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He walked quickly past the mirror on the wall as he headed to his living room. He hated when he got a glimpse of that ugly tattoo on his back. He wanted to have it removed, but he knew he may still need it while he was working this outlaw biker case. It was a swastika, like Naomi had revealed to the others. Underneath it, blocked letters read:God Forgives, Brothers Don’t. It was a grim motto the Brotherhood used to denote what would happen to snitches. He also had a four-leaf clover on his right upper arm. Thankfully, when he was in the real world, his clothes kept them both covered, but his first order of business when the case was over would be to remove the swastika… even if he needed a blowtorch.
“What’s going on with Sam?” he asked before jumping into the reason he had called.
Gomez sounded like he was still angry about the whole thing. “He’s crying on the director’s shoulder about his wife all of a sudden. He wants us to say, ‘Poor Sam,’ and forget that he could very well have gotten one or more of us killed by feeding information to Heston. He should have come directly to me… Anyway, he’s still being debriefed, so hopefully we’ll get some leads to finding his wife… and Heston. She’s been gone for almost three months. Jeez! Who lets it go for that long?”
Corbett had thought the same thing. What was Sam thinking? Either he was enjoying his work, or enjoying his wife not being around. Three months was a ridiculous amount of time for him to do nothing.
After the meeting in the office with the entire team, Sam had left with Gomez and the director. Corbett had been told that Sam’s mother-in-law and baby were being taken somewhere safe.
“Who’s debriefing him?” he asked.
“The director himself,” Gomez said with a chuckle. “If having his wife taken and the director up his ass doesn’t put the fear of God into him, I don’t know what will. Well, those two things along with the baby being taken to a safe house. He’s really upset over that. Says he can’t live without his baby girl. Maybe that will light a fire under his ass. I’m guessing the director will want him to keep up feeding some kind of information to Heston until we get him or Sam’s wife or both.”
“I’m sorry, one more question and then we’ll move on. He said yesterday that they haven’t allowed him to talk to Tammy at all. What makes him think she’s even still alive?”
“Because Sam hasn’t received a box with her head in it yet. That’s Heston’s style. Unfortunately, that’s the only proof he’s given him that she’s still alive. But I’ve got a big day tomorrow… so?”
“I was thinking about that case we worked a while back. The one involving the Aryan gang.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“I’ve been to court on three of those cases so far; one was the recruit and two were soldiers. I know we brought two other soldiers and a general in on that same sting, but I wasn’t involved in those three. Are any of them still in county lockup?”
“Yeah, last I heard from the prosecutor, one of them pled guilty to drug charges and gang affiliation and ended up shanked before he got to where he was going. They got him on the bus. The other one went to trial about a month ago. That one was Sam’s collar, so he got called to court on him. He should be in the prison of the State of Texas’s choice by now. You were deep in that thing in Pendale then; that’s probably why you weren’t aware. The general, Terry… something or other, was still in County last I heard, pending trial.”
Corbett laughed. Gomez cracked him up. He was half white and half Mexican, married to a Cherokee woman, and had adopted an Asian child. He wasn’t the least bit racist. He was, however, anti-gang, and the Aryans were one of the most violent ones around in Texas these days. Gomez called them all “Terry something.” It was his way of minimizing the “respect” they went around crying about being entitled to.
“I think Terry was the name of the general who ratted out the organization a couple of years ago, and also the name of one of the suspects in the murders of the prosecutor and the DA and his wife. I think this guy’s name was Christopher… something. Wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, probably,” Gomez said. “But Terry comes up so much that I thought they were all named Terry for a while. Where are you going with this, Corbett?”
“Heston’s got a boss somewhere. The best guess is in Mexico, and in some relation to the Mexican Cartel, right?”
“That’s the best theory we have,” Gomez confirmed. “Vincent was barely a blip on the radar when he was running his operation up north. Suddenly, he gets to Texas, close to the border, and he’s nearly the next kingpin to be reckoned with. He’s rebuilding too fast, according to what Sam said today, and my informant has told me he’s not doing it on his own. His business was stripped and his assets taken or frozen. He got money to rebuild from somewhere.”
“Right,” Corbett said, agreeing with everything Gomez was saying. “Maybe it came from his father, but our sources say that he and the old man aren’t close, right? Gil Sanchez denies that Heston is even his son, I hear. But sir, what I know about the Aryans is, despite their widely held reputation for being driven by hatred of any race other than pure white, the management of the group these days is primarily focused on profits from drug trafficking in conjunction with the Mexican Cartel. Either they’re working with Heston, or they’re working against him. Either way, if anyone knows where Heston might be right now, it would be a general in the Brotherhood.”
“So you think this Terry can tell us where Heston is setting up his new operation and who his supplier is?”
“I think he can, yes. Whether or not he will remains to be seen. I’d be willing to bet he wouldn’t tell us as DEA agents, but he might tell another ‘Brother.’ I need you to get me in there. I can use the leverage I’ve gained with the Sons of Satan to befriend him.”
“Get you into County? That place is more dangerous than the bars you hang out in and the bikers you ride with, Corbett.”
“I know,” Corbett acknowledged. “But these bikers who are hanging out in the bars are answering to the guys in the prisons. You know as well as I do, sir, that the orders for what happens on the street are coming from inside. I’m not going to volunteer for the state prison, but maybe I can learn something in the county jail. I may as well put this piece of shit tattoo on my back to some kind of use before I get it burnt off, and you have to admit, we’re not getting anywhere out here. The County time can only do me well in my other investigation as well. The Sons of Satan are running drugs for the Mexicans. The Mexicans are in bed with the Brotherhood. It all goes hand in hand, Boss.”
Gomez sighed. Corbett could almost see him dragging his hands through his hair like he always did when he was thinking. “I don’t know if the higher-ups will go for this, Corbett,” he said. “We can’t protect you in there. You know that the floor staff inside can’t be trusted to keep that kind of information safe. We’d have to send you in as a regular inmate, as far as they’re concerned.” He was thinking out loud, Corbett knew. Gomez proved it as he said, “You just got that new haircut…”
“I’m getting out the razors as soon as you give me the green light.”
“Shit,” Gomez sighed. He trusted Corbett’s instincts almost as much as he did his own. Corbett hoped he understood what a good idea he thought this was... “Okay, I’ll call over there and see what I can do. I can’t promise the sheriff will go for this. If he says no, we’re SOL.”
“That’s why now’s a good time to set it up,” Corbett told him. “The director is still in town, right?”
Gomez huffed. “You’ve looked at this from every angle, haven’t you?” The DEA director and the current sheriff of Bexar County were roommates in college. Corbett had learned such in passing once and filed it away for later use. It was time to pull it out.
“Make sure the Sons of Satan show up on my affiliation sheet. I want them to cell me up with the general. And, sir, one more thing. I’d like Freeman in there with me.”
“Does Freeman know he’s going to jail?” Gomez asked.
