unconscious suspect. You send a video in? They just ignore it or edit it down. Throw the body cam footage out. A witness comes forward to help? They ignore you. You try to force the issue? Look at what you'll get on the street when they see you. Everyone knows the rules… cops are allowed to make fun of you, smack you around, beat you up, tase you, whatever they want. No charges. You so much as place a tip of your finger on their chest? Oh, that's assaulting a police officer. You get a fine and six months for that. Wake up and smell the coffee, boys."

   "Not that it's any excuse, but, her being a biker chick doesn't help any…"

   Panic laughed.

   "What?"

   "She's just a waitress in this video. She doesn't get a biker boyfriend until after this goes down."

   City was hit by surprise by that one…

   "Oh. Christ, I know how that's gonna sound. My report was that she already was a biker chick…"

   The FBI IA chimed in…

   "No. The gossip around my office, is that she goes biker chick afterwards."

   "Why didn't your guy go with that cover story too?"

   "Think. He can't. Senior agent, running an office? Admits dating a member of organized crime? Oh no… he had to go with she becomes a biker after the fact. IA would have been up his ass with a magnifying glass for a stunt like that."

   "Hmm."

   "What?"

   "Works out good. City's story is she's a dangerous biker already. FBI story is the opposite. Their stories fight each other."

   "I see your point. More obvious lying, from everyone trying to save their own skin. Then. All these new witnesses, all the new statements that are accurate, all matching up. The video? Is just an Emmy award winning movie on top of the best selling book of statements. We'll make sausage out of everyone."

   They both apologized again for the actions of their bad apples, and thanked him for his help warmly. Sent him back in and said they'd be in touch. Merry had told Panic when he came back in, to come back at 6 or so. If he wanted to. He wanted to. He asked Merry to get another copy of the DVD as well as keep copies for herself at multiple locations.

   She sat on his lap, and purred into his ear right before he left…

   "I already have a copy at home. I'll make you copies from that one. You? Have been a very… good… boy. Do you know that? How in the hell did you just pull this off. I don't even have to testify, and I'm getting a chance to fry that feeb, as well as the city cops. How the fuck did you get this done? Hm?"

   "Glad you're so happy, honey. It kind of just fell into my lap, really."

   She pulled his cheek in, and purred even more in his ear.

   "Thank you…"

   "Hey, it's fine. Science girl cut down four weeks of research into four hours, right? It's the least I could do."