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“That sounds like it might be nice, Terry,” he said as he gave another smile.
“Who knows? Maybe we could do a little business,” Terry said with a wink. “You never know when the merc might be in the market for a new machine gun.”
Chapter 69
Some inebriated young woman sloshed half a microbrew onto my shoes as I made my way through row C near the first base side of the main seating level.
At the end of the row, I came down two steps and knelt in the aisle and tapped the shoulder of a light-blue-clad gentleman sitting at the end of row A.
“Hey, how’s it going, buddy?” I said.
CIA operative Matthew Leroux smiled broadly as he looked at me. Beside him, his blond wife, Sophie, also clad in blue, rolled her eyes. They, like Arturo and me, were both sporting some pretty expensive-looking binoculars, I noticed.
“Mike, buddy! Small world!” Leroux said. “You a big New York City soccer fanatic, too?”
“Oh, the biggest,” I said. “I still have my Pelé Cosmos lunch box from second grade.”
“No way. Original owner, huh? I had to buy mine on eBay,” Leroux said. “But I just bought this nifty supporter blue scarf. What do you think?”
“Stylish. It goes with your eyes,” I said. “I see you’ve brought your wife, Leroux.” I turned to her. “I’m Mike. Detective Mike Bennett.”
“Oh, I remember you, Detective,” the pretty blond woman said, peering at me. I peered back at the intelligence in her green eyes. There was something else there, too, I could see. Something still and cold and dangerous.
I suddenly remembered the blood-splattered Hamilton Heights crime scene, and how this petite, friendly woman had more than likely done some of the splattering.
Were all CIA couples this nuts? I thought.
“All in the family, huh?” I said.
“All in every day, Mike,” Leroux said, taking a sip from his Bud Light.
“I hear that the family that watches soccer together stays together.”
Leroux smiled. “Couldn’t agree more,” he said, looking around.
“Think the visiting team has a chance?” I said.
“Overconfidence will get you every time,” Leroux said.
“You would know,” I said.
Sophie, still scanning with her field glasses, suddenly tapped Leroux on the arm.
“Third base side under the upper deck. The luxury booth. Twelve o’clock.”
I lifted my own glasses along with Leroux. I looked over at third base, then panned up. There were half a dozen men standing on a railed balcony. I scanned their faces, then looked at the photo. Then looked back.
“Third from the left?” I said. “Isn’t he a bit old?”
“Same nose and jaw,” Sophie said.
“Same cocky bearing and frown, too,” I said. “What do you think, Matt?”
Leroux focused his glasses, then stood.
“I say close enough for government work, Mike,” he said. “Give me your phone.”
He quickly typed his number into my contacts.
