Page 106 of Sting
“How?”
“By telling him that was how it was gonna be.” He let that settle then glanced at Jordie, who had resumed glaring at him. “Besides, Morrow knew you had your hands full here.”
Wiley’s partner chimed in, “And letting us in on it would have spoiled your big entrance.”
Shaw looked up at him and decided to let the snide remark pass. “You’re Hickam?”
“That’s right.”
“I was denied the pleasure of meeting you yesterday during my arrest.”
The agent looked down at the spot where Shaw’s shirttail was draped over his holster. “Where’d you get the piece?”
“When I asked for my weapons back, Morrow obliged.”
“‘Weapons’ plural?”
“He keeps a pistol in his boot.” That from Jordie, who nastily added, “What kind of hit man carries only one gun?”
Matching her testiness, Shaw said, “A dead one.”
While the smoke was still clearing from that exchange, Joe Wiley asked, “What about the playboy and corrupt state policeman in Mexico?”
“They resisted arrest.” He said it deadpan and nobody commented. “By the way, whichever agency that girl belongs to needs to bring her in and give her some better training.”
“Girl?”
“The one who left the party with the three of us that night. She hadn’t been at the villa for five minutes before I marked her as heat.”
“Only call girl to leave her clothes on?” Wiley asked.
“No, first one out of them. She’s too eager. She needs to learn subtlety. The idea is to make them try to impress her, not the other way around. If she doesn’t learn that, she’s gonna give herself away and die bloody. Find out which agency she works for and get word to them that I said so.”
Hickam and Wiley exchanged a look with eyebrows raised, but Hickam made a note of it on his iPad.
“I left the bodies where I knew they’d be found, along with a secret sign so our plant inside the state police would know it was me who took them out and would handle the mop-up, including all the paperwork required in Atlanta. I beat it across the border that night.”
“How’d you get across undetected?” Hickam asked.
“That’s classified.” Unfazed by the other agent’s resentful glower, Shaw continued, “I beat it here quick as I could. I’d waited months for a call from Mickey Bolden and didn’t want to keep him waiting.”
Wiley and Hickam continued to ask about his journey from Mexico to New Orleans. Most of their inquiries he answered with, “Classified.” And mainly, it was. But it was also a convenient dodge. He didn’t want to waste time on something irrelevant while Billy Panella and Josh Bennett were still at large.
Shaw tipped his head toward Jordie. “Do you have her cell phone?”
“In Wiley’s office,” Hickam said.
“Would you get it?” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Please?”
With a look, Hickam consulted Joe Wiley, who okayed him with a nod. Hickam left the room. The four of them sat in strained silence until he returned with Jordie’s bagged cell phone.
Shaw said, “When I came in, you were grilling her about who called her to the bar. Check her call history. Friday night, there are two incoming calls from an unknown number.”
“We’ve called it back several times,” Hickam said. “Never got an answer.”
“Call it again.”
Hickam removed the phone from the bag, went to the log and tapped the screen. A few seconds later the phone inside Shaw’s shirt pocket began to ring. He took it out and showed them Jordie’s cell number in the readout. “This is a burner I bought the day I arrived in New Orleans, just before I hooked up with Mickey Bolden.”
