“Gil says Slick and Gimpy are part of a combined agency task force that keeps tabs on international arms sales. He didn’t know much about them. They’ve been with the task force for three years. Before that they were ATF, pushing paper. Gil’s sending them over to help us. He thought we could use some extra firepower.”
This set off a mental alarm. “They’re coming here?”
“Yeah. Is ther
e a problem?”
“I don’t know. There’s something about those guys that doesn’t feel right. Maybe we should do something with the bomb.”
“Damn,” Hooker said. “We left the bomb in the trunk. I forgot all about the bomb.”
We all trooped out and got in the elevator and rode to the garage. Judey had a blanket so we could wrap the bomb and bring it upstairs unnoticed.
Hooker opened the trunk. “It’s gone!” he said.
We all gasped.
He winked at me. “Only funnin’.”
NASCAR Guy humor.
Hooker wrestled the bomb out of the trunk, we wrapped the blanket around it, and Hooker headed for the elevator.
“This is like carrying a giant eighty-pound watermelon,” he said. “Somebody hit the button. Barney’ll be all disappointed if I get a hernia from this. She’s got plans for me.”
Bill grinned at Hooker. “A hernia’s the least of your problems if Barney has plans for you, you poor dumb sonovabitch.”
We got to the condo and Judey ran ahead clearing the way. “Put it in my closet. It’ll be safe there. No wait, not on the Gucci loafers. Right there, next to the Armani dress shoes.”
We closed the closet door on the bomb and the doorbell sounded. Slick and Gimpy.
Judey looked out at them through the peephole.
“They don’t look happy,” Judey whispered to me. “And they look like they’ve been run over by a truck…several times.”
“Guess it’s tough being a federal agent,” I said.
Judey opened the door and I introduced Slick and Gimpy to Judey and Bill.
“So, you gentlemen are agents,” Judey said, making quotation signs with his fingers when he said agents. “That must be pretty exciting.”
“Whatever,” Gimpy said. “I’m hanging on for my pension. I don’t know why…it’s a freakin’ pittance.”
“Yes, but the job must be rewarding.”
“Real rewarding. We sit on our ass for a year watching Salzar, trying to set him up, and then some politician calls our boss and we’re told to take orders from a NASCAR driver.”
“Gotta go with the flow,” Slick said, sliding a cautionary look to Gimpy.
“I haven’t got a lot of orders,” Hooker said. “I figure we’ll all meet downstairs in the garage tomorrow at nine AM and we’ll take it from there.”
“Cake anyone?” Judey said. “I have a coffee cake.”
“Things to do,” Slick said. And Slick and Gimpy left.
“I’m going out for stone crabs,” Hooker said. “I didn’t get to eat them last time.” He draped an arm around me. “C’mon, Barney. I’ll take you for a ride.”
I followed him into the hallway and into the elevator. “Since we had decided to move out at five AM and you told Slick and Gimpy to show up at nine, I’m assuming you don’t trust them either, do you?”