Page 59 of Daybreak

* * *

Wine was flowing. The food was four-star rated, and the ambiance of the location was everything it should be, but there was an undercurrent of reserve among them that made Dixon nervous. Then one of them made an announcement during dinner that sadly, this would be his last time to celebrate with them, and that he and his family were moving back to Canton, Ohio, to take over his father-in-law’s business, due to his ill health.

Dixon frowned. “I would have thought you might have had the courtesy to let me know in person beforehand.”

“Oh, but I did, sir. I personally took the letter to your office myself. I thought that you would be there, but your secretary said you were gone for the day. I saw her take it straight to your desk before I left. As I stated in my letter of resignation, I will work out the end of this month while my family goes on ahead. We’re all worried about my father-in-law’s health.”

“Ah… Sorry about that. I took a couple of days off to work from home,” he said and made himself smile. It all sounded innocent, but he and Freddie had been really good friends, and he had a feeling the man wanted out from under Dixon Down and Dirty before something similar happened to him.

By the time the dinner was over and the last manager was leaving the restaurant, Dixon was in a mood. He messaged Whistler to pick him up, paid the bill with a hefty tip, and headed for the exit, half hoping Whistler would be delayed and give him something to complain about. But Whistler was there, standing by the limo, waiting to open the door.

He glared as he got in. “Have you been eating in my car?”

“No, sir. I stood outside in the dark and ate standing between the two cars I’d parked behind, threw my trash in a garbage can, and sprayed my uniform with the lemon scent you prefer so no food odors would be evident.” Then he closed the door and got into the driver’s seat.

Dixon’s eyes narrowed. Whistler was making no attempt to disguise what was obviously a very passive-aggressive attitude.

“Are we going home, sir?” Whistler asked.

“Yes,” Dixon said and sat back as they left the parking lot.

* * *

As soon as they were home, Dixon got out and went inside, leaving Whistler to park and go home. He knew Reggie and Linda, the husband and wife who lived on-site, had already retired to their quarters.

Whistler parked the limo, got into his truck, and drove away. But he went less than a block before parking in an alley out of sight and running back to the property. He slipped in a back gate, then into the house, guessing Dixon would go straight to his office to check what was happening on the stock exchange before he retired for the night.

He stood at the foot of the stairs, still wearing his uniform and driving gloves while eyeing the closed doors on the landing above, then doubled his fists and started up. As suspected, there was a light beneath the door of Dixon’s office. It was time to get down to business. He pulled a gun from the waistband beneath his jacket and walked into the office without knocking.

The look on Burgess Dixon’s face was a mixture of shock and anger, but when he saw the gun aimed at him, he panicked. That was his gun! The gun he kept hidden beneath his desktop.

“What the hell?” he cried.

“You are planning to get rid of me,” Whistler said.

“That’s not true! I never—”

“Shut it, Dixon. I’m not stupid. The day you shut the door in my face was all the warning I needed. And since I know where all the bodies are buried, I don’t see you giving me a gold watch as a send-off.”

Dixon’s gut rolled. All that rich food and wine from his dinner suddenly felt like an anchor. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move.

“I wasn’t trying to replace you, I swear. I’m down two men, and you know who and why.”

Garza and Letourneau? Whistler shook his head. “Bullshit. You don’t need privacy in this house to hire replacements for them. You have contacts far beyond the borders of this state. I’ve seen the way you look at me and the derision in your voice when you shout out orders, and it all began after that cop caught me by surprise. So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to do you a favor and quit on my own. I always wanted to see Mexico. I think it’s time to check it out. But because I don’t trust you not to hunt me down later, I’m going to be needing a little insurance.”

“Like what?” Dixon asked.

“How about the names of your cop informants. That way I’ll know who to look for should you decide to use one to take me out. They’d easily get away with it under the auspices of a justified shooting. I want a list titled INFORMANTS, and then the names and contact numbers of every cop who has been feeding you information.”

“That’s absurd,” Dixon said. “That won’t—”

Whistler moved to the front of Dixon’s desk and shoved the barrel of the gun between his eyes. “I get the names now, and I’m gone, or I shoot you now and leave anyway,” he said.

“Yes, yes, fine. The names and then you’re gone, right?” Dixon said.

“Right,” Whistler said.

Dixon pulled some paper from an open ream on the shelf behind him and started writing, beginning with INFORMANTS as the heading, then one name after another, from different precincts and adjoining suburbs in the entire Dallas/Fort Worth area, until he listed them all and the contact numbers.