He glanced over at me. “Are you serious?”
“I can’t make this shit up.”
“Okay, so Ford, he sees something weird, follows this guy Fisher, who happens to be in the middle of committing a murder.”
“Cleaning up,” I corrected. “Fisher is in disposal, not killing. But yeah, pretty much.”
“What an idiot.”
“Who? Fisher or Ford?”
“Both, but Ford more so.”
I chuckled.
“So what’d he see, exactly?”
“He saw Fisher spread out the body of Safiro Olivera, douse it with what he thought was lighter fluid, and then walk away.”
“Walk away?”
“Yeah, Fisher was setting up blasting caps throughout the house with trace amounts of C4.”
“How is that arson, then, and not an explosion?”
“That’s how they know this guy’s an arsonist, it’s his signature. First, there’s a small explosion inside the building, and that ends up triggering a four-alarm fire.”
“Okay. So he leaves, and our boy gets on the phone and calls the police.”
“Right.”
“And they arrive and catch this guy in the act before he actually gets a chance to start the fire?”
“You’re very good at this game.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled and then pointed at the side of the road. “And what the hell is with all the gigantic-ass crosses along the highway?”
“This is the South?” I offered, not sure what other reason there could be.
“Not really.”
“What part of Tennessee isn’t the South?”
“So… what? There’s crosses all over?”
“It’s roadside religious propaganda,” I informed him. “Repent now.”
“It’s creepy, is what it is.”
“Moving on.”
“Fine, whatever. So Ford calls the cops; cops pick up who, exactly?”
“Christopher Fisher, serial arsonist and clean-up guy for the Malloy crime family out of Richmond.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“They move meth and OxyContin, dabble in prostitution and gambling. Compared to what we’re used to, they’re not a huge deal, but they had Fisher on the payroll.”
“Who will now be rolling on them?”
“Yes.”
“Which is why Drake Ford is going into WITSEC.”
“Yep.”
“But not the boyfriend.”
“No.”
“But Ford just got transferred back to Bowman, where his boyfriend is?”
“Yes.”
“That sound fishy to you?”
“It does, yeah.”
“Could young Jenner arrange for his boyfriend to be brought back to town?”
“Doubtful.”
“But someone else could.”
“Yes.”
“But for what reason?”
“I dunno. How old is Ford?”
“Eighteen.”
“And the boyfriend?”
“Same, just turned.”
“Have they even graduated from high school?”
“Not until May.”
Ian was working it out in his head. “Okay, so what do we know about Ford and Jenner? Were both sets of folks okay with it?”
“No, actually. Jenner’s father has had Ford charged with everything from trespassing to car theft to kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping?”
“Yep.”
“How does one minor kidnap another minor?”
“Well, Ford just turned eighteen—like I told you—and there was a two-month period in there where Cabot Jenner was still seventeen.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m not arguing with you.”
“Okay, so it’s safe to say that Jenner Sr. wants Ford gone.”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit,” Ian barked. “You know what happened.”
“I do now,” I sighed. “The Bowman Police Department sent someone to take Ford back.”
“And they have no idea who’s actually coming for him—no clue who they’re dealing with.”
“Nope.”
“Ford’s in danger when the Malloy family finds him, but so is everyone else.”
“Because the sooner Ford’s dead….”
“The sooner Fisher is released from federal custody and no one’s worried about him spilling everything he knows.”
“Yep.”
“Did you already let our boss know that?”
I waggled my eyebrows.
“So, you’re what, catching me up?”
“Yep.”
“Ass.”
I laughed as his focus returned to the road.
“Where am I going now?”
“You have forty more miles on here, so sit tight. The next thing you’ll be doing is looking for US 58, also known as Wilderness Road, and you won’t get off that. It goes right through the center of the town.”
“The town is divided by a highway?”
“Yeah.”
“So what does our boss want us to do about the Bowman Police Department? Alert them that we’re coming, or no?”
“He says no since we’re not sure what’s going on. He has the state police on alert to give us whatever backup if and when we require it, and he warned me that we’re on a two-hour window of check-in.”
“Like I can’t handle myself.”
“It’s me he’s worried about, Captain America,” I said snidely.
“I have your back.”
“I know.”
He was quiet for a few minutes. “So we’ll need a place to stay tonight.”
“I’ll find one,” I said, looking up from my phone and the e-mail conversation I was having with Kage to Ian’s profile. “Once we figure out what the deal is with Ford.”
“Okay.”
We were both quiet for a bit.
“Who’s Safiro Olivera?”
I cackled.
“I’m tired, I have an excuse. But I got to it after a few minutes.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Tell me.”
“Safiro Olivera is Leandro Olivera’s little brother.”
It took a moment, but then it hit him.
“Are you kidding?” he asked dryly.
“Nope. Christopher Fisher was trying to dispose of the body of the nephew of Lior Cardoso, who’s the number three man in the Nava Cartel, one of the most violent drug cartels in Mexico, that just so happens to be based out of Tijuana.”
“Fuck.”
“That’s what the FBI said.”
“Why is Ford even important anymore? Fisher’s dead without protective custody.”