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“Oh, don’t bullshit me,” laughed Blanchard. “You might not have a badge, but you sure as fuck have a gun and better skills than I do. I’m man enough to admit that. You also have more resources, more time, more everything. Look, I’d love to give all my time to this shit, but it’s just not possible right now.”
“So, you won’t help us?” asked Ian.
“I’ll do whatever I can, but you guys know what I’m facing here. I’ve got thirty-seven unsolved murders in this city right now. Thirty-seven and six of them are fucking kids. The gangs are taking over, the cops are starting to not give a shit, and we’re all fucking tired. If you want my help, I’ll do what I can. Just don’t expect miracles in a hurry.”
“We appreciate it, Blanchard. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and it can’t be easy knowing we’re going after two ex-cops.”
“Hold on right there, Ghost. I ain’t coverin’ for these assholes. Dirty cops make us all look bad. These two got their hands in some nasty shit, and I don’t want that shit splattered on me. If I can help, I will. I just can’t devote a ton of time, or my captain is gonna start questionin’ me.”
“I know, Blanchard. Thanks, man,” said Ghost, shaking the man’s hand. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
“Hey, Ghost? Seriously. What the shit is Mama Irene feedin’ y’all?”
“Love, brother. Love.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hartsfield Airport in Atlanta was hell on earth. One of the busiest airports in the world, the place had a hundred and ninety-two gates, with forty of them being international. It was like being inside a beehive, and all the bees were pissed off trying to move out of the hive, or into the hive all at the same time.
The bombardment of different languages, dress, and international passengers made Nine and Gaspar nervous as shit. They just wanted to be out of there. Some memories die harder than others.
“Fuck, I hate this place,” mumbled Nine. He gripped Erin’s hand tighter, pulling her along beside him.
“Nine, you’re hurting my hand,” she winced.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, loosening his grip. “I’m scared I’ll lose you.”
Gaspar was beside them with Alexandra tucked beneath his arm. They’d carried their bags onto the commercial airline, the weapons wrapped in the stealth netting. Thinking they might take the private jet, they changed their mind, worried it could draw attention to them they didn’t want.
“Let’s get to the hotel and check in. After that, we can grab some lunch and then maybe go see someone in records. I asked the boys to reach out to anyone they might know that they served with and now is with the force. We’ll see what they come up with,” said Nine.
If Hartsfield was hell, the St. Regis Hotel was heaven. With luxury suites, butler service, a five-star rated spa, and amazing dining experiences, it was the place to be. Taking the two-bedroom suite on the top floor, they were greeted by their butler.
“I can put your things away, sir,” said the man.
“No need. We’ll take care of that,” said Nine. He handed the guy two one-hundred-dollar bills and opened the door for him to leave. “You just make sure no one comes into our room.”
“Yes, sir,” smiled the man. “Let me know if there’s anything at all you need.”
Not wanting to be separated from the women, the four of them took a taxi to the Atlanta PD headquarters. Code had called ahead for them to speak with someone in internal affairs. Asking the team back home about former teammates with a military history was the smart thing to do. He hit the jackpot.
“Hi. We’re here to see Sgt. Wegman,” said Nine.
“Yes, sir. Please come this way,” said the young officer.
They were seated in a large conference room overlooking the city. The enormous conference table had two video phones sitting in the center and there were two video screens on the wall. The floor to ceiling windows gave them a great view of the Atlanta skyline.
Taking their seats, they waited patiently, or at least as close to patience as they could manage. Both men took note of the cameras, and Alexandra gave them the signal that the cameras and the unseen listening devices had been disrupted.
“Mr. Robicheaux, Mr. Dougall, I’m honored to meet you, sirs,” said the young man, shaking their hands. “I knew Rett, East, and Eazee. When they called, I was happy to help out with whatever you need. I hope nothing awful has happened on your visit.”
“No, nothing awful,” smiled Nine. “Thank you for seeing us. The triplets are doing well. Happily married.”
“That’s what East said. Sort of hard to believe,” laughed the man. “Sorry. My name is Billy Wegman.”
“We got that from East,” grinned Gaspar.
“How can I help you, sirs? Ma’ams?”
