me,” Nick said.
“The guy’s on a timetable,” Hargrave said, sipping again at his drink, but Nick could see there was nothing but ice left in the bottom.
“What do you mean?”
The detective again gave Nick another sideways look, while sucking a cube into his mouth and then gnashing the thing between his teeth.
“Jesus, Mullins. Don’t you read your own paper?”
“Yeah, but I only believe half of it,” Nick said.
Hargrave looked over the top of his whiskey glass as though he were trying to tell whether Nick was serious or joking. Nick shrugged.
“He’s Secret Service. The Secretary of State shows up next week for a meeting of the Organization of American States down at the convention center,” Hargrave said. “I figure this guy to be part of the advance team, but he’s a little too focused on the sniper bit. That’s usually taken care of in protocol, part of the overall security plan.”
Nick knew about the upcoming OAS confab. Representatives from most of Latin America would be present. Miami was pretty much the gateway to the United States for the Hispanic and Caribbean world now, and the Broward County convention center was north of Miami. Protestors would have a harder time getting there and the center was right next to the Fort Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport. They picked the site because it meant less travel for the dignitaries and was easier to secure. In fact, Nick figured Deirdre would be pulling him aside to do a piece about that security anytime now. But as a rule, Nick rarely paid attention to politics until it lapped over into his coverage of death or law enforcement. He recalled the time he was asked to write a story about some dustup after the President started using scenes of September 11 in his reelection advertisements. The editors came to him because Nick had interviewed families in South Florida who had lost loved ones in the Twin Towers. He had at least a fledgling relationship with them, along with their contact numbers. Death revisited. It was a shitty assignment, having to call people still emotionally raw and ask stupid questions. But he did it. And everyone he talked to said they were bothered by the use of 9/11 in any advertisement, political or not. Nick had written their responses, and had only the President’s press secretary’s rebuttal to balance it. The next day his phone and e-mail were filled with angry readers pissing on Nick personally and the “Liberal press” in general for being one-sided and taking a political stand against Republicans. Nick endured until the eighth or ninth call and then spouted off at some condo political captain: “It’s not a political story. It’s a human story, man. It’s about people’s feelings. It’s about people who lost sons and daughters and family and felt like they just got gouged again. Can’t you understand that? It’s about humans, not politics.”
The guy on the other end of the line just laughed at what he considered Nick’s naïveté. “Everything’s about politics, young man. You’ll learn that.”
Nick went back to his regular police reporting that day when the dismembered body of a prostitute was found in a Dumpster only thirty yards away from Federal Highway, and Nick was taken off the political advertisement story.
“You think the Secret Service has some kind of credible threat that a sniper is tailing the Secretary of State?” Nick said.
“Christ, I don’t know,” Hargrave said, hissing between his teeth. “I’m sure as hell not thinking that my guy is assassinating felons just to warm up for the Secretary of State. But if he finds something to link our guy to whatever he’s looking for, I’ll take the help. Right now I’ve got a homicide to work even if no one else gives a damn.”
Nick wasn’t sure how many whiskeys Hargrave had downed, but the reticent man was showing the pressure. The detective pushed his glass toward the bar gutter and peeled off a few bills and left them as a tip.
“I’ll give Ms. Cotton a visit on Monday for those letters, and maybe if I get a look at Fitzgerald’s list, I’ll let you know.”
He got up and slid past Nick without so much as letting his coat sleeve make contact. Nick said, “Thanks,” to his back as the thin man walked away.
Chapter 16
Get in. Kill quickly. And get out without being seen.
Sniper Theory 101. He had learned it and earned it in his first stint with the military, and gave it all up after the