the Dirty Dozen - Chapter 55

   "Hi. FBI. My driver? Local FBI satellite office, showing me around. This… is FBI Internal Affairs, and, that one? Is his faithful squire, that's DC City Internal Affairs. Who's in charge here?"

   "That would be me. Pennsylvania State Police. Homicide investigator. I took over from the chief here, he's the local chief. First shield on the scene. Those guys, right over there… are his boys."

   "Great. How's this all working out so far. You boys getting along?"

   "I'm out here, because we got homicides in Pennsylvania. Go figure. The chief and me? We get along fine. The chief has been kind enough to stick around, and let me use his men. I never turn down free help. Everyone's been getting along just fine. Until now. Wondering what you think of all this?"

   "Hey, I just fucking got here. Everyone's shitting their pants down in DC. Me? I drew the short straw, and I was stupid enough to volunteer, to come up and try to contain this shit-storm. This? Is the exact sort of thing that ends careers. Not that I technically give a shit, I'm about half ready to start my new career. Drinking beer and fishing on a boat somewhere."

   "Well? Welcome to the fun-house. You want a walk through of the scene? Hope you didn't eat yet. This is a bad one."

   "Hold on. Who's this? I don't see a badge on him. Why the fuck is a civilian waltzing around the scene?"

   "Hi. Name's Panic…"

   "Great. I'm happy for you. Would you mind going and sitting down somewhere? I need a statement, I'll come over and ask you. Thanks."

   "Really? Fuck you and have a nice day."

   "List---"

   "Ho! This isn't a normal civilian. We need this guy. Be nice."

   "And, why do we need him?"

   "Well. I got a baker's dozen of dead DC off duty cops up on the hill, getting ripe. He? Has the magical ability, to go in there, and talk to the woman that killed them. Without getting shot. She trusts him. Do you wanna go in? The lady won't talk to anyone with a badge, she's scared shit-less."

   "Okay. I'll bite. What's so special about him. Is he the bar owner? What."

   "No. He? Is one of the first two witnesses that discovered this fucking unholy mess. Looking for his girlfriend, who was missing. Him and his buddy? Came into town and got the chief here, who they know. Chief came out, expecting to find a drunken brawl and everyone drunk… chief found the unholy mess. The chief had his entire small force come out, mostly off duty mind you, trying to help. They… picked up the one guy that tried to get away from this unholy mess. That one? Cuffed in the back of the squad car. Doing a basic walk-through? A preliminary? We located two more survivors. Got them locked up in the back of the squad car also."

   "Sounds decent so far. The three witnesses you scooped up. What's their story?"

   "None of the three will open their mouth. Honestly? I might have just as well picked up three gang-bang assholes, trying to sell me a lame ass story, they were on a fishing trip."

   "How do you know they weren't on a fishing trip?"

   The chief cut in.

   "Pretty easy. One? No one has a rod or a reel or a tackle box. No one can even tell me where the only bait shop in town is. Off duty cops, out of state. They come here at zero dark thirty? Get massacred."

   "So… they're not witnesses, more like victims. Survivors…"

   "Eh. Not so much. I'm honestly starting to think of the cops here? Dead and survived? As the perpetrators."

   "Okay, you think they shot the other cops."

   "No."

   "Who's the shooter? I got a call on my flight here, something about a woman barricaded and won't come out. Is that the shooter? So, that's my perpetrator then… or, what am I missing?"

   "Look. This? It's… complicated. I honestly think, the woman barricaded inside the bar? Is a victim. I honestly? Think the dead cops, and those three assholes who won't talk, by the way… are the perpetrators."

   "Okay. What do you think happened here? I was told, I got 10, 12 dead DC off duty cops, piled up like dirty laundry. This… is a biker bar? Correct?"

   "Yes. It is."

   "Okay… I got 10 or 12 dead cops… I got a biker bar. Bikers, kill cops. We arrest the bikers. What am I missing here?"

   "Tons. First off? I already did GSR tests on everybody. Witnesses, bikers, even the chief and the cops. I wasn't taking any chances…"

   "Whose dirty?"

   "No one. The three survivors? Are all covered in gunshot residue. They? Were obviously involved in the massacre."

   "So… they shot the other cops, on this fishing trip…"

   "No. I don't think so."

   "Well? Before I walk around… what do you think happened then…"

   "Honestly?"

   "No. Lie to me. Of course I want your best guess."

   "Well… looks to me. And the chief here… like we got 16 dirty cops. Come on a little field trip, off the books, to do a gangland hit, on the victim. Who is barricaded inside that bar."

   "And the hits just keep on coming. Come on, let me hear the rest. This is just about to get weirder, isn't it? I can see it on your face…"

   "Right. Brace yourself. Your dead DC cops? Are prancing around with a couple ounces of pretty high quality cocaine. The chief? Didn't have a field test kit. He rubbed some on his gums? Says his teeth were numb for an hour. Chief, by the by, spent ten years on the city force, in Chicago of all places. Also? We got an ounce or so, of heroin. That's just a guess, no one wants to taste test that shit. Sure looks like it to me."

   "Fuck me."

   "The wife would kill me. Wanna get more good news?"

   "Oh. I can't stand it. Go on… thrill me…"

   "Shooter? Wrote a manifesto."

   "What? Why does everyone write a manifesto these days, Christ. Why can't people let us guess what went on, like the good old days. Everyone has to write a storybook now. Good god…"

   "I been busy. Want more evidence? Of how wonderful our hero cops were representing DC's finest to the public?"

   "I can't wait…"

   "Looks like the shooter, made high resolution pictures, and video. Of those sixteen DC cops, in 4 cars, sitting around town all day, waiting for the zero dark thirty hit time. I got plates, cars, close ups on telephoto lenses, of all these dead cops, and the three assholes in the back of the car."

   "And, it's a woman."

   "Panic here, seems to think she's a woman. He's been sleeping with her."

   "And, that's why he's the only one can go in, without getting massacred."

   "Correct. You? Are welcome to walk in, I don't personally recommend it. She's still armed."

   "Anything else?"

   "Cops also, had a cheap handheld scanner. Still tuned to the local's frequency. You know, listening in, making sure they weren't going to be disturbed with a random drive by of the locals. Cops? Left their badges and wallets in the four cars, before going up the hill, to get the girl. That tells me, they were ready for action. The badges left behind? Well, that tells it's own story as well, don't you think?"

   "No warrants? Car radios?"

   "No warrants. No car radios. Just the scanner, and they dropped their cell phones in the car too. It's obvious they didn't want a scanner squawking, or, a cellphone beeping, alerting the girl they were going up to get."

   "Okay. You picked the one guy up in a disabled car, he wrecked fleeing the scene?"

   "Negative. Car overheated. Someone disabled all four cars before the fireworks started. The one that thought he got away? Didn't get far. That's the one the chief picked up."

   "You said three. Where did the other two come from again?"

   "Found them, handcuffed to a tree. If you read the manifesto, which I highly recommend by the way, she explains what happened to them."

   "Where do I read this best seller?"

   "On my laptop…"

   On the way over to the car, so the FBI and both IA could read the manifesto, see the pictures and videos… the investigator slipped Panic the SD card, as they slowed down and let everyone get ahead of them.

   "Made a copy on the laptop. I left out the text addressed to you. I didn't open it. If it has anything we need? Let me know. If it's personal? I don't care. I feel bad enough up to now, least I could do."

   "Thanks. I'll read it later."

   "Car's open boys. Get that laptop out…"

   Both IA crowded around, and were intent on the pictures and video of the cops. Everyone read the manifesto, and the PS update.

   "Are we buying this?"

   "So far? Everything checks out. Panic here, he says IA called him, and released him to fill us in, about the girl up here on a safe house kinda deal. Once that happened, the rest kind of filled itself in. The manifesto? The candid camera work? Well… a picture's worth a thousand words. The videos? You can see their heads going down, getting coked up. To stay up for two days, driving, staking out…"

   "Yeah, I saw that. Jesus Christ… this is a mess beyond belief. Can someone tell me, where did you kill and bury all the press? I don't see any, what did you do with them?"

   "That's been the biggest stroke of luck yet…"

   "How, did you manage that?"

   "Blind luck. Panic, and his buddy? Found the scene. Didn't call 911, they just went into town, and grabbed the chief. They know him. The chief? Grabbed his off duty cop with him, shanghaied him to come and check out the 'drunken party'… that cop? Cell phoned the rest of the force, all off duty, who hurried in and helped out. No one has used the radios, so… no press. Yet."

   "What are you doing with the scene?"

   "Hey, off the radio was a dream come true. I been talking back and forth with home base? On my cell. The scene? That's an issue… the instant I call for body bags? Ambulances? Crime scene techs? Bang, here comes the reporters. Like vultures. You boys want a guided tour? Before the whole Roman army shows up? Hope you didn't eat or drink anything yet, it's a real mess."

   City IA smiled at Panic…

   "Panic? When I gave you kids some milk money, and said to keep her on ice, and keep her safe? Be quiet? This isn't what I expected. This? Is not quiet… Kemosabi."

   "Hey. This was my idea of a safe house. Out in the sticks. Off the grid. This? Was my idea of quiet. Unfortunately for us? DC cop's idea of keeping people on ice, and quiet? Well, they have a whole different technique for that."

   "Panic. I sent you out of the city, to keep the fireworks down to nothing. I honestly don't care you popped a dirty cop, but… Christ almighty, son. I don't know whether to be pissed, or pop open a bottle of champagne."

   The lead FBI shot him a look…

   "What? This isn't funny…"

   "I can about list names off, and I don't even have a list of the dead yet. You see guys… cops? Can't hide dirty money very well. They all do the same shit. Sports cars. Motorcycles. Off road toys. Expensive guns, expensive hunting trips. Fishing boats. All new, all too nice, all paid in cash. Everything in the wife's name. Wives? Kids? All get cars too. All paid in cash. I don't have trouble figuring out who, I just can't prove how they got it. It's not illegal to show up with money in your pocket. I've been waiting for them to fuck up, so I could get onto them."

   "Well? Pennsylvania homicide is here to tell you, in no uncertain terms… they fucked up this time."

   "I still find it hard to believe, you weren't up here, in this shit."

   "That? Was covered in the manifesto we just read. It also squares with his story. Everybody passed residue tests. He's clean."

   Panic smiled.

   "There's one more way you know I wasn't up here last night…"

   "What's that?"

   "You wouldn't have your three survivors. Let me guess, no one's gonna let me beat a confession out of them?"

   "No… fun idea? But no… you want these assholes back out on the street? Pulling this shit?"

   "Hmm. Pulling this shit? No… but… out on the street? Hmm… I could get to like that idea…"

   "Yeah, cowboy. Dream on. City IA here, and we're gonna parade those three heads around on sticks, for the mob."

   "You boys want that guided tour now?"

   "Sure. Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet, before the press gets here, and we can't hear ourselves think."

   "Right this way, gentlemen…"

   The chief instructed his men on his way up…

   "Boys? Keep an eye on the bar, keep an eye on the back seat assholes. Panic? You wanna stay down here? We got this…"

   "All right…"

   As soon as everyone went up for their walk through of the scene… Panic texted Merry, and disappeared inside the side door. He gave her a quick update.

   "Okay. Everything's working perfect. They're buying I did it now, huh?"

   "Pretty much. They ran out of other possible explanations."

   "Okay. Just don't give yourself away with Uncle Mike. Our plan, is to drag this out a little while, get the press here, so he can make statements. DC ain't gonna be able to sweep this one under the rug, like they always do. The press will eat them alive if they try it. So will the internet. All right, get your ass back out there, and keep playing the distraught and concerned boyfriend. Donut boy…"

   Merry looked out the side door and stuck her tongue out at Rob, who shook his head, chuckling. Merry slapped Panic on the ass, to scoot him out the door playfully since no one was watching.

   They came down from the walk-through after a while. The investigator and now the FBI head man came up to Panic.

   "Hey. My name's Mike. Figured we could start over."

   "I guess so."

   "Well, the chief and my buddy here… they're explaining to me, how…"

   "Yeah. I know. I can go in and not get shot. I'm sure they explained to you. I won't wear a wire. I won't tackle her. I don't care what the situation is? I won't betray my girl in there."

   "Hey. I think that's great. Nothing like that."

   "Mike, right?"

   "Yeah. Mike."

   "Mike? You sound like a person who wants something. Just spit it out, would you?"

   "Well. They were telling me, how you got the palm prints."

   "Yeah…"

   "Um. How about you do a residue test on her? It's not hard, you already seen it. You dribble some liquid and if it turns dark, that's a positive."

   "I'll see what I can do. What's the point? The shooter already admitted doing it."

   "I just wanna rule out, say, some other bikers that we didn't test, were here. She should be covered in it. If she goes for it, like the prints? I want you to video it. I'll give you my phone."

   Panic held his hand out…

   "Homicide phone?"

   Cell clapped into his hand immediately, after setting it so he just had to press the green send.

   "Hi. Me again… no, I'm fine. Robbie has just been rubbing my shoulders. I think he's making a move on me, hun… all right… everyone wants me to come in and do a residue test… it tells them if you fired a gun recently… huh? Easy… we just dribble some liquid on your hands, and I video what color it turns. Easy… okay? All right. The door will be me…"

   Panic handed the cell back. Stuck both hands out palm up…

   "Test bottle… and video phone…"

   Both didn't take long to appear. Like usual, he just walked up to the front door. Tapped with his foot a couple times. She unlocked, scanned around with her game face, and wiggled her finger to bring him in. Pointed back inside, and he walked in. Her grim face scanned some more, like always. She suddenly slapped the door shut and locked it.

   Panic videoed the residue tests, that she did to herself on the video. It turned black. She even dribbled some on her forehead and cheeks, it turned dark as well. She was covered in it. When the video was over, she quit with the mean face. No one but them knew, that she had deliberately fired a handgun, several hundred rounds, before this all had started, getting ready.

   Because the several shotgun blasts would have made her positive, surely, but… to be responsible for all this up on that hill behind them? She would need a veritable shellac covering of gunshot residue. She had it.

   "Go on. Let everyone see. I have to own this…"

   "What do you want for dinner, honey? Pizza again?"

   "Whatever. Or, bring me something from the boy's camp, if it isn't too much trouble."

   "Oh. You want Frenchie to make you something special?"

   "Whatever is rumbling on the fire is fine, dear."

   "Okay. When I come in for dinner, I'm gonna tell them I'm gonna take my time eating with you. Supposedly, I'll be trying to talk some sense into you, and all."

   "That would be nice, rather than cramming my face with pizza in a couple minutes, swallowing it whole."

   "Right. What I was thinking."

   "Is that what they're calling it now? Talking sense into me?"

   "What do you call it?"

   Merry smiled.

   "You'll be talking something into me, if we have time for a nice quiet dinner, right?"

   "Well, no rough stuff."

   "We'll see. Go on, get out of here…"

   Merry shoved him out the door by his shoulder to force him out. Scanned the area around the door with slits for eyes. Let everyone see the dark blotches on her cheeks and forehead, and showed it on her free hand as well. Then, she slapped the door shut unexpectedly, and locked it.

   Panic walked over, and handed the test bottle back, and handed the phone over that had the test video on it. Everyone crowded around to see the results.

   "Oh yeah, that's the shooter."

   "That's no bystander, that's no couple of shots helping out… Jesus…"

   "She took a bath in gunshot residue…"

   Panic smiled…

   "That's my little girl. Ain't she sweet…"

   Everyone just looked at him.

   "What? Figure a way to get her out of there, alive! Where the fuck am I gonna find another one of those, huh?"

   When everyone was out of earshot, Rob teased him quietly.

   "You get another quickie? That was really quick, even for you…"

   "No. We were loosely planning a longer dinner later… she doesn't want pizza for lunch and dinner…"

   "What were you thinking?"

   "Well, she asked if we could bring her something from Skykid's campfire tonight, if nothing else comes up…"

   "Oh. Merry is dessert. Gotcha."

   "Rob?"

   "Yeah?"

   "More like I'm dessert right now. You saw her face at the door every time she comes out. I'm probably going to get raped at gunpoint…"

   "Are you done bragging yet?"

   Panic smiled. Texting while gabbing.

   "For now? Sure…"

   A while later, everyone was having a chat, trying to decide when to start the process of body bags and scene processing. It was pointed out, that while not dealing with the press was nice and all, things were going to get ripe, and it had to get done sooner rather than later. Ballistics and scene processors and grid walkers could only stand so much before even they puked, and no one wanted puke all over the crime scene and on potential evidence.

   "I'm starting to think, we put this off as long as we can."

   "Why don't we get them in here as soon as it gets dark. We can sneak the ambulances and body bags in and out easier. We concentrate on the bodies and get them bagged and tagged. Then? We can do grids and ballistics at our leisure."

   "All right. We gotta do something with those three. We can't keep them here forever. Piss breaks under shotgun point is one thing, might as well get them out before they need to take a shit. What cage we sticking them in?"

   Mike thought about it.

   "I don't know about county. Some ass clown might see they're cops, and start treating them like a trustee… how about a holding cell at your barracks. The state police mind keeping them on ice? Just until I can get a proper transport to a federal facility."

   "Mi casa, su casa, Mike."

   "They ain't talking anyways, fucking useless. No rough stuff. I don't want to jeopardize this with anything low brow… no slip and fall in the shower, none of that shit."

   "By the book. I promise… have one of the chief's boys drive them up in the squad car… orders to stop for nothing… I'll have a little reception committee waiting at the barracks. Okay?"

   "Sounds good."

   They no sooner had those three packed off, and waved goodbye… when the distant roaring became apparent it was headed their way. A long line of extremely loud Harley's was making its way down the side road, in their direction.

   "What's this?"

   "Aw, what's it look like, Mike. They're just being cute. Just smile and act like it don't bug you. I doubt they're stupid enough to try anything on the scene."

   "No… they're just letting us know, that they know, what's up."

   "No one really knows much…"

   "Isn't it obvious?"

   "What?"

   "The manifesto… internet?"

   "Actually, they'll be less trouble than the press. At least these guys will leave after they said their piece. The press? Fucker's will camp out, and be a constant pain in the ass."

   Mike smiled and shook his head…

   "Strange world. Strange case. I got cops who are criminals, I got a biker girl who's the victim. I got piles of dead cops on biker turf, and the bikers, for once, ain't even involved. Now? A long line of outlaw bikers, who are going to be less trouble than the press ever once thought of being."

   "Mike? You just can't make this shit up. Anything in the FBI manual how to handle this?"

   "Not really. Anything in the state police manual how to handle this?"

   "Pennsylvania State Police manual was a little vague on it…"

   "I say we just stand here and wave."

   "Okay…"

   As the bikes stopped, they just smiled and waved.

   The long line of bikes idled. No one seemed to be going anywhere. Eventually, one by one, the bikes revved loud and the ignitions got cut. Then? A long line of now silent loud bikes. A long line of silent men, on those silent bikes.

   Mike and Homicide didn't know exactly what was going on, or what to do, so… they did nothing. Mike followed his partner's lead and they both sat on the hood of the car, feet up on the bumper.

   "Is this how the natives emerge to greet you in this state? I was told before coming up here, Pennsylvania was a little… different."

   "I've been greeted like this before. I'm homicide, remember? You don't work homicide as long as I have in this state, and not run across a few bikers at work. Just relax. If they think you're nervous, they'll just keep it up."

   "Is this supposed to be some kind of Mexican standoff?"

   "Not really. They probably want to talk to us, that'd be my guess."

   "Well… why not just park and walk up and talk?"

   "You spend any time around bikers? Professionally? Or privately? Anything?"

   Mike laughed. Then lied.

   "Not really. I mainly work outta DC and the surrounding area. The city cops deal with these guys. Not much call for the FBI having much to do with them. Usually, nine times out of ten? It's a local or a state thing."

   "Well, I know it's hard to believe, but, they do manage to generate the occasional homicide, motorcycle accident, what have you."

   "So, we just sit here?"

   "Sure. Why not. Anyways, since you're not used to dealing with them, and I am? Here's the basic biker deal. They all have to hate cops. They can't be seen being friendly with one. Just like we aren't supposed to be too friendly with criminals? Same deal, just in reverse. So? We get the raspberries. Biker protocol, basically. When they're done showing off for their friends, one of them will probably come over and talk."

   "The local bikers, outta this turf bar? They weren't like this."

   "They? Were under orders, to be friendly with the locals. So, they are. Now that I'm looking, I don't see any of our friendly local bikers, do you?"

   "No. I… do… not."

   "Right. These ain't locals. When you see this big a pack of them? Usually one or more nationals with them. It's considered somewhat… prestigious… to ride with nationals. I'm guessing, of course, but… this would probably be some of the Philly crew, maybe some others they picked up along the way."

   "All I'm seeing? Is a polite show of force. Reminds me of when you take a big team of cops somewhere."

   "Yeah, that too. But remember… when do we do that?"

   "If we expect trouble."

   "And? When we don't want trouble. That's how I read this. If there was going to be trouble? We'd already know about it, trust me. You ever notice, in the books and movies, they always portray bikers as… big, giant, dirty… dimwits?"

   "Yeah. If you're tall, hairy, muscular, and have really long hair… I guess you spend most of your acting career playing Vikings and bikers."

   "I don't know about other outlaw biker gangs, I'm Pennsylvania state police, so, these are the only bikers I get to play with. I gotta say, they'll surprise you. Not all of them are big guys. Plenty of them have short hair, no beards. Believe it or not? Don't fall for the biker stereotype, big dumb guys. Not a one of these guys are stupid. They don't prospect dimwits. They recruit for balls and brains."

   "Sounds like what the FBI looks for."

   "Same thing the state police look for, to be honest. Just remember I told you, you never underestimate these guys. A lot of cops make the mistake of thinking you can outwit them easy? I know better. You'll be talking to one, for a long time. They come off like they're all about bikes, beer, and bimbos. Then? They can drop the act in an instant. Smile. Start using a vocabulary like you wouldn't believe. And, I'm not talking just street smarts."

   "Are you trying to scare me?"

   "Not at all. When I was starting out in homicide… you end up interviewing these guys, trying to figure things out. After several of them, all week long? I'm talking six days straight, eight hours a day, all interviews. You know what happened?"

   "What."

   "They were all playing the role. Acting like big dumb guys. Now… after a week straight of this? I started homing in on the one I thought was the dummy. You know, I'm going to outwit him."

   "Did you?"

   "No. The last interview was a shocker. Guys just smiling at me. I said something… witty. When you're a young hotshot? You can't help being a little… cocky. I was young. This guy was dropping the act. He starts correcting me. I'm sitting there, and I about fell over. He starts going on and on. He told me, what I was really looking for. He repeated all my innocent questions I thought I slipped in, trying to get some info out of him. All week. I'm looking at the transcript? He's quoting me, word for word, all week long."

   "How did it go?"

   "He kept going. Over the next half hour? I was the one who got educated. He let me know, all but laughing at me, he had gotten more out of the interviews all week long, than I did. He now knew, what I knew and what I didn't know. I realized when that last conversation was over? I didn't know a thing more than when I started, and what was worse? I might as well have handed him the case file and let him read it."

   "You ever solve the case?"

   "Yes and no. Yes, the case got solved. Not by me, though. It was a nasty homicide. Whole family. The last day, the last hour? I shut the tape recorder off. We just started talking. No more games, I'm just bullshitting with the guy, basically. He starts talking, explaining how his crew? No women, no kids. It's their rules. They don't hit innocent family members like that."

   "Was it a biker that got killed? And his family with him?"

   "Yeah. Guy straight out told me, like discussing the weather. If any of them had known who did that? I'd of been working another homicide. I asked him, if he could help me. His biker buddy had been murdered, and the whole family too. He said he didn't know who had done it, but… only the mafia in Philly hits like that. He explained that they were trying to muscle in on them, and… he pointed me in the right direction."

   "The biker… solved your case for you."

   "Yeah. I asked him why he was willing to help me? Hey, his buddy and family got taken out. He didn't know exactly who? But… he gave me enough, off the record, tape recorders off, interview is technically over… where to watch, and when. I ended up getting a ballistics match on a Philly mob guy. Surveillance and phone taps? Led to a big take-down of a whole mob hit crew."

   "He… was actually a nice guy then? Underneath it all, I mean."

   "I guess so, technically. When I brought him in for questioning when it was all over? It was just so I could shut the tape off, and thank him. He thanked me."

   "For solving his friend's family getting murdered?"

   "That, then he winked at me. Thanked me for taking the competition out. For punishing the people not obeying the rules and the truce they had arranged. He asked me if I played chess? I said I wasn't great at it, but yeah, I played a little. College room mate taught me. He said him and his crew? Didn't have to get their hands dirty, didn't have to run any risks, the cops were now working the Philly mafia, instead of the bikers. They didn't have to go to war with the mob now, that was bad for business. And? The cops were eliminating their competition."

   "Holy shit."

   "Yeah. Like I said, I got a real education. I asked him, why did he wait all week if that was his plan all along. You know what he told me?"

   "Almost afraid to ask."

   "He had been feeling me out. All week. Making sure I wasn't a dirty cop. Glad that happened early in my homicide career. I was starting to get a little cocky, that cured that shit right up, I tell you."

   "Pride goeth before a fall, they say."

   "Ain't that the truth. Mike?"

   "Yeah."

   "You know why we're having this talk?"

   "More than simple male bonding, I'm gonna guess."

   "I was worried when the FBI came in. I don't want Ruby Ridge, I don't want Waco. I'm trying to feel you out, and I'm starting to get the idea, that's not what you want, either. Am I right about this?"

   Mike looked around at the bar, then came back to the conversation.

   "Trust me, that's the last thing I want."

   "All right. Can we talk turkey then?"

   "Shoot."

   "Dirty cops? Are a lot like child molesters. And, just like child molesters? Everyone is so embarrassed when it happens… one of the best things you can do, is try to hide it and sweep it under the rug. The parents want blood, and the church and the school want to just get rid of the problem and make it go away. Preferably without a big public show."

   Mike smiled.

   "Off the record? DC is a fucking cesspool. Everyone knows it. It's no secret. DC has been sweeping it under the rug. No one likes to do that, but, it's always the least painful option."

   "Up on that hill? That doesn't fit under the rug, does it?"

   "Not at all."

   "Can I ask another personal question?"

   "Sure."

   "You got sent up here. This is your mess. I get that. You got a local guy to drive and help. I get that. You brought the city IA with you, again, that makes sense. What I can't figure out, is why IA for the FBI is here too."

   "Well, you already know Panic shot a dirty cop, that came to kill the woman."

   "Yeah."

   "He held up a city badge, but… he was an FBI agent."

   "Ouch."

   "Yeah. His partner sent him. My IA guy filled me in on the flight up. His partner? Is getting set to get grilled. The woman? The star witness."

   "What's the city force tie in?"

   "The partner's job, was to coordinate with other law enforcement agencies. Naturally, there's a lot of work with the DC force. Basically? The FBI doesn't have much of that sort of thing, it's pretty rare. Sure, we try to keep it quiet. But, behind closed doors? We come down hard. In the FBI? You don't just get a desk job, you don't just get fired, or maybe probation and a suspended sentence. You get the whole shebang. It's too important, we can't rug sweep."

   "What are you expected to do with this?"

   "No one, has any goddamned idea what to do. There's no rug big enough to sweep this under. That's been going on, on the city force, for far too long. The FBI is scared and pissed, that the dirty DC crew? Got to our liaison agent and his partner. Do you have any idea, how much information he probably sold, to other dirty cops, in other agencies? How many investigations he potentially tainted?"

   "Mike, I can only imagine what this is going to do, to the public confidence in the local cops in DC."

   "What confidence? Everyone knows what's going on, it's an open joke. The average citizens, are more afraid of the cops than the run of the mill street criminals. Now? The FBI is getting dragged into their mess."

   "Mike? Remember the story I told you? About how I got played?"

   "Yeah…"

   "It's happening all over again."

   "I guess I see what you mean… you mad about it?"

   "Mad? No. The first time, I told you about it? Guy was doing the right thing, for the most part. If him and his crew benefited in the long run? So much the better for him, I suppose. Here? Same basic thing, all over again."

   "You're right. Her motives are pure though, I guess. Self defense."

   "Yeah. I can't fault her for that. Me? You? We still got our work cut out for us. I hope she doesn't plan on killing herself."

   "Well, she went through a lot to protect her life. If I had to guess, she must be a tough cookie."

   "I'm avoiding bringing in backup and a SWAT team. People that can't or won't kill themselves? Well, I don't want to present her with the suicide by cop option. Problem is, I'm running a huge risk there."

   "How so?"

   "I'm okay for now. No shots fired. Situation is quiet. I have no threats. No demands. But… just because she isn't a perpetrator? I still have someone barricaded. Armed. I can't blame her for being stressed out, but, if she pops a round off out the door? I'll get fried. God forbid an innocent bystander gets shot or killed."

   "We can't wait much longer on the scene, either."

   "No. We gotta get the dead bodies out. I'm worried about the feeding frenzy the press is going to get into. I want less pressure, not more. Ballistics and grid work, we can take our time on that. No rush."

   "Even though the dead cops are the perpetrators, they're still shooting victims. The county morgue is going to be a busy place. You want me to place that call? Get the meat wagons here?"

   "Might as well get it over with. How many of your people will you need to work the scene? Enough to get the bodies out properly and not just taking out the garbage."

   "State police has a forensics van. An hour or two after I make the call, they should be on scene. They contact the morgue and arrange the meat-wagons."

   "Which will bring the media."

   "Yeah. The media is a pain in the ass. This is a wide open crime scene. I need manpower to keep them from sneaking in and taking pictures. It's not like I can control the doors and windows in a normal scene. I hate yards and parking lots for a crime scene? This is worse."

   "How long do you suppose those guys are gonna sit over there?"

   "I don't know. We should go over and talk to them. You wanna do the talking? I mean, it's your show. Or… you want me to handle it."

   "If you're used to handling them, go for it."

   Mike and Homicide walked over and headed for the front of the line of bikes. The one in front appeared to be in charge.

   "Good day, gentlemen. Nice day for a ride, huh? Me, I'm stuck working."

   The biker addressed the one nearest him.

   "What's that I smell?"

   He sniffed the air for comedic effect.

   "I do believe, I smell pig."

   "Yeah. That's what I thought it was. Thing is? The pig smell is worse than usual. What do you think that means?"

   He sniffed the air more…

   "You know? That's what a dirty pig smells like. The dirty pigs? Smell a lot worse than usual."

   "Yeah. Your nose telling you anything else?"

   More sniffing…

   "Now that you mention it? I smell dead pigs."

   "Well, that explains it then, don't it? Pigs smell. Dirty pigs smell worse. And? A dead dirty pig? Just horrible…"

   "Guys? I'm not allowed to comment on an ongoing case. Sorry, but you'll have to wait for the fucking press to get here. We'll probably be making a preliminary statement to them. Unfortunately, this is a crime scene, so… the bar is temporarily closed. We're sorry for the inconvenience."

   The head biker just smiled.

   "I don't need the statement. Good news travels fast. A concerned citizen texted me all about it. Internet. It was… interesting to read."

   "I'm pretty sure we read the same thing. I still can't comment on it yet. Anything else we can do for you boys?"

   "Yeah. Do you guys plan on shooting our girl? Like Ruby Ridge? Or… you just gonna burn her alive, accidentally of course, like Waco."

   "Guys. There ain't gonna be any of that shit going on here, I can promise you that. I have no shots fired on scene, and I plan on keeping it that way."

   "Oh. That's a relief. So, our girl will just have a convenient suicide by bed sheet? In county… that's a real load off. Thanks."

   "Boys. I normally don't comment on an investigation, but, you guys just seem like concerned citizens, so, let me be brief. It's not going to be a secret for very long, so… I already took three individuals in. They're in a cage? And they're going to stay there. Now, I don't have a crystal ball, but, I can tell you that the way things stand now? I don't have any plans on making any more arrests."

   "Isn't this the part, where you threaten to arrest us, if we don't leave?"

   "Boys. This is a public road. You… are members of that public. As long as you don't come onto my crime scene? I have no problem, with you guys watching. I know, we play on different teams. But? Today's not a game day."

   "So, you don't mind if we leave a few guys here, as you say, on the side of the road, just concerned citizens?"

   "Suit yourself. The goddamned press is going to arrive soon, unless I'm mistaken. Once those assholes get here? You guys are going to be a blessing compared to them."

   "All right. We'll leave some men here. There's a little park up the road a few miles. We're gonna hang out there."

   "Fine by me. Hell, all the local cops are here, I doubt anyone would bother you, if you weren't raising hell. Honestly? We both want the same thing, for once in our lives. We both just want that girl out of that bar, alive and unhurt."

   The head biker nodded. Tapped his cheek for a few seconds. Thinking. Calculating.

   "You, you. You… and you. Stay here. First watch. Stay off the scene. Don't cause any problems. I'll send guys out to relieve you in a while. We'll take turns keeping an eye on… things. You… and me? Are gonna see about getting some food. The rest of you? Go hit the park. Everybody? This is like toys for tots. Put your happy faces on. Guys on watch? You know to record a little movie of any… action that goes down. Make sure your batteries in the phones are good."

   "So. I answer all your pertinent questions, boys?"

   "We're good. For now. You boys? Seem fine. Now… being a cop in DC? Maybe won't be so… fun of a job in the near future, you know?"

   "Is that a threat?"

   "Sure. Not from me, though. Me? Oh, I would never threaten a cop. No way… now, the citizens in DC? Well. That there is a whole another story. Don't you boys check the internet? You gotta get out more…"

   Once the head biker fired his bike up, the rest followed suit in unison immediately after. The head biker and his buddy, headed back out the road from whence this big line came from. Most of the rest of the pack headed down the road, ostensibly to the little public park with pavilions. Four of them stayed.

   Homicide waved goodbye to the four that had stayed. He then nodded to Mike, and the two of them walked back to their own scene.

   "Well, Mike? What do you think?"

   "Aw, hell. Like you said… they look like they're gonna be less trouble than the fucking media."

   "What do you wanna do now, Mike? You… are in charge of this mess."

   "You just love saying that, don't you?"

   Homicide smiled.

   "When I was young, and cocky? I would have craved being in charge on scene. Did something for me. I was young. Now, that I'm older and wiser? You were put in charge of a big mess."

   "We can't do much until we get the bodies out of here. I don't wanna bug the girl too much if she's staying calm."

   "We have some I's to dot and T's to cross, we missed?"

   Mike thought about it.

   "Just the one thing bugging me. Odds and ends, but still."

   "What?"

   Mike pointed at the line of disabled cars.

   "Drugs… drugs… more drugs…"

   Then Mike pointed up the road, in the direction of where the chief's cops were taking turns babysitting the empty fourth scene car.

   "No drugs. You, are going to convince me, after watching the videos the girl made? That car magically was a just say no, drug free zone?"

   "We need something to fill in the time till the meat-wagons get here. Wanna go over the surveillance videos? Match the plates to the head bobbing?"

   "Sure, but… now that we're talking about it…"

   Homicide smiled.

   "Too easy. Get the chief. We send his three extra guys up to search the surrounding area in the underbrush. Shouldn't be too hard. Cops? Are trained to find drugs, not hide them. Tell those three, to pretend they have to hide the beer before the tow truck gets there. Shouldn't take too long. My advice? Have them wear gloves. I want those prints."

   Mike smiled.

   "Yeah. No lawyer is gonna be able to say anyone planted the shit after the fact, on their little angels."

   "Chief! Your boys getting bored standing around? Got a tiny mission for them… might as well get this squared away before the goddamned press hits the scene…"