How long had it been? Chad's head pounded painfully, the hangover hitting full force. He knew he was at a police station -the patroller who brought him in had said so- but he had no idea how many hours had passed. Fortunately, somebody in the PD seemed to recognize Roberts, and the six of them ended in an interrogation room; no holding cell for a NBA star. Unfortunately, the policeman apparently wasn't enough of a fan to let them go.
The door opened again. It was Montoya.
"Ah, you too survived the inquisition!" Xian chirped, and Chad took a moment to hate his team mate's sunny disposition. Now that Montoya was back, Chad remained the only one yet to face interrogation. The nervousness didn't help him feel any better.
The Coach followed Montoya into the room. Chad groaned: just what he needed.
"I'll talk to each one of you later," he said tersely, his tone apparently calm but his eyes betraying how angry he really was. "Let's leave this place first … except for Danforth."
"What?" Chad was about to throw himself in an outraged speech, but the Coach's icy stare made him shut his mouth.
"These gentlemen still have to talk to you," the Coach said nodding in the door's direction, where a man and a woman, apparently detectives, waited. "The City has agreed to keep this down, but we have to leave before the press shows up."
"But I-"
"Look, Danforth," the Coach interrupted him. "I don't like it either, but there's nothing to be afraid about. The guys all went through this already and there has been no problem; it's just standard procedure."
Chad looked at his partners at those words. That was true; none of the others seemed particularly worried. McLaren winked at him.
"The Mayor has promised me they'll take you to your place discretely and as soon as possible," the Coach continued. "You are going to be okay."
Chad nodded. Of course. Everything was going to be okay.
Things went wrong right from the beginning.
"Did you recognize anybody at last night's reunion?" the woman asked as soon as the door was closed and the three of them were left alone.
"Mo," the man admonished before taking a chair and addressing Chad. "I'm Agent Mora and this is my partner Agent Grey," he said with a smile. "So?"
"So?" Chad asked. To his embarrassment, his voice cracked.
"Did you recognize anybody at last night's reunion?"
Chad's sweat was dead cold. It was exactly what he had been dreading for hours, a nightmare came true.
"Well, I recognized my team mates …" he trailed off. Grey scoffed and took the seat behind her partner.
"And?"
"And," Chad shrugged, his mind failing to provide a believable lie. "I was pretty drunk, m'sorry," he finished lamely.
To his surprise, instead of questioning him more, Grey and Mora looked at each other with something like worry.
"He really is a lame liar," the woman said, and Mora nodded.
"Get up," he ordered, going to the door. "Be sure to cover your face," he said, throwing a hoodie in Chad's direction.
Not knowing what else to do, Chad complied.
The detectives took him out of the room in silence, then to the closed parking lot under the police station. Chad remained quiet as long as he could, even when Grey shoved him in a black van's back seat - but twenty minutes passed and they were still on the streets. His apartment wasn't that far away, Chad knew. Actually, judging from the surroundings, they were closer to-
"Why are we by the harbors?" he asked anxiously. His nervousness increased exponentially when Mora made a tight turn to the left and drove directly into a warehouse.
"Get out," the man ordered, cutting down the engine. Darkness surrounded them when the warehouse's gate closed behind them.
"You are not detectives," Chad declared, knowing without a doubt he was right. He didn't feel like doing what they asked anymore, but Grey glared at him from the other door, so he gloomily got out of the vehicle.
"Not this City's police detectives," the woman declared with a sly smile, guiding him to the second floor. "DEA Agents Moira Grey and Adam Mora; it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Danforth."
Of course, he didn't believe it right away, but the shock of what waited upstairs made him forget to voice his doubts. Behind a door adorned with a) a small screen, b) a keyboard, and c) and d) card and fingerprint readers, there was the most astounding collection of old and state-of-art technology Chad had ever seen. Enormous servers and flat screens were side to side with pin-adorned maps and chalkboards. And then there were the men and women, busily pacing from one side of the room to the other, furiously typing, going over graphs and lists, discussing. It almost looked like an anthill under attack.
"This is him?" an impressive looking woman appeared out of nowhere, making Chad jump. She came across as old and young at once, her short hair completely white yet her eyes clear and clever.
"He was right, boss," Mora said to the woman. "Not that I'm surprised."
She nodded and motioned Chad to follow her. He did so, reluctantly, while Mora and Grey left in another direction.
"I'm Chief O'Shea," the woman said, closing the door of the smaller room she had guided him into. "Are you aware as to what happened earlier this morning?"
"Uh … no, not really," Chad mumbled. He hadn't really paused to follow the dots, but now that he thought it, if these guys really were part of the DEA, and knowing that the DEA's main objective was- oh damn. How the hell did he end so deep in shit? And, more important, what mess was Evans into?
"I get you haven't seen the news," O'Shea declared, taking a remote control and pointing it at a TV screen in the far side of the room. The sound blasted before she muted it, but the headlines ribbon gave Chad all the information he needed.
Drug Lords detained in DEA operative
He kept reading, but stopped processing it until a name made him focus again.
Oscar Salvatti, of the infamous Salvatti family. He had been in the news almost daily last year, during the hoax that cost two ABC reporters their careers. They insisted on Salvatti having financed a murder attempt against the US President, although they couldn't show proof, and in the end had to admit on it being nothing but an elaborate lie. Still, the man's picture appeared on the news so frequently that Chad knew he would recognize that face right away, if he were to encounter him in the streets … except he obviously didn't, as last night's meeting showed.
Yes, he was that Oscar.
And according to the television, the other three men, the ones Chad had believed were just a guy and his bodyguards, actually were Joseph Coastello, Anant Shenoy and one of the Mendoza Brothers. The one believed to be dead, in fact.
Four of the world's most important Drug Lords together in one place, and Chad happened to be there too. Shit. Talk about bad timing.
"A couple witnesses recall you talking to these men, Mr. Danforth," O'Shea finally said, and Chad turned to look at her, stunned. Was she suggesting he knew them?
"I wasn't talking to them!" he rushed to declare. "This is a misunderstanding."
"Is it, Mr. Danforth?" she stated in a disbelieving tone, opening a folder and handing Chad the picture in it. It was in whites and blacks, and clearly showed Salvatti saying something and intently glaring at Chad while the other three men approached.
Evans' eyes showed in a light shade of grey.
"He's Salvatti's main hitman, Paulo Lucas," the woman pointed at the guy standing behind Chad in the picture. Then she pointed at Evans. "This one we haven't been able to identify." She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him.
"I'd never seen the guy," he murmured in a half voice.
A second picture replaced the first. This was from an earlier moment, when Evans had pulled him in front of the bar. The blonde was half-smiling, as if telling a secret or sharing something interesting, his left hand closed around a fistful of Chad's shirt. Chad's right hand was on Evans' tight, maybe to prevent them from crashing.
Chad couldn't remember putting it there.
"What's the guy's name, Mr. Danforth?"
Could he keep denying acquaintance? Well … there was a possible solution. It could even help.
"Peter Parker," he declared, trying to control his voice. "He said his name was Peter Parker."
O'Shea frowned.
"You sound as if you didn't believe it."
Chad chuckled nervously. Of course he didn't believe it! "It seemed like a joke," he admitted, thankful and starting to relax. "An old one, in fact."
"But you do know the man's real name, don't you?" Chad froze. "Yes you do."
She said something so low Chad couldn't understand it, but he was almost sure it was swearing. Then she looked up and nodded to a camera hanging in a corner. Of course, Chad hadn't even noticed it before.
"You realize I'm not really interrogating you, Mr. Danforth?" she asked, but didn't wait for him to answer. "These are just some friendly questions, a much tame version to what Law allows officers to do if there's the need. Criminals," and there she motioned in the TV's direction, "can do worse. Do you agree?"
Chad gaped at her. He couldn't say if she honestly was asking for his opinion, or if he was being threatened, or what.
There was a knock in the door.
"Come in," O'Shea invited in a curt voice, and a familiar face appeared. It would have been more familiar if the hair were blonde, the skin paler and the eyes blue, but the smile was one he had seen many times.
"E-"
"Enough!" the woman growled at Chad, frowning at him before looking directly at the camera. "Stop the recording; cut the last five minutes," she ordered and then turned to the much-changed Evans. "He's really terrible."
"Chad has never been much of a liar, which most people might find a good thing," Evans declared with an even sunnier smile, closing the door behind him.
O'Shea's frown grew deeper. "Not such a good thing if it puts one of our best agents at risk."
And with that, Chad finally found the strength to move.
"Wait. Agent? You are an agent?"
The woman sighed and ignored Chad.
"I wouldn't allow this to anybody else, René," she said to Evans. "Nonetheless, you've proved yourself a good judge of human nature."
And with that, not even addressing Chad again, she left.
"She called you Rene," he pointed as soon as the door was closed. "And you are really an agent? A DEA agent?"
Evans chuckled.
"Special Agent René Herblay, actually," he admitted. "Everybody here knows the name's a fake, and I would like to keep the real one a secret, so we better leave."
"But won't the Chief -" Chad started to say, but stopped at Evans' serious face. In silence, he followed his ex-classmate to the first floor, then to the black van he had came in.
Mora and Grey were already there.
"Nice hair," she said with a mocking grin.
"Shame I can't say the same of yours," Evans quipped, grinning back.
"And that's what I get for being nice."
Mora chuckled from behind the wheel. "That was a great job last night," he said, using the rearview to look at Evans. "Best than the boss expected, I heard."
"Thanks," Evans answered with a tight smile. "Although, considering she was expecting impending doom and mass destruction, I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is."
"Mass destruction?" Chad asked in a half voice, wincing when two pairs of eyes and the reflection of a third focused on him. But then a cell phone ringed, thankfully, and everybody kept silent while Grey hmmed and nodded at whatever was being said on her line.
"That was O'Shea," the female agent said, closing her phone. "Michel Salvatti is missing, and guess what. The CIA agrees with our analysis of the situation."
Evans, sitting by Chad's right side, smiled weakly at her. "Well, finally."
"Any relation with, uh … last night's Salvatti?" Chad asked, looking closely at his ex-schoolmate and trying to ignore the DEA agents on the front seats.
"Baby brother," Mora said in a chipper tone, this time keeping his eyes focused on the street. "Oh, and possibly the strongest candidate to take Oscar Salvatti's place in the cartel."
All Chad could manage at the answer was a "Huh." After all, no matter the circumstances, this wasn't his life.
He didn't want it to be his life.
"So do we have green light?" Grey asked, handing Evans a backpack and hitting Chad with a loose strap in the process.
"Hey!" he complained but she simply smiled, unrepentant.
Evans took the bag and started rummaging through it. "From O'Shea, yes," he said, his voice a little distracted as his attention remained focused on the bag's contents. "I still have to speak to all involved parties."
Mora's not-discreet-at-all rearview glance gave Chad the horrible idea that, maybe, he was one of those involved parties. Turning to face Evans, questions ready to sprout from his lips just to find him rolling his eyes kind of confirmed the idea, too.
"And that's why I am the one doing the infiltration work," Evans tiredly declared, glaring at the back of the agent's head. "A rookie mistake, seriously, Mo?"
"I, uh, thought she was Mo," Chad shoot without thinking.
Evans' smile was a little bit sadistic, in Chad's opinion. "They both are Mo. It throws people off the rails."
"We even have a comedic routine!" Grey piped up with a smile that had too many teeth for Chad's peace of mind.
"Somehow that fails to reassure me," he declared in all honesty.
The car stopped then, with Mora seamlessly parking it by what Chad recognized as the North entrance to the city's main park.
"And that exactly is the point," the male agent declared with a serious face, keeping his hands in the steering wheel and using the mirror again instead of turning around. "Be careful, kid. Kermit is taking a big risk to keep you safe."
Before Chad could ask for clarification, though, Evans had pulled him out of the car and they were standing in the curb while the black vehicle disappeared in the distance.
"Who's Kermit?" he finally managed, making Evans burst out in laughter and leaving Chad even more confused.
