“I have Ms. Platt now. Yes, sir, she is in my possession. She is three feet away from me. No, sir, I do not have Mr. Rainey. He is with his Mexican friend, but I’ll have him in a few minutes, and we’ll have what we have.”

Blah blah, rant. Blah blah, rant. Jesus, the man could go on.

Tobey said, “Fuck’m.”

Cleo said, “Hang up, up.”

Daniel was getting pissed off.

“Sir, were you able to pull anything off the tag? I’d like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Fucker still didn’t answer. Instead, he wanted to know why Daniel asked about the plate and how the man drivin’ the Jeep was involved. Daniel felt put on the spot.

“I don’t know how he’s involved, sir. He was at Rainey’s house at least once, and I saw him today at Azzara’s. He clearly knows who these people are, and that means he’s a problem.”

More Bolivian ass gas. The guy had an endless supply.

“No, sir. I believe he followed the Mexican and Mr. Rainey back to the airport, but I can’t know that for sure. I chose to take Ms. Platt.”

Fuckin’ Bolivian blew like a ripe pimple, screaming that the Mexican might have brought the fishmonger down to Mexico. This is why Daniel hated talking to the fuckers, all the screaming hysterics.

“Sir, Mr. Rainey is still in Los Angeles. Ms. Platt just spoke with him. Can we please get back to whatever you’ve learned? I have to move quickly.”

The Bolivian puked up a wad of information about the dude with the arrows. Dude’s name was Pike. A Force Recon Marine who became a police officer. Daniel heard that, he worried the guy was a Fed, but the Bolivian then said something interesting.

“Excuse me, sir, I want to be clear on this. He is no longer in law enforcement?”

Blah blah, blah blah.

“He’s a mercenary? We know this for a fact?”

Daniel listened more carefully. The arrow dude shit-canned off the cops, then became a gun for hire, and had worked for the top Private Military Corporations out of London and Washington in conflicts all over the world, including Central America. Daniel thought, cool, and wondered if they had ever crossed paths. The cartels hired mercs from time to time, and so did the governments who fought the cartels. Daniel never met one of those boys he couldn’t kill.

“Do we know who he’s working for?”

The Bolivian didn’t have a whole lot to say. They were asking around, still trying to find out, blah blah blah. Daniel wondered if the man was being evasive.

“I have to go, sir. The next time we speak, I’ll have more good news. That’s a promise.”

More overblown, effusive praise for Daniel’s efforts.

“Thank you, sir. Really. You’re too kind.”

Dickweed.

Daniel killed the link.