Page 85 of Oddly Fine

“David?” Hayes asked, breaking the silence.

“David Foster,” Gill specified. “FBI’s head of operations. This whole thing is a bit of a mess at the moment. When Franklin called, I tried to reach my primary contact in the Mounties, only to find out he’d already retired. The only thing I could do was reach out to my contacts in the FBI. Now the Canadians are pissed that the FBI is all over it, but there isn’t much they can do, so—”

“Wouldn’t it be more of a CIA problem? Since it’s outside of the US?” Hayes asked.

“The family operates inside the United States as well, and the FBI was already in the process of building a case against them. The FBI jumped in with both feet when I called. Your brother got swept up in it. I’m sorry.”

Beckett’s jaw was locked tight. He took several deep breaths to calm down, but it wasn’t working too well.

“What can we do?” Beckett asked. “I can’t keep lying to my entire family, Gill. Fuck, we just came out to them—”

Gill made an odd sound and then cleared his throat. “Well, congratulations on that, gentlemen.”

There were a few seconds of silence and then Gill continued.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to be done. From my limited understanding, the FBI found Matthew Rosario’s testimony and evidence—whatever that might be—convincing enough to act. They are trying to build a case linking Mario Rosario to human trafficking as we speak, but it’s going to take some time to gather the necessary evidence for the grand jury indictment. Last I heard, they were sending in an undercover agent—”

“But that could take years!” Beckett yelled, feeling appalled and angry.

Hayes didn’t blame him. FBI cases—especially ones involving undercover work—could last for several years before they made any kind of headway.

“Also—Mario? What is this? The terrible mustache mob?”

Gill wisely ignored Beckett’s inane questions. “I know—I’m sorry, son. I really am.” He sounded a lot more like himself now than he did when they’d called him the week before about Franklin’s death.

“Franklin asked us to kill Mario,” Beckett admitted, out of the blue.

Hayes sighed. He’d really hoped his partner would forget about his brother’s request. It wasn’t that Hayes technically objected to killing an evil man like Mario, but he’d prefer not to be involved with ridding the world of Mario Rosario.

“I would strongly advise against that,” Gill said sternly. “Not only because it’s a crime you would certainly go to prison for, but also because while your lovesick fool of a brother might think it would rid them of the problem at hand, it’s not a solution now. It might have been before the FBI’s involvement, but it’s not the way to go on this. They might look the other way regarding the import business for now, but if there is any proof of human trafficking, they’ll need someone to take the fall, and if Mario is no longer in the picture—it’ll surely get pinned on the next man in line.”

“So?” Beckett said. “Let the fucker go to prison—he nearly got my brother killed.”

“Pretty sure Franklin did that himself,” Hayes observed, because Franklin was not some naïve teenage boy. He had a good head on his shoulders and was a well-recognized expert in the field of psychology. He’d been fully cognizant of the shit show he was getting into.

“While I certainly don’t condone the Mafia’s criminal activities—I also don’t believe Matthew should be punished for the crimes of his uncle.”

Beck sighed and hit his head against the dash.

“So what now? We just sit on our fucking hands? Pretend to go back to normal?” Beckett was annoyed and frustrated that he was not permitted to fix the situation.

“I’m sorry, son—really, truly. I wish there was something you or I could do, but it’s out of our hands. We just have to let the FBI do its job.”

“Oh goody—trust the feds, the answer that never disappoints,” Beckett replied sarcastically.

Hayes had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from chuckling.

“Alright, thank you, Gill,” Hayes said, recognizing that they’d reached an impasse, and there was nothing productive to add at this point. “We’ll call you when we’re back home,” he promised.

Their boss responded with a quick goodbye and cut the call.

In the subdued glow of the dash instruments, Beckett looked defeated and stressed. While there was some relief in finding out his brother was alive after all, it wasn’t enough to improve his outlook. Hayes could empathize. Beckett was a fixer by nature. When there was a problem, he solved it. His inability to act on the problem facing his brother was getting to him.

Beckett sighed and banged his head on the dash a few times, like that might help.

“So—we go get Nickel and head home?” Hayes said, fishing for ideas about what Beckett was planning for them to do next.

Beckett turned to face Hayes and started to say something but suddenly screamed, “AH!” as he pressed himself back against the passenger door, eyes wide with shock.