Power and Empire

Callahan beat her head against the headrest. “We’ve known each other for what, twenty-six hours? I don’t think you’re allowed to call me too skinny.”

“What?” Caruso grinned. “You’ve called me bastard, son of a bitch, and asshole — along with pretty much every other name in the book over that same time period.”

“I did not.”

“Not even in your brain?”

Callahan laughed out loud. “That doesn’t count.”

Caruso turned his head to look at her as he drove. “So you admit it?”

“I admit that I may have thought one or two unflattering things about you.”

“Good,” Caruso said. “Then I’ll admit I am hungry. Can we please get something to eat?”

• • •

Moco pounded his hands against the steering wheel, craning his head left and right in search of the lady cop’s Expedition. He cursed Gusano for eating the dab. He’d been forced to eat the rest of his hash oil plain. Without the benefit of the coconut oil, it wasn’t doing a damn bit of good.

Taillights flashed and blinked in a confusing river of red. Oncoming headlights blinded him. She’d gotten away from him — and now the boss was going to set him on fire — or pump him full of so much dope he wouldn’t pass out while the guys cut his feet off with a chainsaw.

This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

The Worm sat with his nose pressed against the passenger window, head bobbing to his tunes. He held one of the Glocks in his lap, which was the only thing keeping Moco from shooting the stupid bastard in the back of the head.

Moco’s mobile phone buzzed as he merged back onto the turnpike. It was the kid.

“What?”

“You want me to wait outside or follow them in?”

Moco’s stomach did a flip. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re going into the restaurant,” the kid said. “Want me to sit on her car?”

“What restaurant?” Moco shot a look at Gusano. “Never mind. Just tell me where you’re at. We’ll meet you outside.”

“Texas Roadhouse,” the kid said. “I’m on the north side of the parking lot.”

“Wait there for us.” Moco ended the call. He turned to Gusano, suddenly feeling as if he might make it through the night without getting his feet sawed off. Even his anger at the Worm began to fade. “Get ready, my friend.”

Gusano raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain we are going to the correct restaurant?” His tone said he was serious.

• • •

Ten minutes after he cut back under the turnpike at Brand Road, Caruso sat with his back to the wall across the booth from Callahan, watching her slather cinnamon butter on a Texas Roadhouse hot roll. She spoke with her hands as much as her voice and was imbued with such energy and fervor that her red hair bounced in time to her words. The food animated her and she appeared to forget about Detective Little and the dead bodies at Matarife’s ranch.

Two hot rolls down, Callahan suddenly put both hands flat on the table and looked across at Caruso with narrow eyes. “You know why they’re trying to kill me, don’t you?”

Caruso started to say something, but she cut him off.

“It’s not because I’ve gotten into their business, if that’s what you were going to say. I muck up people’s illegal criminal enterprises all the time.”

“Okay.” Caruso shrugged. “Enlighten me.”

Callahan gave a tired smile. “It’s because they don’t think I’m playing by the rules.”

“But you are.” Caruso did a quick scan of the room before making eye contact to show he was listening.

“Ah,” Callahan said. “But they don’t know that. Your buddy, John — or whatever his name is — grabs Flaco and pressures information out of him, and then blows away Matarife’s yard help and his girlfriend… naked in the swimming pool. Except your friend’s pretty good at staying hidden, so they can’t find him. I’m the face of the investigation, so they’re coming after me.”

Caruso put his hands on the table as well, an interrogation tool called mirroring. She’d be familiar with it, but he did it anyway. “I want you to think about something,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Do you honestly believe that someone who calls himself ‘the Slaughterer’ and sells human beings at online auctions or murders them on camera really gives two shits if you play by the rules? I doubt he even sees any rules.”

Callahan shrugged. “Maybe not,” she said. “I thought it might get you to spill something useful about your friend John… What was his name again? I know he’s gone off the reservation — and when this is over, it’ll be my job to stop him. Our job, really.”

“Nice try,” Caruso said. “I need to hit the restroom. If the waitress comes back while I’m gone, order me a bone-in ribeye, medium rare, and broccoli.”

Callahan nodded, eyeing the last roll. “Are you gonna eat that?”

• • •