CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Pallies”
Wednesday evening.
White and Hornbuckle went to the Irish Public House and took a booth at the rear. Cops and firemen sat at the bar. Otto ordered a beer and Hornbuckle ordered a Gray Goose vodka straight up with an olive from the young pony tailed waitress whose badge said Linda. Otto ordered a bowl of water for Steve.
“What kind of service dog is he?” the waitress asked petting Steve on the top of his head.
“He’s a pant licker. He licks your pants and can tell whether you’ve committed a crime or not.”
“Really?” she asked incredulous.
“No. He’s a tracker.”
The waitress left. Lady Gaga--or Katy Perry--played on the sound system.
Otto and Hornbuckle stared at one another for a second. Otto spoke first. “What happened at the raid? Why’d you leave the room?”
“That’s classified.”
“Bullshit, Hornbuckle. Bullshit. I was there. You nearly got me killed. I have a right to know.”
“I had nothing to do with whatever happened in that room after I left. I had my orders and you had yours.”
“Who else got out of the building?” Otto said. It had been less than five minutes after Hornbuckle left him with Malik that the sidewinder hit the building.
Hornbuckle stared unblinking.
“What about that freak Benson?”
“He was killed in the missile strike.”
“What was on the laptop?”
The waitress returned with their drinks, stopped several feet short of the booth and stared. Otto unclenched his shoulders and sat back. Hornbuckle leaned back and smoothed his tie. It was dark blue, held in place with a tiny ceramic pig. The agent turned toward her and smiled.
Reassured the waitress set down the drinks. They waited until she left. Hornbuckle hoisted his.
“Cheers.”
Otto felt like throwing his beer in Hornbuckle’s face but he hoisted his glass and drank. He wasn’t going to get anywhere being surly.
“What was on the laptop?”
“I don’t know. I turned it in. Those were my orders.”
“I tried to find you when I got out,” Otto said. “You fell off the edge of the earth.”
Hornbuckle shrugged. “You know how it is. My last assignment ended a year and a half ago. I joined the FBI in March.”
And already agent in charge of the cyber crime unit. It was an unusual career move. Federal agents held most agency guys in contempt. Elliot Ness vs. Frank Nitti.
“You know why I’m here?” Otto said.
“We were informed that you were investigating Senator Darling’s death. I thought he died in a car accident.”
“Darling self-combusted. Moment after you left Malik and me, he self-combusted.”
Hornbuckle nodded. “I see. They didn’t believe you at the time.”
So Hornbuckle had been privy to his debriefing.
But you did, didn’t you?
“Naturally, if there’s anything I can do…” Hornbuckle said.
“So you’re cyber crime,” Otto said. He didn’t know what else to say.
Hornbuckle reached into his briefcase. “Let me show you something.” He took out a manila folder and slid it across the bar. Otto opened it. It was BOLF for Randall Kleiser wanted for criminal tampering, smishing and vishing and mail fraud. The black-and-white mug shot showed a young man with a shaved skull glowering at the camera. Save for the tats and piercings he looked remarkably like Otto.
“You see why I mistook you for Kleiser?”
Otto shrugged and slid the file back. “Perfectly understandable.”
“Kleiser lives in Arvada and boasts that he’s going to walk into FBI HQ and personally erase our hard drives. He’s head of a group of cyber-hackers call themselves Black Widow. They’re going to smash the capitalist structure blah blah blah. They have a website but don’t go there--they’ll come back at you. I think they’re dealing meth too.”
“Is DEA involved?”
“I have no evidence. Just a hunch.”
“What’s his problem?”
“In 2008, his girlfriend Patty Ivan died aboard a SW flight from Denver to Austin. Kleiser blames the TSA and the whole federal apparatus in fact for her loss.”
“Really,” Otto said. “Why would he do that?”
Hornbuckle shrugged. “Maybe meth has turned his brain to mush?”
“You met Kleiser?”
“Not yet. But I will. So you’re the go-to guy on spontaneous human combustion. There must be other cases.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”
“So you married? Got kids?”
“No and no. You?”
“Not me. I have bad luck with the ladies. I’d rather pay for it.”
“Good for you.”
Hornbuckle laughed, drained his martini and looked around for the waitress.
“What’s funny?”
“They throw us together on some clusterfuck deal that goes ass end up, and you and I are the only survivors. We’d never met until Cairo, right? And here we are years later getting to know one another.”
Steve whined and nudged Otto’s leg. “’Scuse me while I walk Steve.”
“Sure.”
Otto held the door for an elderly couple entering then he and Steve walked outside into the warm Denver evening. They walked around the corner to Palmer Street where Steve relieved himself on a construction site. When Otto and Steve went back inside, Hornbuckle was at the bar with some other agents and a fresh martini in front of him.
Otto quietly retrieved his backpack, put money on the table and left.
***