Second Chance Gold by John H. Cunningham

Author:John H. Cunningham [Cunningham, John H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greene Street, LLC
Published: 2014-10-17T23:00:00+00:00

Before entering the hospital, I called Agent Booth.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me on this phone?”

“You learn anything yet? And what’s an ex-con doing out of the country? Isn’t that a parole violation or something?”

“This is all confidential information, Reilly.”

“It won’t be if the New York Times learns about it. And what about those Dominicans who beat up Truck—”

“Don’t threaten me, hotshot!”

“I need answers! There’s plenty more going on down here than meets the eye, including Lou Atlas maybe knowing more than he’s sharing. There may be a payday for you here, Booth, but only if I live long enough to find the truth!”

Silence.

“Now what the hell’s the deal with Gunner?”

“You sitting down?” Booth said.

“No, I’m sweating my ass off walking up a steep street to see my buddy in the hospital—”

“Dodson was remanded into Rostenkowski’s supervision.”

“What the hell?!”

“The Bureau had nothing to do with it! Rostenkowski’s a CIA informant—he has a lot of knowledge, and it was apparently decided very high up that he could not be allowed to stay in Cuban custody.”

I stopped halfway up the street.

“Back up, Booth. Why would Jack be remanded to Gunner’s custody?”

“I don’t have the answer—but if they’re working with Gutierrez, the FBI’ll arrest both their asses, that I can promise you.” I knew he meant it. “If you can prove that, I’ll get your slate wiped clean. You hear me?”

Giddiness hit me as the enormity of what he’d said crept into my brain. No more worries about my past—but what about the evidence Jack had on me?

I swallowed. “As in immunity?”

“Damn straight. You give me Gunner, Jack Dodson, and the Cubans in a nice neat bundle, your ass is off the list.”

Wow.

That would substantially clear the playing field for the Concepcíon, except for the Dominicans. According to Booth, the fact that Jack and Gunner’s plane—my plane—was registered in Cuba wasn’t enough. But it was a start.

“Follow the trail, Reilly.” He hung up.

I continued up the hill with a spring in my step.

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