“Give me a break,” DeSantos said. “With you on the case, does your boss really think things are going to go smoothly?”
61
A dark-skinned black man who fit the mold of a starting middle line-backer walked into the room. Sporting a shoulder slung beat-up leather messenger bag, unmoving confidence, and three day’s growth of stubble on his face, he dumped his satchel on the table. “I’m the DEA task force coordinator from the San Diego field division.” The man had the type of Brooklyn-specific accent that had faded somewhat with time and place, but still poked through on certain words. He stepped forward, found Dixon first, and extended a hand. “Guido Turino.”
Dixon unsuccessfully suppressed a laugh.
Turino had just clasped her hand. He tightened his grip. Narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with something?”
Dixon looked down at their conjoined hands, then at Turino. She squeezed back, matching his strength. “Just wondering. Is Guido your real name?”
“My unit calls me Guy.”
“Seriously. Guido? I mean, that was a joke we had growing up. You know, somebody screwed you over, you’d threaten to send Guido after him.”
Turino cocked his head. “What are we in, junior high?”
Dixon pulled her hand away, then dipped her chin. “You’re right. I apologize. I haven’t had a whole lot of sleep. It’s been a tough couple of weeks. I’m a little giddy.”
Turino eyed her a moment, then nodded. “Then I suggest you find an empty room and get some rest.” He turned to the others. “We got a lot of work to do. Best we get down to it. First, I need to know who all of you are so I can match names in my file with faces.” He nodded at Dixon. “The tired, ditsy blonde. You are?”
Dixon clenched her jaw. What the hell, she deserved that. “Roxxann—”
“Dixon. Yeah, got it. And who’s Redmond Brix?”
“Redd is fine,” Brix said. “And that’s Burt Gordon and Austin Mann.” He indicated each with a quick nod.
Turino folded his arms across his thick chest. “I’ve been briefed on everything that’s gone down. The Mayfield thing, the Georges Valley AVA board stuff, Superior Mobile Bottling, and Guevara. You people’ve done a good fucking job on all that.” He frowned a moment at Dixon, still registering his disappointment with her, and said, “You should all be commended. And it makes me feel good that I’ll be working with all of you. Gets under my goddamn skin when I have to work with a bunch of rooks.” He threw back the flap of his bag, reached in, and extracted a thick file folder. Held it up and said, “I’ve got all your reports here, and some classified reports from our deep cover op.”
“You got copies for us?” Dixon asked.
“No. It’s deep cover. You got questions, I may be able to answer them. If something’s relevant, I’ll let you know. And that’s where I’m gonna start, if that’s okay with you.”
Dixon set her jaw. “Just so we’re clear, Guy. I’m the lead investigator of this task force. So if I ask a question or make a request, I do expect you to make sure we have what we need to make correct and prudent decisions. We’re all professionals, and we’re all on the same side here. The information shared in this room stays in this room.”
Turino sucked on his upper teeth. “I assume that doesn’t include the documents you left on the table in this here room, the one the Crush Killer stole right from your own house.”
Dixon felt her blood pressure building.
But it was Mann who spoke. “I completely understand your need to protect your assets undercover. If I was the guy with my balls on the line, I’d want a hard-ass like you protecting it. But there’s a certain level of trust we need here if we’re going to work together. That’s not an ATF thing, a DEA thing, or a Napa County sheriff thing. It’s just common sense.”
“I’m glad we’re getting all this out in the open. Better that way. And like you said, Roxxann: Let’s be clear. We’re all on the same team, and I trust you people. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. But Operation Velocity is an extremely sensitive op spanning two continents and five countries, and might be on the verge of costing one of our men his life. So excuse me if I offend some of you. I’ll take what you said under consideration. But you have my word: I’ve been doing this a long time, and I have a real good feel as to what’s necessary information to release and what’s not. I’ll make sure you have what we need to find Task Officer Hernandez.”
Dixon, Mann, Gordon, and Brix shared looks. None of them had anything to say, so Turino opened his file and splayed it open.
Dixon’s phone buzzed. Text from Vail. They were ready. “Hold up,” Dixon said. “We’ve got Karen Vail and Hector DeSantos joining us by teleconference. Any of you know how to work that RoundTable thing we used the other day?”
“I got it,” Mann said. He settled himself in front of the laptop that sat in the middle of the conference table, made sure they were logged into Live Messenger, then started the RoundTable device. “Are you there? Karen?”
Vail—and a male figure—appeared on the laptop and on the projection screen. On Vail’s computer, she would see each of their likenesses strung along the bottom, with the person whose voice was loudest taking the top position as an enlarged image.
“Hi everyone. Long time no see. This cool-looking dude to my right is Hector DeSantos.”
A sad-sounding chorus of grunts and greetings issued forth from the various task force members.
“Special Agent Guy Turino’s joined us. DEA.” Dixon knew that if she introduced him as Guido, Vail would likely have some smart comment—and Dixon already regretted subjecting Turino to that once.
“You logged on at a good time.” Turino turned away from the screen and said, “All right. Picking up where I left off. This is a DEA operation, so DEA runs the show. We appreciate the cooperation of your respective agencies and we’ll do our best to make sure everyone’s kept in the loop. You’re now officially federal TFOs—task force officers. As federal agents, you’ll be able to carry your sidearms across state lines and we’ll have jurisdiction to conduct our business.”
Turino looked at the RoundTable camera telescoping up from the table surface and said, “Obviously, Vail and DeSantos, you don’t have to worry about that.” He reached into his file folder and spoke as he dug through some papers. “Because of Superior Mobile Bottling and Cesar Guevara’s involvement, this area’s been an important focal point for us—and might continue to be so.”
Brix had a can of Coke Zero in front of him. He twirled it slowly as he spoke. “Since we’re all being honest with one another, I’d like to throw something out on the table. With DEA San Diego coordinating Sebastian’s and Hernandez’s op, isn’t it safe to say they wanted to be sure we’re all on the same page, that they don’t want us poking around without their knowledge? Seems to me, Guy, the easiest way to make sure they know what we’re doing is by bringing us under your thumb. We’re happy because we’re part of the team, but in reality, you’re just keeping us busy.”
Turino scraped an open hand across his stubble. “I’m going to respect your intelligence, Redd. So the answer would be yes. And no. ‘No’ because I got better things to do with my time than be a baby-sitter. So yeah, they don’t want you poking your dicks in places that could fuck things up. But this’ll be an active, working task force. And because I’m in charge of it, you can bet your last dollar we’re gonna be at the epicenter of anything that goes down. That good enough for you?”
“Absolutely,” Dixon said with a glance at Brix.