Department of Justice Headquarters
Rosalie was directed into the small room already occupied by Miguel. Her heart visibly sank to the floor, and she asked the agent if it was his first day, did he get lost. The agent responded by uncuffing her brashly and instructed her to wait for his superior who would be along imminently. Miguel rose to meet her and asked if she was alright.
"Yes," she said, quickly.
"I'm a little surprised to see you in my cell," he noted, "budget cuts?"
Rosalie surveyed the bland room and pointed out, "this is nicer than most, but I always pictured your prison cell lined with Persian rugs and candelabras and that globe thing with the mini bar in it."
"You pictured me in prison?"
She rolled her head to face him and said, sarcastically, "it was a joke. I've done this job long enough to know there is no real justice in the world."
Miguel smiled back, and after a moment of watching her drift around the room, he asked her, "is something bothering you, Rosalie? We do have time to kill here."
She pursed her lips and then offered, flatly, "well, being held by government officials in a small beige room for no valid reason is certainly bothering me, Miguel."
"Being stuck in a room with me?"
"Today has not been my favourite day, let's just leave it at that," she said, and her eyes pointedly drifted up towards the camera above their heads.
"Our conversation is technically privileged," he said, matter-of-fact, "please, if there's something you need to get off your chest, I'm all ears. I think it's long overdue."
"I've not been on your payroll for many moons now," she replied, shortly.
"You are. You're still set up on the handsome retainer of one whole dollar a month."
"That's really insulting," she scoffed back.
"It's come in handy," he said, and smiled widely, "and it's no reflection on my perception of your worth, you are just an incredibly frustrating person to pay. And before you start your righteous monologue again, all of my business is legitimate, especially the revenue that winds up with you. I make sure of that."
"That one dollar? Must take you all month just to find it," she snapped back.
"I know how important it is to you," he said, plainly, and then asked her, "what did they get you on anyway?"
"Bullshit," she scoffed and clarified, "obstruction of justice. They have Emily on failing to report a kidnapping. My reaction to that nonsense was the perceived obstruction."
"Hmm. And I don't see them squeezing her in here with us so they're clearly going to harass her to flip on me."
"She won't do that."
"Will you?" Miguel shot back.
Rosalie froze. She turned slowly to face him. He was sat on the couch, so casually, one leg slid over the other. She looked around the room first, there was nothing overtly threatening to her safety, other than a cartel boss with a suspicion she'd betrayed him.
"Do you need me to repeat the question?" He asked, simply.
"What do you want me to say?"
"How about: No, Miguel. I won't."
"If you have to ask the question, then that's answer enough."
"Ouch," Miguel scoffed, and sat back in his seat.
"It wouldn't be personal," she replied, flatly, with a little shrug.
The door opened, and Rosalie turned quite slowly to face the new player entering the game. She broke character, instantly; no more banter back and forth. She was done.
"Senor Galindo," he nodded to Miguel, who was still sat casually in his seat, and then he turned to greet Rosalie, exuberantly, with a jolt of a bow too, "Counsellor Teller, I am delighted to finally meet you in person. You stare at a picture of someone so long, learn all about them, their past, their family, their trials and tribulations, how they take their coffee. You feel like you really know them in real life. It's a real experience and a real pleasure."
Rosalie glared back at the man. Miguel looked between the two, uncertainly.
"It is...not mutual," Lincoln Potter said, analytically, studying her face deeply.
"I'm not following," Miguel told the room.
"Would you be so kind and take a seat, Mrs. Teller? Right there, next to Senor Galindo, and I will illuminate him on where our paths intersect," Potter requested.
Rosalie sat down, silently, close to Miguel.
Potter sat opposite and clapped his hands on his knees, hummed a moment to himself, and then he explained, "five years ago, I was moments away from shutting down one of the largest arms dealers on the West Coast. Culmination of a three year RICO investigation. The Real IRA and their leather-clad salesmen, the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. But before that could happen, fate intervened. I was informed by powers greater than myself that the Irish guns must keep flowing."
Miguel side-eyed Rosalie as he recalled her version of this story, the one she told him a few years ago; that moment at least had a beautiful California beach as the back-drop, and a beer in hand. Her eyes were strictly held on Potter, and she was silent the entire time, but everything else about her body spoke volumes.
"They were needed to ensure that the Galindo Cartel didn't lose their grip on the Sonora heroin trade," Potter concluded.
"Jose's deal with the CIA," Miguel said.
"Yes. Back when relationships with narcotraficantes were more, er, synergetic."
"And you want that synergy with me?"
"When that RICO case shattered, I nearly traded in my wings. But I needed to understand what happened and why. I requested a training sabbatical with the Foreign Affairs Division in Mexico City. I immersed myself in the culture. I learned the language. Got to know key players in Mexico's ever-shifting power structure. My somewhat obsessive nature secured me the racist moniker The White Aztec. It's ironic. No, it's just sad how a little bit of knowledge can be so powerful when surrounded by ignorance," Potter mused.
"Yeah, I don't give a shit. Just tell me what you want," Miguel insisted.
A lighter emotion broke through Rosalie's expression; a flash of a proud smirk.
"The thing we all want - peace of mind and stability. Yesterday afternoon, Los Olvidados pulled off another coordinated attack on your heroin facility. They are an ever increasing threat to your control of both Sonora and the East Cali border. Growing stronger every day. Inspiring a dangerous resurgence of Neozapatism. These terrorists, they live and die by their own rules. There is never a compromise to put on the table."
"Well, I've seen those compromises. The CIA crushed my father. That deal threatened everything - his business, his friendships. It put him in an early grave."
"Ah, but you can change all that. Turn blood into imported wine."
"Fuck you," Miguel seethed, "charge me or release me."
"So much for comfort and cordiality," Potter concluded and then requested, "Mrs. Teller. You have been caught up in something that doesn't concern you. Please, follow me."
Rosalie gave Miguel a look they both understood, and then followed Potter out. He didn't go far, just over to what looked like a reception desk. He propped his elbow on the ledge and grimaced back at her. She assumed this was supposed to be a friendly smile.
"You don't like me," he said. And she said nothing. Potter caressed his facial hair, and then said, "I trust the importance of your participation in that conversation is not lost on a bright woman such as yourself. We have no hard evidence. Nothing to convict either Mr. or Mrs. Galindo."
"That seems a bit counterintuitive for the Department of Justice," Rosalie said her first words to the man.
"There it is!" Potter exclaimed, and grinned back, "that infamous wit. I knew it wasn't a matter of hearsay." He chuckled at his own joke, and assumed by her stone-wall expression she needed it explained to her, "hearsay, counsellor. I watched a few of your courtroom clips."
"If I give that a pity-laugh, will you get to the point?" Rosalie asked.
"I don't want to bring that man down," Potter said, and spoke with impassioned gestures, "I want to build him up. Empower him. The devil you know."
"So, you want Miguel in your pocket."
"No. No. We want a partner. That's what we want," Potter said and then pulled out Rosalie's cellphone, "you missed a few phone calls whilst you have been with us here this evening, Mrs Teller. A number of calls and messages from Ezekiel, and Felipe; they are very keen to get ahold of you. One from your beloved, so he's clearly still in the dark. And the most are from Agent Kevin Jimenez. He blew up spectacularly earlier on when we pulled Ezekiel's deal."
"You are the gift that just keeps on giving," Rosalie seethed, "you hung EZ out to dry."
"His deal may very well be null and void but what you both delivered will not go to waste. I assure you of that. It will make excellent leverage to guide Senor Galindo to make the right choice...should it come to that."
"Ezekiel will be dead before he is even assigned a cell."
"Yes," Potter said, starkly, "his brother too, I suspect. He is his sponsor. He is the one who brought him into the MC. His peers will undoubtedly believe he was a part of this."
Rosalie fought every dark thought pulsing through her mind and chose to utter back, "what do you want?"
"What I want, is for you to go back inside that room, drop the lover's quarrel, swallow your pride if need be, and convince Galindo to come aboard. There are no cameras inside, they are just for show, so...use whatever means you deem necessary."
"Can I have my phone back?"
"You cannot. Chop, chop."
The Galindo Estate - Foyer
Eventually, well into the small hours, the Galindo's and Rosalie were released from the DOJ. Rosalie was too wired to go home and sleep, and undoubtedly wake up her children, and there was an all too pressing need to debrief each other on what the hell had just happened, and what they were going to do next.
"I'll see you upstairs in a minute," Miguel informed his wife, "I need to speak with Rosalie, alone."
"I need to speak with Rosalie," Emily insisted.
"Please, my love, another time," Miguel implored, in a tired tone.
Emily relented and requested that Rosalie join her for breakfast tomorrow; sure thing.
"The den is completely clean, boss," Nestor said, closely, "ground floor should be done soon."
"Take your time. Be sure. We'll speak in there," Miguel said, and gestured for Rosalie to lead the way.
Miguel poured them both a drink as she slumped into the big chair behind his desk. He passed her glass over, and told her, "I'm sorry about tonight."
"Don't be," she said, and necked the drink. She shook her head, and sat back in his chair, rocking it gently. She laughed a little, and said, "I can't believe all this time I was feeding him intel. The reason Jackson had to stay behind...everything that happened after..."
Miguel sat before her on his desk, and offered, "hey, at least the majority of the intel was bullshit."
She smirked back at him and hummed.
"Don't go down the "what if" trail. Trust me. It'll ruin you. Focus on 'what now'," Miguel suggested.
She accepted a refill, and asked him, "did you really think I'd turn on you in there?"
"I'll take that as a compliment to my acting skills. No, not for a second. And now I know you never will: I can't imagine any scenario where I don't come out on top against Potter."
"You signed your life away tonight."
"I won't let them do to me what they did to my father."
"They own you, Miguel. They can touch everything you have, everyone you know."
"Not everyone. Those ignorant fucking puppeteers are going to find out how it feels to be played," Miguel said, with a dark smirk, "I've got 2000 forgotten soldiers just waiting for a devil to lead them."
"Los Olvidados?"
"Adelita met with me at the border when we got Cristobal back. She proposed an alliance. It's uncharted water, so I'm going to need to surround myself with people I know I can trust. To that end, I want to lift the charade. Have you openly on my side."
"What about Ezekiel?"
"I will keep my word," he assured her, "I'll help any way I can, but their focus has clearly shifted away from me."
"He's in the dark, but he hasn't been picked up. He's safe for now. But...Potter will hold his freedom over me."
"We'll cross these bridges when we come to them."
"What does Devante think of all this?"
Miguel's demeanor shifted. He sat back a little and said, "I haven't told him."
"...why not?"
"I'll circle back to the point on surrounding myself with people that I trust. What I tell you now...it doesn't leave this room."
Santo Padre Police Station - Cells
Potter hauled open their cell door and looked down at Ezekiel, sat on the floor, and up to Angel, perched on the top bunk. He beamed and greeted them cordially, "good evening, gentlemen."
"You were outside the scrap yard," Ezekiel recalled.
"Ah, there's that beautiful mind at work," Potter replied, with a big smile.
Angel scrunched up his face and looked back and forth between them.
Ezekiel jerked suddenly, and asked, quickly, "where's Rogan?"
Potter wandered over to a metal bench and scraped it over as he informed the brothers, succinctly, "the Santo Padre police are busy processing your release papers." He parked himself down on the bench, with a delighted sigh and got down to business, "my name is Lincoln Potter. I am an assistant US attorney. We heard about your situation over the police band."
"Release papers?" Angel clarified.
"Yes," Potter exclaimed, "if this goes well, our conversation. Our bond."
"We want a lawyer," Ezekiel said, abruptly, and pushed himself up from the floor.
"Hmm. She's occupied, Ezekiel," Potter said, without missing a beat. He'd already brokered a cracking deal with her aid, he sought to round out the evening with another.
"Don't say anything," Ezekiel implored of his brother.
Angel just gave him a confused look back.
"There was a dead body in the trunk of the car you were driving," Potter reminded them both, plainly, "that car belongs to another member of your MC. I'm sure there's Mayan DNA everywhere." He bypassed Ezekiel and asked his more receptive brother, "should I go on?"
Angel nodded.
Potter huffed out a breath, and then locked on to Angel to inform him, "your brother, Ezekiel, made a deal with the DEA while incarcerated. It was put on the table by an agent Kevin Jimenez, and my new favourite recurring character, one Rosalie Teller."
"What are you doing?" Ezekiel scorned at the man.
"He is your second cousin, yes? And she...well, she happens to be an old acquaintance of mine. Small, small world...keeps getting smaller by the day," Potter ruminated, "hmm, anyway, EZ feeds Jimenez information on the Galindo Cartel about their heroin empire through Mrs. Teller, but as you know, life on the border is so unpredictable. Miguel Galindo is no longer our focus. The escalating dissent in Mexico has shifted all priorities which means...your deal is irrelevant. And because you haven't accrued enough points, they'll put you back inside, and I'm afraid there's a real possibility that your involvement with the authorities could be exposed, and of course, with that comes an agonizing shiv-related end, and perhaps something slightly more sophisticated for the lovely Rosalie."
Angel dropped down from the bunk, and said, coolly, "but if that was going to happen, you wouldn't be inside our cell."
"That is correct, Angel," Potter declared, "I come here with an opportunity, one that's good for your brother and therefore you as well. An ideology has manifested that threatens tranquility on both sides of the border. Because of your uh...unique street level skill sets we feel it's something you could handle far better than we could."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Ezekiel asked.
"That means you do the patriotic thing," Potter replied, "I wouldn't ask you to do anything that you haven't done before. You do this for us...you help with this, and you won't need to accrue points, Ezekiel, because the deal will never have existed! I will wipe it clean. You will be free and clear. I'll be in touch with the details."
Potter drifted towards the exit but stopped and clarified for the stunned brothers, "you're free to go."
Angel poked his head out of the cell and asked, "so, we just walk out of here?"
"Yes. We'll hold on to the dead body in case you change your mind, and then you'll both be in jail. When EZ's exposed, the MC will assume the brother, the blood that brought him in will have known about it, and we'll be right back to where we were, that agonizing death for both of you. Poor Felipe. No wife. No sons."
"You're fucking evil," Ezekiel seethed.
"That's a little Eye of Sauron-ish, don't you think? Telling both of you made sense. That way I get two problem-solvers for the price of one, as long as your brother doesn't kill you. Oh, this is probably worth mentioning. EZ wouldn't make the deal unless there was a familial protection clause. Nothing he gave the DEA could ever be used against you or the MC. So, you know, there's that. A little bro-on-bro love. We'll speak soon, gentlemen."
