Red Dog by James David Buchanan

Author:James David Buchanan [Buchanan, James David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B003MAJVSW
Publisher: MLR Press, LLC
Published: 2010-04-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The morning after Jerry put together his consortium, Con Meehan fulfilled his promise, or threat, and went to the office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Seattle, also in the Federal Building.

There he asked to see the agent in charge, "Tommy" Thompson. Con was expected; he had warned them he was coming, but more than that, they knew what had happened and suspected what was about to happen. Meehan was known as a good and effective agent for his people, but was also suspect as a man with his own passions and proclivities. Actually, the federal narcs were thought of collectively as something a little romantic and unstable.

Thompson, a red-headed Scot, played with his pen set beneath a color portrait of the long-deceased but deified Director who resembled a constipated bulldog, and considered whether or not he should admit this wahoo Meehan. Narcotics had not played a large part in the history of the Bureau, and they all thought of narcotics as a little declasse. Thompson himself had spent the Cold War tracking communist agents all over the world at the personal behest of the Director.

That had been a proper world, or would have been except for the existence of the hated Central Intelligence Agency. Among the other things that were wrong with the modern world was the proliferation of agencies, each with some kind of trashy specialty. He could think of no positive reason to see Con, but several negative ones -- the man was troublesome anytime, and now he was in a particularly reckless state of mind.

Con took the decision away from him by appearing in the doorway. He was on the balls of his feet, ever the dreamed quarterback. Thompson, who didn't know him well, noted how gracefully he moved for a stocky man. Con's jaw looked like the prow of a ship about to ram. He sat without waiting to be asked and leaned forward on Thompson's desk.

"He's not worth it. It's not like he ran an organization or something. He's a loner. And where do you get off coming in here without being asked, anyway?"

"He moves a lot of dope," Con said stubbornly.

"For a solo, but what's that amount to? And here you are, burning the ground in every direction.

Risking your career. For what? What the hell's got into you, Meehan? You used to be a good agent. Or so they tell me."

"Well, I keep telling people it's personal, and it doesn't make much impression on them, but it's all I got."

"I heard about the accident with the girl."

"Isn't anyone west of the Mississippi hasn't."

"I'm sorry, but we don't allow anything personal like that in the Bureau, so we're certainly not going out on a limb for someone from another organization."

"How much you paying this guy?" Thompson regarded him stonily. "Must be one of those I heard about on retainers. I heard like they can make a hundred big ones a year. More than me, anyway. Wonder there isn't some college giving courses in snitching.

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