The Racketeer Page 0,43

their suspect. Quinn was lying on the table but not sleeping.

At 6:00 a.m., Pankovits and Delocke returned to the interrogation room. Each had a tall glass with a refill of Red Bull and ice. Quinn got off the table and settled himself into his chair for another round.

Pankovits went first. "Just got off the phone with the U.S. Attorney, Quinn. We briefed him on our progress here with you, and he says his grand jury will convene tomorrow and hand down the indictment. Two counts of capital murder."

"Congratulations," Quinn replied. "I guess I'd better find me a lawyer."

"Sure, but it might take more than one. I'm not sure how much you understand about federal racketeering laws, Quinn, but they can be brutal. The U.S. Attorney will take the position that the murders of Judge Fawcett and his secretary were the actions of a gang, a well-known and well-organized gang, with you, of course, as the triggerman. The indictment will include a lot of charges, including capital murder, but also bribery. And, most important, it will name not only you but other nefarious characters such as Tall Man, Dee Ray, one of your sisters, your cousin Antoine Beck, and a couple dozen other relatives."

Delocke added, "You guys can have your own wing on death row. The Rucker-Beck gang, all lined up, cell to cell, just waiting for the needle." Delocke was smiling and Pankovits was amused. A couple of comedians.

Quinn began scratching the side of his head and talking to the floor. "You know, I wonder what my lawyer would say about this, got me locked in this dark room, no windows, all night long, started at, what, 'bout nine last night and here it is six in the morning, nine straight hours of nonstop bullshit from you two, accusing me of bribing a judge, then killing a judge, and now threatening me with death, and not only my ass but my whole family as well. You say you got witnesses out there, all lined up and ready to testify, and ballistics on a stolen gun, and a boot print where some sumbitch stepped in mud, and how am I supposed to know if you're telling the truth or lying your ass off because I wouldn't trust the FBI with anything, never have, never will. Lied to me the first time I got busted and sent away, and I assume you're lying here tonight. Maybe I lied a little, but can you honestly tell me right now that you ain't lied to me tonight? Can you?"

Pankovits and Delocke stared at him. Maybe it was fear, or guilt. Maybe it was delirium. Whatever, Quinn was really talking.

"We are telling the truth," Pankovits managed to say.

"And chalk up another lie. My lawyer will get to the bottom of this. He'll nail your ass in court, expose you, expose all your lies. Show me the boot print analysis. Now, I want to see it."

"We're not authorized to show it to anyone," Pankovits said.

"How convenient." Quinn leaned forward with an elbow on each knee. His forehead almost touched the edge of the table, and he kept talking to the floor. "What about the ballistics report? Can I see that?"

"We're not authorized - "

"What a surprise. My lawyer'll get it, whenever and wherever I get to see my lawyer. I've asked for him all night, and my rights have been violated."

"You have not asked for your lawyer," Delocke said. "You've mentioned a lawyer in vague terms, but you have not requested one. And you've kept talking."

"As if I had a choice. Either sit here and talk or go to the drunk tank with a bunch of winos. I've been there before, you know, and I ain't afraid of it. It's just part of the business, you know? You do the crime, you do the time. You know the rules when you get into the business. You see all your friends and family shipped off, but they come back, you know? You do your time and you get out."

"Or you escape," Delocke said.

"That too. Pretty stupid, I guess, but I had to walk."

"Because you had to settle a score, right, Quinn? For two years in prison you thought about Judge Fawcett every day. He took your money, then he broke the deal. In your business, he had to go down, right?"

"That's right."

Quinn was rubbing his temples, staring at his feet, almost mumbling. The agents took a deep breath and exchanged a quick smile. Finally, the first hint