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“Well said, Officer Bailey. Well said. I’m surprised you’re not saying it to him.”
“To… him?” Bailey said, shouting at his phone now. “Oh, you think I’m scared? Of Mister Big Shot Federal Agent guy Steven Harris? You put him on the phone and I’ll tell him to his face.”
“Did you say Agent Steven Harris?”
“Yeah, Steven fucking Harris, put his Special Agent ass on the phone and I’ll tell…”
Bailey stopped dead in his tracks. Something told him he’d just stepped into a pothole full of dogshit.
“Thank you very much for your confession, Officer,” the young woman’s voice said.
“What? I didn’t… I didn’t confess to anything… you’re not… this isn’t admissible…”
The line cut out, leaving him staring at a silent phone.
Enough of this. Harris had contacted him before, and he still had the number. He used it now, tapping it out on his phone, waiting as it rang.
“The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.”
Bailey swore at the automated voice. He should’ve known better. Harris had used a burner, a throwaway phone all throughout their entire business, the slippery bastard.
But Harris wasn’t the only one who was clever, who had moves. Back when Harris was setting everything up, Bailey had figured a crooked undercover would pull a move like this. So, he’d taken the simple precaution of making some very discreet, very normal inquiries with the FBI.
Oh, it’s just little old me,he’d told him when he called,a simple Philly cop, wondering if I could get some contact infofor Special Agent Steven Harris. No, no urgency. Might need his assistance on a case, that’s all. You have his direct number? Great. No, no need to connect us now. I wouldn’t want to bother him unnecessarily. Thank you for your help.
Bailey could be tricky too, when he wanted to be.
Now, he called the number he knew was legit, waiting through three rings before Harris picked up on his end.
“Got ya, bitch!” he said, as soon as he heard Harris’s voice. “Threw away that burner phone you used when we did our thing, but I got your number anyway!”
“Bailey?”
“That’s right! Surprise, motherfucker!”
“How did you get my number?”
“Ha! Yeah, you thought you was all slick, using that throwaway burner phone. But as soon as we did our business, I called around, got your name at the FBI, and your contact info. Your real contact info.”
“Bailey, you’re drunk, so listen to me very carefully. You are speaking on an open line, do you understand?”
“Hey, you’re the one who’s been screwing with me all night on my open line, so you go to hell!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harris said, sounding way too much the same way Bailey’s old man used to when he was lecturing him as a kid. “None of it. And if you insist on talking like a drunken fool, I will hang up, block your number, and contact your supervisor to discuss disciplinary action.”
“The only one getting disciplinary action, is you,” Bailey said. “Calling me, screwing with me. Thought you were slick, hunh?”
“I have not been screwing with you. In any way. I have no reason to. I have no reason to contact you, at all. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I said, stop condescending to me!” Bailey shouted, but his voice was starting to sound unsure. Did he have this wrong, somehow?
“You need to hang up this phone right now.”
“You need to… tell me why you’re… it has to be you!” Bailey insisted. “You’re the only one who knows about the Cayman account. You’re the one who set it up for me!”
“That’s it. I am hanging up and blocking you. You are clearly drunk and deranged and have no idea what you’re saying.”
“F…” Bailey tried to shout at the phone, but the line ended.
