“Did those two suspects give up anything when your guys hauled them off?” Jackson asked.

“Singing like canaries! Especially the woman! She just kept howling that she’s allergic to bees. The guy kept telling her to shut up. He’ll break, too.”

“So what happens now?” Jackson asked.

“Depends on the vigilantes. The woman said the vigilantes have all their records. Will they do the right thing and turn those records over? I think so. I’m sure the Post will report on it with a special edition. Stay tuned. Nice talking to you, Jackson. Call me if you want to go out for a beer sometime.”

Detective Leroy Jackson watched Director Bert Navarro walk away. Yeah, like he was really going to call him to go out for a beer. His years on the force along with his cop’s instinct told him Navarro knew more than he let on, but Jackson knew better than to tangle with the FBI. Those guys from the Post, now, that was something else entirely. That damn paper always came out on top, and he didn’t think it was due to diligent reporting. He’d bet his pension they had an inside track to those damn vigilantes. He sighed, knowing when he got back to the precinct there would be a message that the police commissioner and the mayor wanted an audience with him, and not at his convenience.

Seven more years and he could file for his pension. Screw influential people who perch in high places. Navarro was right, let some other dick-weed go after those damn women. Seven more years and he was home free.

“These pictures are absolutely delicious, Espinosa. I’m thinking this time, as a show of good faith, we share them with MSNBC. We don’t want to be accused of being biased, now, do we?” Maggie chortled. “Damn, you guys are the best!”

Ted and Espinosa beamed with pleasure.

“Absolutely, we do not want to be accused of being biased! How come you aren’t going with a special edition?” Ted asked.

“Because, gentlemen, we have someplace to go in exactly ten minutes. This paper is going to be running itself for a little while. I worked it all out. Go home, pack a bag, and meet me out at Dulles. Don’t ask questions. Go!”

Dressed in military camouflage, the Sisters stepped out of the white van, the two dogs in tow. They walked in military precision to the waiting plane. Charles and Myra were the last to get out of the van.

“Hold on, Myra. I brought something for you.” Charles reached into his pocket and brought out Myra’s heirloom pearls. He handed them to her. “I hate those chains you’ve been wearing. It’s time to put these back on.”