Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Well, okay, yeah, it is. His entirety shouts “I’m a big shot,” and, hell, there can only be one of us in a room at a time.
The man, looking fit for a guy in his fifties, holds out a hand to me.
Amateur.
I don’t take it. I simply hold his gaze without blinking.
His hand falls to his side, and a small smile stretches his lips. “Mr. Falco, my name is Ethan Black.”
Another lukewarm sip of coffee. “That meant to mean something to me, pops?”
Ethan Black tilts his head to the side. “No. Not unless you’re in with the FBI.”
FBI?
I turn to look at the chief, who can’t seem to bring himself to meet my gaze right now. And with that non-gesture, hostility makes a base in my mind. I stand with my hands fisted by my sides and utter, “You lying piece of shit.”
The chief comes out of his seat at my accusation. “I did not lie.”
The heat of the moment has us talking over each other like a couple of grade-schoolers. “You done messed with the wrong guy—”
“We’re negotiating, Twitch—”
“The fucking FBI? You set me up, and I swear to God—”
“I’m not setting you up, you neurotic asshole. I’m trying to help you!”
“Fuck you! Fuck the FBI. I’m out.”
I’m already walking out the door, when Ethan Black opens his mouth and calmly states, “Sit down, Mr. Falco, or I swear to you that smart little boy of yours is never going to meet his father, because he’ll be spending the rest of his life in a maximum security prison.”
I spin so quick with a single intent in my mind, but the current influx of emotion in me makes me sloppy. My blow never meets its target and, red-faced, I watch as Ethan Black disregards my attack with little more than a wave of his hand. He sits in the chair I previously occupied and starts talking. “AJ, isn’t it? Apparently his kindergarten teacher says he’s top of his class and quick as a whip.”
My feet glued to the floor, I stand there, panting, my anger steadily thrumming a drumbeat through my veins. “Don’t.” The single word is said with enough heat to burn.
The chief, calm for the moment, begins, “Twitch—”
“Don’t you say a fucking word, old man. I’m barely holding it together.”
Enough is enough, and apparently, so thinks the chief. “If you’d shut your goddamn mouth and listen for a moment, I can explain why the chief of staff and special counsel of the FBI is standing here right now, in this room, and why you aren’t being cuffed.”
If I open my mouth right now, nothing good can come of it, so I do the only thing I can to keep the peace. I keep my mouth shut.
Ethan Black, Chief of Staff and Special Counsel of the FBI, sits taller, before explaining, “I think what Police Chief Peterson is trying to say is that you may have some information we could use. And in exchange for this information, we’re prepared to offer you a new identity, clean and clear. Pretty generous of the FBI, considering you were a known drug lord manufacturing all sorts of street candy, acting under the guise of your plastics factory, as well as faking your death. Not to mention multiple weapons charges, money laundering, theft, fraud, and the list goes on, and on, and on.” He pauses to let that sink in. “That is a pretty long list of charges, Mr. Falco. You’d be looking at life in prison, and if I had anything to say in it, a non-parole period of 100 years.”
A whole lot of shit bombards my mind at that moment, but there’s only one thing that really sticks to the forefront. “Three months.”
Ethan Black throws me a look of confusion. “Excuse me?”
“Three months,” I repeat, before adding, “You’ve got me for three months and not a fucking day more.”
The chief looks to Ethan before approaching me guardedly with a look that one might approach a wounded dog with. “Twitch, let’s not be unreasonable. Three months is simply not enough time. Hell, most stings wouldn’t be ready in that time.”
Ethan agrees, “I’m sorry, Mr. Falco. That’s not enough time.”
I push. “We’ll make it enough time.”
Ethan shakes his head. “How? There are only so many hours in a day.”
“Three months,” I stress, before muttering, “It’s all I have to give, Black.”
He must see the truth in my eyes, because after an uncomfortably long moment, he nods lightly. “Okay. Three months.”
My relief palpable, I get to work. I don’t have a moment to lose. I’m this close to getting my family back, and nothing is going to stand in my damn way. “I need a map.”
The chief’s brow furrows. “A map? What for?”
“You’re going to need to know where these men live.”
Ethan chuckles as if I just told him something cute. “We already know that information, Mr. Falco.”