“You heard what I just said, right?”
“Yes. I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“This isn’t a television show.”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Drew, you’re in serious trouble. It’s in your best interests to cooperate.”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Drew, cut the crap. Your buddy Wade already told us everything. He’s still a loyal soldier deep down.”
The conversation halted. Eventually Paul spotted the quiet grin as it slowly spread across Drew’s face. “Then why you even in here talkin’ to me?”
“Because we need to verify what he said,” Paul shrugged, seeming reasonable and calm, “and because we need to know if you’ll cooperate, too.”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Drew,” grunted Paul, “there could be a way out of this if you cooperate now.”
“I’ll cooperate with my lawyer,” Drew said.
“What do you think we’re doing here, Drew?” Paul asked, maintaining his conciliatory tone. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”
Drew gave a slow shake of his head. “I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Do you work for anyone, Drew? Did you fight with those men on behalf of someone else?”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Where’d you get all the money to rent an apartment and buy a car?”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
Joe spoke up: “Has she been sleeping with you, Drew?”
At that, Drew’s gaze shifted. His jaw clenched for a brief moment. “I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Oh, bothered by that, are you?” Joe smirked. “Is that because she has, or because she hasn’t? Or because she’s sleeping with one of your other buddies, huh? Maybe more than one of ‘em?”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Not gonna stand up for yourself?”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Must be rather emasculating, is all, I would think.”
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
“Alright, fine, fine,” Joe said, waving his hands. “Hell with it. You sit and chew on your situation for a while. You’re with us for the duration, anyway. While you’re in here alone, you should consider who you’ve been running around with, and what they’ve gotten out of you. ‘cause all you’ve gotten is a heap of trouble for yourself.”
The agents stood. All they left was the plastic bottle of water.
“Hey, wait,” Drew said before Paul shut the door.
The agent leaned back in. “Yeah?”
“You still haven’t advised me-“
Paul shut the door and locked it. He walked several steps away before he spoke. “That got us nowhere.”
“He might need time to stew on things some more. It’s fine. You know how all this goes, Paul. We’ve gotta let him be the first to drop the ‘v-word.’”
“Yeah, well. You still want to take the lead with Reinhardt?”
“Yes. Hang back. If he thinks you’re the one in charge, that’s fine.”
They came to another small conference room and looked through the window before opening the door. Inside, they found Wade sitting at a table, rubbing his wrists.
“I’m sorry about the restraints earlier,” said Joe as he came in. “That wasn’t what we wanted done. It was a screw-up and it’ll be dealt with. I had them come in and release you the moment I found out. Your buddy, Jones, too.”
“Uh-huh,” Wade nodded, watching him evenly. He still wore most of his steampunk outfit, though with all the gears and metal pins removed from his vest and shirt he just looked like a poor, hatless cowboy.
“You want some water? Need a trip to the bathroom? We can arrange either of those right now.”
“Ah’d like t’ hit th’ john, yeah,” Wade nodded.
“Okay, we’ll get there in just a minute,” Joe nodded, taking a seat at the table opposite Wade. This time he had the files. “I’m Joe, this is Paul-what’s funny?”
“Nothin’,” Wade said, smothering his grin. “Paul an’ Joe. Go on.”
“Do you know why you’re in here?”
“Reckon ah oughta let y’all explain it to me.”
“You and your buddy got in a hell of a fight tonight,” Joe said. “Lit a man on fire. Killed him. Beat up a couple other guys, all with serious criminal records. And you did it all in front of a Federal agent.”
“So y’all are Feds?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Whut branch?”
“Federal Bureau of Investigation. So, you want to tell us what happened?”
“Y’all don’t already know?”
“We’d like to hear it from you.”
“Ah’m not sure ah’m interested in talkin’.”
“No? Why’s that?”
“Ah can think of a dozen reasons,” Wade shrugged. His expression remained perfectly pleasant, even friendly.
“You know, Wade, I have a feeling we’re all on the same side here,” Joe said, also remaining mild. He tapped his manila file. “You served in Afghanistan, right? Airborne?”
“Reckon if y’all got files, there ain’t no reason to ask the questions.”
Joe nodded. “Sure. Sorry, rhetorical is all. I served in the Marines, earlier than you did, of course. But yeah, I’ve read the file. You graduated high school a semester early and went straight into boot camp, then served with the airborne in Afghanistan. Not too many guys your age with a record like yours,” he said. “Expert Infantry Badge. Bronze Star. Silver Star,” he added, his eyebrows going up. “Your friends even know about that silver? Your family? Whole bunch of pats on the back in there, too… and then the last month or so of your record is sealed and marked Secret. Everything but the medical record on your wound, which doesn’t seem like the sort of thing they cut a guy loose over. Why’s that?”
“Well, that ‘Secret’ mark kinda does what it says on the label there, Joe.”
“Oh, I understand. But I can ask.”
He received no answer.
“You never made E-4, Wade. You weren’t even halfway through your enlistment. So I have to ask myself, how’s this guy wind up with his record sealed and a ticket home for a relatively superficial wound? You’re probably not even limping anymore, right? And, you know, I’m with the FBI and I’m on an investigation, so I had every reason to look.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. “What happened on that patrol, Wade?”
Wade tilted his head curiously, but said nothing.
“See, I’ve got this trail of sealed, secret documents, all about some patrol you went on. And your platoon leader, Lieutenant Stamp got sent home three days after that patrol to sit behind a supply desk. Hell of a thing to happen to a senator’s son.”
He paused. Watched Wade. Saw a twitch of his grin. Something about this amused the young man. “That happens, and there’s virtually no report of what happened on that patrol… and then a week later you take a bullet in the butt that should’ve been fine within a couple of months, but instead they give you a medical discharge. Best man in the platoon, hell probably even the whole damn company, and they pat you on the head and send you home for that. So what happened? What did you do? Or what do you know? Did Lieutenant Stamp have the same problem?”
“Stamp got rotated out on a medical,” Wade said.
“Yeah, says here he got severe trench foot?”
“Really?” asked Wade, his knowing smirk still strong. “Ah heard it wuz a dental problem.”
Joe’s head turned slightly at that. “Is the Lieutenant missing a few teeth?”
“Pro’ly not anymore,” shrugged Wade. “But that’s jus’ speculation. Ain’t none o’ mah business. Ah’m a civilian now.”
“See, I think they’d only send someone like Stamp home if he’d screwed up so badly that nobody would follow him anymore, but he was connected well enough that nobody wanted him to take the fall he deserved,” Joe mused. “So the question is, which side of it were you on? Given your record and the smile on your face, I’d have to guess it wasn’t Stamp’s side. But if you were cashiered, there had to be some reason. So maybe it wasn’t just Stamp on the wrong side of it, was it?”
Wade shrugged. “Couldn’t say. That’s all apparently marked Secret, right? Ah’m jus’ a poor dumb hick grunt. Ex-grunt, anyway. Ah don’t know any secrets.”