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The director looked at Gomez and Lewis. Lewis nodded, and Gomez shrugged. Turning back towards Corbett, he said, “Okay, but keep your cool with this guy. We don’t want him to skate on something because you go in there and kick his ass.”
“I would never,” Corbett assured them, standing up. As he passed by Freeman, who hadn’t said anything, he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “How are you?”
Freeman nodded slowly, and then he said, “Beyonce will be in Houston next month. Two tickets, front row center. You owe me.”
Corbett laughed. “You got it, guy,” he said before leaving.
San Antonio, Texas
DEA Office
Corbett lookedat Heston through the two-way security glass. As the bastard sat shackled to the table, wearing an orange jumpsuit, he didn’t look like such an imposing man. His shoulders were hunched forward, and he had bags under his eyes.
Walking into the room with a bright smile, Corbett shouted, “Vincent Heston! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Heston looked up and gave Corbett a once over. “Who are you? The janitor?”
Corbett threw his head back and laughed at his dig. “No, Mr. Heston. I’m Special Agent Corbett Lindstrom. I’m with the DEA, and might I just say that it is my pleasure to be involved in bringing down one of the greats. I’ll just bet someday I’ll get to do aDatelineinterview. That is going to be so cool. I’ll almost be as famous as you.”
Vincent looked at the other man, obviously trying to decide if he was making fun of him or not.
I am, Corbett thought.
“You look like a dirty biker,” Vincent spat. But a curious look overcame him. Corbett could see the gears turning in Vincent’s mind. He was probably wondering how much time off of his sentence they might offer in exchange for all the information he could give them about Ayden.
If that is what you’re thinking, Vincent, then you’re playing right into my hands.
“I know you have a lawyer, Mr. Heston,” Agent Lindstrom stated. “Believe me, I am not here to ask you any questions. The cameras are rolling with sound, so I wouldn’t dare risk causing grounds for a future appeal. I just had to see the man himself, in person.”
Without even realizing it, Vincent’s shoulders began to push back and his head rose as he looked the agent square in the eye. Vincent hated rats with a passion, but he had to wonder if telling these bastards things about a particular biker gang was the same as snitching on one of his own. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to test it. Ayden Styles ran things behind the iron gates, even in prison, and if Vincent told these agents the things he knew, Ayden may well end up in lock-up with him, if Vincent lived long enough.
“What am I in this room for?” Vincent asked. They had taken him from that shithole of a cell and brought him here. He thought his attorney may have been here to see him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Heston. I apologize. I just had to see you in person. I’ll go now and let you go back to your cell.”
As the agent stood, Vincent thought about going back to that holding cell, and from there to the county jail, where it would be nearly impossible for him to avoid a knife in his back or a cock up his ass. Then… prison. Vincent had done time once. Using his father’s name to stay out of trouble, he had only served three years. His father was old now, and most men in America no longer knew who Gilberto Sanchez was. Vincent thought himself too soft and too pretty for prison. He would die there, quickly. The only thing worse would be dying there slowly.
“Mr. Lindstrom,” Vincent called, right as the agent was about to leave.
“Yes,” he said with another dazzling smile.
“What if I spoke to my attorney about a deal? What if I could tell you things that would solve a litany of open cases on your books?”
“Ifthat is true, Mr. Heston, I advise you to do two things. Number one: talk to your lawyer before the DA. And number two: make protective custody one of your requests.”
“If I can get protective custody, the other animals won’t be able to get to me?”
“Yes, sir,” the agent told him. “It’s definitely an option. You’d be in there with some notorious killers, though. They won’t do anything to lose their status, but just so you know.”
“Thank you,” Vincent Heston said to the agent as he walked out. He knew Corbett Lindstrom had merely gone behind the glass to watch him, but he didn’t care. The man had provided him an opportunity.
When the correctional officer came to take Vincent back to the holding cell, he made a request. “I wish to speak to my attorney,” he said, “and the District Attorney as well.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
A FIERCE LOVE
Pendale, Texas
