Chapter Three
"Lucky Maloy," Lou Sternes repeated doubtfully, eyeing Gibbs. "Where'd you dig that name out from?"
"My team," he answered. "They're usually right."
"Hm. Well, I checked with Trzecki. He's our deep undercover officer. He says he knows of a Lucky Maloy, but there's also no way he'd kill those people. Guess he's a real pussy cat or something. A bit like Arrizubeata's boy toy."
"Boy toy?" Gibbs squinted.
"Sort of like boyfriend, but-"
"Look, Lou," Gibbs stated impatiently. "I don't care if he's a damn quadriplegic, he might be our guy."
Sternes still looked unimpressed.
"Or he might know who our guy might be. Hell, he just might be your new informant. I know you want Julian Arrizubeata, but I'd rather have whoever's killing Navy personnel."
"Who says they aren't the same person?" Sternes challenged.
"That could be true."
"You still want a joint assignment on this, Gunny?"
"If it means we can solve these murders, yeah," Gibbs answered bluntly.
"Okay. Assuming this Lucky character pans out in the possible informant department, I'd like to work with your agents. DiNozzo as handler, McGee on tech detail."
"And Bishop," Gibbs said. "With McGee."
"What is this like a package deal?" Sternes huffed.
"She needs experience, so she'll be with McGee."
"Fine."
They shook on it.
Lucky Maloy had messy black hair and gentle chocolate eyes. They brought him in wide-eyed and terrified. He trembled so hard the chain of the cuffs rattled. The arresting officer sat him in a straight-backed chair at the center of the metal table. Carefully, the cuffs were removed. Lucky rubbed at his sore wrists that had already begun to chafe.
They left him there for what seemed like hours. Lucky shivered in the poorly heated room, and startled when the vent above switched on with an audible humming noise.
Everything made him jump. His own heartbeat would probably be cause to flinch, so when the door suddenly opened, Lucky cringed dramatically and wrapped his arms around his head.
McGee strode to the table and began laying out pictures from the file in his hands. Lucky kept his eyes averted.
"What's your name?" McGee asked, voice gentle and even as he slowly sat down on the opposite end of the table. He had the right demeanor for confronting a person of interest as meek and out-of-sorts as this man. When Lucky didn't answer, McGee tried again. "Hey. C'mon. We just need to clear some things up, okay?"
Lucky looked up at that. "My name's Lucky," he answered. "Lucky Maloy."
"Lucky," McGee repeated, paging through a few things in the file. "That's a unique name; is it real?"
"It's real to me," Lucky replied, more boldly. "And y'all already know my name I thought."
McGee ignored that. "Do you know why you're here?"
Lucky shook his head.
"Do you sell heroin on that street corner often?" McGee pressed, although he was careful to keep his demeanor casual and light.
Lucky remained quiet for a bit, before explaining, "I'm trying to get by." His voice cracked, and his breathing sped up. He licked his lips and put his hands to his head. "Oh no."
"Yeah, Lucky," McGee said somewhat sadly. "'Oh no,' is right." He then tapped two of the photographs. Both were images of the victims from this morning. "Do you recognize these two?"
Lucky swallowed convulsively as he cautiously ventured to look. His foot was tapping audibly against the floor. When his eyes landed on the young man - dead and bloody - in one of the photographs, the color seemed to drain completely from his face. He shook his head and covered his eyes with tightly balled up fists. His foot began to tap faster.
"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no,' Lucky?" McGee attempted to clarify.
Lucky shook his head wildly. "I don't know the other guy."
"Okay, so you know one of them," McGee translated. "Which one?"
Lucky began to look even more visibly distressed. His shoulders began to jerk as he wiped wetness away from his reddening eyes.
"Hey, hey, Lucky," McGee prompted. It was a weak attempt to soothe someone rapidly descending towards shocked grief. "Focus, please. These people were murdered last night."
"Murdered…" Lucky moaned.
"Which one do you know?" McGee asked firmly.
"Him." Lucky pointed at Donovan Krieger. "Never seen the other guy."
"Okay, good." McGee bit his lip. "So maybe you'd know why your prints are all over the gun we found on the scene."
Lucky stared at McGee blankly. "What?"
"Yeah." McGee pushed a photograph of the gun that was pulled out of the dumpster towards Lucky.
"No…" Lucky insisted. "No way. I didn't kill anybody. I don't kill people. You gotta believe me," he begged. "Donnie and I- We were close."
McGee pressed, "Do you recognize the gun?"
Lucky swallowed a wad of nervous spit that had accumulated at the back of his throat. "Yeah… Yeah I do. It's Mister Q's gun."
"Mister Q?"
"Uh hum," Lucky nodded.
"And you've touched it recently?"
"He makes me clean it," Lucky went on, rambling breathlessly. "Makes me clean it while he watches. And then I put it back together again. I do that every day."
"Where were you last night?" McGee asked next.
"I was…" Lucky hesitated. "I was with a friend."
"Can he or she vouch for you?"
Lucky shook his head wildly. "No, no. He can't."
"Who's Mister Q?"
"He works for my friend."
"Is he a hitman?"
"Maybe," Lucky admitted quietly. "I don't know." He was wringing his hands in his lap now.
"So who's your friend?"
"He's not really a friend."
"Who is he to you then?"
"Just someone I work for."
"You move drugs for him?" McGee attempted to clarify yet again.
"Sometimes."
"Were you aware that Donovan Krieger was working with Metro narcotics detectives?"
Lucky blinked, surprised. He shook his head slowly. "Really?"
"Have you honestly never seen this other guy? His name's Markus Brandt."
Lucky shrugged before admitting, "I might've sold to him once or twice." He paused. "Or several times. Look, I don't know anything else. People come and go around there. They don't stick around. Stuff happens."
McGee seized that opportunity. "Yeah, I guess stuff does happen, Lucky. That man was a Naval petty officer with a wife, two kids, and another on the way. He was killed by somebody you know. That same somebody who also murdered a police informant, who was also your friend. For all we know, you did kill those two men. But then there's Donovan's brother." McGee revealed yet another photograph of a waterlogged dead body. "Riley Krieger. He's been found dead, too."
"No!"
"So, next question," McGee changed tracks seamlessly. "The man you're working for, is he known as Snoopy?"
Lucky's mouth went dry and his eyes widened. "Uh," he croaked. "Yes."
"Do you know where he is right now?"
"No. He comes and goes."
"Maybe you need more time to think about how a prison lifestyle would suit you?" McGee asked.
Lucky shook his head and watched McGee's every move as he began packing up the file. "I don't know where he is right now, but if I asked him to come, I think he would," Lucky said.
"You'd like to be our informant?"
"Sure?"
"Okay."
"So, that's it?" Lucky finally asked, voice thin and hesitant. "You know I didn't kill them, though. I didn't- Donny… He was a friend."
"I know," McGee replied quietly. He shut the file and pulled it towards himself. "But you're going to help us put away who did, won't you?"
Lucky stared. Those same gentle eyes became even more liquid. He nodded his head. "Yeah…"
"Good."
"Alrighty, Lucky," Tony smiled, taking a small duffel bag of Lucky's things and chucking it into the corner of the motel room. "Being an informant is easy, until it isn't. But don't be scared, you'll be fine."
"What's your name again?" Lucky asked. He sat on the bed, and bounced up and down. He eyed the gun strapped to Tony's hip.
"Anthony DiNozzo, but like I said, Tony is sufficient."
"Okay."
"I have rules, though, Lucky. No drugs. I don't want to wake up to some 3am drug deal, okay. I have to sleep. No disappearing acts. I'm not chasing you around town." A pillow suddenly hit Tony in the head. "Hey-"
"Is there a rule about that, too?" Lucky challenged.
Tony scowled.
Lucky fell over onto the bed. "I'm hungry. Is there a rule about you paying for dinner?"