Mortal Allies by Brian Haig

Author:Brian Haig
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Occult, Trials (Murder), Gay, Gays in military service, Political, Legal, Fiction, Americans, Drummond, Legal stories, Thrillers, Fiction - Psychological Suspense, Americans - Korea, Occult & Supernatural, Seoul (Korea), Sean (Fictitious character)
ISBN: 9780446612586
Publisher: Warner Books
Published: 2003-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

I hit McDonald's again and picked up four Big Macs to go with the medicinal necessities I'd already bought, which included another six-pack of Molson and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, which, if you don't know, is the best brand of Johnnie Walker money can buy. And in case you don't know, it cost a fortune. I almost cried because I wasn't going to get a drop.

The guard at the desk instantly recognized me, so I didn't have to pantomime or otherwise act like an overanimated clown to make him understand I wanted to see Whitehall. He went and got the big brute, who walked in grouchy-faced, not the least bit happy to see me.

He ordered me over to a side room, and once we were there, said, "No more contraband may be smuggled in to Whitehall. Open your briefcase so I can search it."

I did and the odor of the Big Macs poured out. He grinned, then bent over and reached his big paws inside. What he pulled out was the Johnnie Walker Blue, which he stared at like it was the Holy Grail.

"That's yours," I announced. "And two of the Big Macs."

His eyes fixed on mine, he tilted his head sideways, and his shoulder muscles got all bunched up. I couldn't tell if this was moral indecision or preparation to punch me for so blatantly trying to bribe him.

I quickly said, "You got any idea what a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue costs?"

"Two hundred and twenty-two dollars," he murmured. Somewhat passionately, too. When it comes to a man's taste in booze, my prescience can be uncanny. Of course, anybody who looked like him had be a scotch man. He was too damned ugly to sneak up on any other kind of hooch.

He eagerly stuffed the bottle down his shirt, crammed the two burgers in his side trouser pockets, and closed the lid on my briefcase. He handed it to me, then slyly hooked a finger.

When we got to Whitehall's cell, he opened it and waved for me to enter. "One hour," he said.

"Thanks," I replied, and he locked the door behind me and disappeared. I turned around. "Hi, Tommy."

Whitehall didn't get up. He lay on his back. "Hello, Major."

I kicked my briefcase in his direction. "Open it. I brought you more treats."

My eyes still weren't adjusted to the near-darkness, but I heard him rustle around. The clasp clicked open, and the disruptive odor of fast food again permeated the cell. It was a good thing, too, because once again Whitehall's cell smelled like human dung, the consequence, I guess, of my earlier visit.

Then I heard him wolfing down that first hamburger. Then a pshht as he popped open a Molson, and another as he opened one for me. I accepted it and leaned smugly against the wall listening to the bestial sounds of him devouring his treats. I needed him in a good mood. I needed him pliant. The time had come for our most important discussion yet.

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