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That’s him,” I say pointing to Mike. “He’s El Tigre. He practically admitted it to me just now.”
Mike’s eyes bulge out. “El what?”
Agent Billings keeps her gun aimed at Mike’s head. “Rollins, frisk him.” She cocks her head at Tara and Man Bun. “Fontaine, keep an eye on those other two. They seem harmless, but you never know.”
“He’s clean,” says Rollins. He pulls a wallet from the back pocket of Mike’s jeans.
“Check his ID,” she orders.
“Who are you clowns?” Mike says, sneering. “Because you’ve just made a big mistake.
“The only mistake was yours when you decided to mess with the feds,” I say. “And with me. No one leaves a dead body in my dumpster and gets away with it.”
“The feds?”
“That’s right. The feds as in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The gig is up, El Tigre.”
“Stop calling me that stupid name!” he roars.
Agent Rollins clears his throat, “Ma’am?” he says addressing his boss. He holds up Mike’s wallet. “According to the driver’s license this man’s name is Michael Armandi. There’s another piece of ID too. Says he’s a member of the Jersey City police force. Homicide Division.”
Chapter Eighteen
“That’s impossible,” I say. “Mike Armandi is El Tigre. He has to be.”
“If you call me that one more time—”
Agent Billings puts a hand in the air. “Hold on, everyone.” She looks at me. “Fontaine here said you sent him a 911 message. Did this guy,” she indicates Mike, “try to hurt you?”
“Hurt me? Well, no not yet.”
“Unbelievable,” Mike mutters.
“Did he confess to being El Tigre?” she demands to know.
Brittany stomps her foot. “Who is this El Tigre? I insist that someone explain everything at once! I’m a member of the Whispering Bay Chamber of Commerce, and as a representative of the city I have to say this has all been completely unacceptable.”
Agent Billings gives Brittany a look that shuts her up fast. “Check out that ID,” she snaps at Rollins. He takes off like a man on a mission.
The door to the kitchen opens again. This time it’s Sarah. She takes everything in, including the gun that Agent Billings is still holding on Mike. “Oh my.” Her gaze darts between mine and Travis’s.
“I can explain.” For the first time, I’m beginning to feel uncertain. Homicide Division? No, that ID has to be a fake. If Mike was a cop why didn’t he tell me before? Why is he here delivering restaurant supplies and offering to take out people’s nasty smelling trash?
Fifteen minutes later we’re all still in the kitchen, waiting. Travis went out to the dining area to inform the customers that no one can leave and that we’re on lockdown. I can just imagine how well that’s going over.
After what seems like an eternity, Agent Rollins comes through the door. “Armandi’s credentials have all checked out.”
“Damn right they did.” He turns to Agent Billings, his eyes gloating. “Want to put the gun down now?”
She hesitates just a second, then lowers the gun. “What’s the deal?” she asks Rollins.
“According to the chief in Jersey City, Armandi is on a paid leave of absence. He spent six months working a case involving a drug-related murder. Says the case really did a number on his head and he was down here in Florida for some R&R.” He glances at Mike. “Says you’re one of his best and he expects you back soon.”
What? No.
I whirl around to face El Tigre…er, I mean Mike. “But…you broke your uncle’s leg! You said so yourself!”
“What are you talking about?”
