“Hey, Diego. This is Deacon. Wren has the info you need, but I just wanted to let you know we’re here if you need assistance on—”
“They don’t need your help, fucker!”
“Wren, if I have to tell you one more time about that fucking bird! Sorry about that, man. The bird is a nuisance.” I think that’s Deacon’s voice.
Whispering is heard through the line, but I can’t tell who’s talking.
“Put him in his cage. I don’t give a shit. Is the phone on mute? Do you know how unprofessional this looks? Cover the thing with that blanket. Birds shut up when they can’t see, right? Have you met the bird before? He never shuts up.”
“Did you tell them I’m naked?” That voice I know is the bird’s.
“Puff, get in your fucking cage. Now. Shit, you asshole. Bite me one more time! Just go. You’re gonna get my ass fired.”
Several of the guys in the room chuckle.
“Should I call you back later?” Kincaid asks.
“No, umm, sorry. I’m going to feed you to Simon if you don’t quit,” Wren hisses.
“Not the blanket! I’m afraid of the dark!”
“I’m back. Sorry. I thought when I was a teenager that having a parrot would be fun,” Wren says.
“I’m the entire fucking party!” comes through the line muffled.
Wren clears his throat.
“Come to my office when you’re done.” That sounds like Deacon, and I watch Max’s face as he cringes.
“Ok, about Javier Nolasco—”
Humming comes through the line, and a couple of the guys find it funny.
“Is that—”
“Folsom Prison Blues,” another interrupts.
“If you ignore him, he’ll shut up,” Wren says, irritation growing in his own voice. “Javier Nolasco doesn’t exist. I mean, technically he does exist, but it’s an alias, but I’m guessing you already know that because he was one of your club members. Are you sure we should be discussing this on speakerphone?”
“Go ahead,” Kincaid says.
“He used the name Edward Jones to infiltrate you guys. It wasn’t official FBI business. I mean, his handler sent him there, but nothing from the case was logged into their system.
“What’s the handler’s name?”
“Gene Samuelson,” Wren answers.
Kincaid looks over his shoulder at the guy who looks like him. “You remember—”
“How could I ever forget that asshole?” he answers.
“Who—”
“We’ll discuss it later,” Kincaid interrupts. “Wren.”
“The information on Javier Nolasco looks legit for the most part, but my system flagged some irregularities. I could go into explaining how it did that, but I get the feeling it will put everyone but Max and Shadow to sleep. Back to the point. Javier Nolasco isn’t Edward Jones and vice versa. His real name is Javier Sosa, and he’s a special agent with the FBI. Been employed there for the last thirteen years.”
“And Lauren Vos?” Kincaid asks, his eyes focused on the woman looking smug beside me.
“Lauren Vos is currently undercover in El Sal… wait, no. She was pulled two days ago along with three other women from a sex den in El Salvador. There were three dead females inside. All members of the staff from the looks of it. One deceased male, a trafficker named Martin Lanza. Oh shit. He was a bad one.”
“Two dead men,” Lauren corrects. “There was another man there.”
She’s talking about Angel. We all had to step over his body to get out of the house.
“Nope, just the one,” Wren says, and I watch as her face transforms, and she bats away the tear pooling on her bottom lashes before it can roll down her cheek.
“Wren, can you get everything else to Max and Shadow?”
“Sure can.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.”
The line goes dead.
“Now, do you have any more information for us?” Kincaid asks Lauren.
“Javier has a tracker, and I know right where he is.”
Chapter 22
Thumper
“Where?” Ernesto yells, and my body jolts.
I’m finding it harder and harder to hold my head up. Keeping my eyes focused on him is even more difficult.
“What was the question?” I slur.
“Where is my brother?”
“Did you look in the trashcans?”
He hits me again, and all I can do is smile. I stopped feeling the pain of my injuries hours—or has it been days—ago?
“I won’t let you die until I find him,” he seethes.
“You should’ve asked Miguel before you slaughtered him,” I taunt.
“I think he likes being hurt, boss,” comes the voice of another man in the corner.
“Then let’s give the man exactly what he wants, shall we?”
Ernesto takes a step back, allowing another man to step forward. My crusted blood looks dull on the scalpel as he holds it up. Does he really think threatening me with it will make any difference?
I’m starting to believe these men seriously think I know where Miguel took Juan’s body after he took it from the basement, but I wasn’t concerned with it. After the man was dead, I didn’t give a shit. I had more concern for my own failures than his final resting place. I never asked Angel, and he never offered.