“For fuck sake, you better not cry on us,” Scribe says, to the amusement of the group.
“Thank you, for everything.”
“Now you’re just pissing me the fuck off,” Pres growls. “We’re a fucking team. We may not be out on the battlefield anymore, but we’re fighting our own war right here. You don’t thank anyone in this room for doing what they should be doing. And you don’t get bullshit ideas in your head about walking away without my knowing it. I know every move you make before you’ve decided to make it, got it?
“Yes, sir,” I reply, feeling like maybe I haven’t lost everything I love.
CHAPTER EIGHT
VINCENT
I walk into the FBI building and scan my pass. It’s my day off, so I’m dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, but it’s not unusual for me to stop in for something unexpectedly.
When my phone rang earlier, I wasn’t expecting the news so soon. Hell, I thought they might never find the guns. But with the higher ups cracking down on the local motorcycle clubs, they’re looking for any reason to get at the Five Aces. Now they have a couple of them, both in the hospital, not looking like they’ll be able to answer any questions any time soon, if they even make it.
Looks like some of their luck ran out. Stupid fucks got pulled over for a routine stop when they were trying to move the weapons in some beat-up van. They tried to run. The chase ended with them and the guns laid out on the highway. Fucking mess, but maybe I could use that mess to my advantage.
When the chief of ballistics calls and says he’s just had a shit load of guns dropped off to his lab, I know what he’s talking about. He called me asking for a hand since we’re good friends and he’s short staffed at the moment. Mark says he just needs someone to help him test the weapons and scan them into the system for analysis. Basically he wants me to help him see if any of the guns they confiscated in the raid were used in a murder.
I hustle down to his department and scan my pass three more times before entering the testing room. It’s soundproofed, and isolated, considering they discharge weapons in here pretty often.
“Hey Mark, how’s it going?” I say, and set my backpack down on the table.
“Thanks for coming in, man. I appreciate it. Let’s get started so I won’t keep you here long,” Mark says, and nods his head over to the pile of weapons that he’s got to go through.
“No problem. Not like I can do any questioning on them right now anyways.” I got lucky. “Stephanie must have had the baby,” I say, and start looking over all the weapons.
“Yeah, a week early, but she’s doing good. I think they have someone set to fill in while she’s out on maternity leave, but they won’t be here until next week.”
“No, worries. Glad I could come in and help. Let me do the scanning and you do your thing. I messed up my knee running the other day and I think I need to keep off of it if I can.”
“I keep telling you, exercise is evil. One day, you’ll listen.”
I fake a laugh and pull a chair up to the table. My knee feels just fine, but I need to be able to sort through the weapons and see if Mackenzie’s is in here. It may not be, and I’m hoping it’s not, but I can’t take that chance.
I start with all the large weapons and we work our way down to the handguns. I enter in the information on the gun, pass it on to Mark to shoot, and catalogue the casings of the bullets for further analysis.
It takes Mark longer to go through the process of shooting the weapons and pulling the casings than it does for me to scan them, so he’s got a few waiting to be used while I move to the smaller guns and sort them out. There are five handguns, and I eliminate those right away knowing that she shot him at a distance. That leaves me with two other weapons, both long-range rifles, one of which could be Mackenzie’s.
I enter in the information on the first one, and nothing pops. That doesn’t mean it’s not a dirty weapon, it just means the serial number on it isn’t showing us anything. I look over my shoulder and see Mark still working on one of the larger semi-automatics. I check the second weapon.
I take a deep breath, enter in the information, and wait. It pops up being registered to an Air Force base in Atlanta, Georgia, and my heart stops.
“Hey, Cassano, this last one is jammed pretty bad. I’m going to grab my tools out of the front closet. I’ll be right back.”
I lift my chin at his exit, and take this as a sign from God. I grab my backpack, and pull out the rifle I brought, along with forged documents to go with it. I knew this day would come at some point, and I had this prepared already. It’s a random gun that was confiscated at a raid I worked about ten years ago. I switch out the weapons, dismantle Mackenzie’s, and drop it in my bag, putting it back where it was before Mark walks in. I thank God they don’t have cameras in this area of the building.
I’m deleting the search information on the computer just as Mark walks back in. I submit the weapon as the one found at the scene. Luckily for me, I was the one who entered in this gun ten years ago, so I can go back and change the catalogue.
I lean back in my chair and play it cool for the next hour as we finish with the weapons.
When I exit the building with my backpack over my shoulder, I breathe a sigh of relief. I just did the dirtiest thing an agent can do, and I never had a second of hesitation. There are some real pieces of shit out there in the world, but my Mackenzie isn’t one of them. She’s not a criminal. She is just a victim getting her own justice, and I can’t say I blame her.