Chapter .11
Sullivan waited in front of Fitzpatrick’s desk. On either side of him sat the two bastards who gunned down the defenseless old leftover: Mason on his right, Wilcox on his left. He thought he understood his mission. To find and eradicate the resistance within the USR by any means necessary. Like today’s mission, however, sometimes what his captain sent him out to do didn’t make the most sense.
What would that woman have done if they just left her alone? What kind of information did Fitzpatrick think they could get out of her? Sullivan thought about it the entire ride back to the station. He tried with everything in him to come up with one, just one, justification for her death. Nothing came to mind.
Sullivan turned at the sound of the door opening behind him. Fitzpatrick strode in and eased the door shut. He had a stack of manila folders in his left arm and he walked over to his desk. Fitzpatrick sat the folders neatly on his desk. He pulled the expensive leather chair back. He sat down and took in a deep breath.
“That was a good job today,” Fitzpatrick said. “You did me and the department proud.”
Sullivan replied, “Thank you, sir.”
“Why you thanking him?” Mason demanded.
Fitzpatrick leaned forward, “What are you talking about, Mason?”
“Mr. Sully had a crisis of conscience out there today.”
“Will, what is he saying?”
“I wanted to bring her in for questioning.” Sullivan replied. “Maybe get some valuable Intel from her.” He turned to Mason and looked square in his eyes. “But these two gunslingers you sent me with couldn’t hold it long enough.”
Wilcox butted in, “That’s our job, sir. To eliminate the resistance. Dead to the last man…or woman.”
“An old woman. Who posed no threat whatsoever to us. We didn’t even find anything in there, did we? We sure as hell can’t question her now.” Sullivan replied.
“She must have sent all her letters out.” Mason said with a grin.
Fitzpatrick leaned back. “Were you able to find anything? Please tell me this operation had some merit.”
“No, sir,” Sullivan replied. “We found some knitting projects. She could’ve poked Wilcox to death with one of those plastic things.”
“Fuck you, Sully…”
“Enough!” Fitzpatrick cried out. “We wasted a lot of good time out there today. Mason, Wilcox, you two sons of bitches need to cool your trigger fingers.”
Mason cleared his throat, “Maybe Sully over here should stop being a pussy.”
“Listen, you…” Sullivan said.
“No, you listen!” Mason shouted with a red face. “You could have gotten us killed today. Yeah, she only had a knitting needle, but what if she was packing? Wilcox would be dead for sure. Me, too. Only you and that woman would’ve made it out alive.”
“What the hell?” Sullivan replied.
“She would have spared you, because you are working for them.”
Fitzpatrick held up his hand. “Whoa, whoa, you know how we feel about making such accusations around here.”
“Just speculating,” Mason replied. He stood the pointed his index in Sullivan’s face. “You put my life at risk again and I’ll bury you.”
Sullivan stood as well. Mason crossed the line. It was one thing to kill a leftover in cold blood with no evidence. It was another to bring Sullivan into it, and in the process, putting his family at risk. He balled his fists and fought back every urge to slug Mason. His face grew red and his breathing heavy.
“That’s quite an accusation,” Sullivan said through gritted teeth. “You have any proof?”
Wilcox stood from behind, “Plenty. You didn’t want us killing one of your own people. I get it. You hide behind that badge and feed secrets to them. Think about it.”
Sullivan’s heart rate increased with the reddening of his face. He felt surrounded and his self-defense instincts started to kick in. He could feel Wilcox’s hot breath against the back of his neck. Mason just stood in front of him, not wavered by Sullivan’s standing up to him.
“Enough,” Fitzpatrick called from behind his desk. “Mason, Wilcox step outside.”
“But, sir…” Mason said; his gaze still on Sullivan.
“Get out now!”
Wilcox’s eyes met Sullivan’s as he walked from behind. He grabbed the gold door handle and exited first. Mason gave another point at Sullivan before he followed his ass mate outside. He slammed the door shut behind him. Sullivan wondered how the glass stayed intact.
“You don’t believe him, do you?” Sullivan asked. He sat back down in his chair.
“No,” Fitzpatrick replied. “They just want your job. But you should take extra precaution out there. You know how it works.”
Sullivan sighed, “I understand. Where do we go from here? We found nothing at that leftover’s house.”
“I don’t know. Forte is out there, though, he’ll find something for us to do.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“How’s your boy doing?”
The one thing that Sullivan promised himself he would never do was to bring his family to work. No matter how hard he tried to keep the two separate, Fitzpatrick would bring up little Davie out of nowhere. Why? What did his son have to do with any of this?
“Got straight A’s on his last report card.” Sullivan said.
“Smart boy. You’re raising a regular old genius. Maybe he’ll grow up to be like us someday.”
“Like you said,” Sullivan sighed. “He’s a smart boy.”
The door burst open and startled both men inside. The two dick wads entered with an attractive brunette who held a small phone to her ear. The expression on her face told Sullivan that something big had just gone down. Mason and Wilcox matched each other with stupid grins. Not a good sign, either.
“Sir,” the brunette said.
“Yes,” Fitzpatrick replied.
“We’ve got trouble. There was a shooting at that apartment your men were just at. Three Agents are dead and one more is in bad shape.”
“Still think she’s innocent, Sully?” Mason demanded.
“William,” Fitzpatrick said and stood from his chair. “Take your two partners and get over there now!”
What the hell was going on?