The Innocent

“What is it?” asked Vance nervously. “You see something?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there.”

“You didn’t seem this tense at the other places.”

“That’s because this is the last place.”

Vance took a quick breath and nodded. “Right. I see your point.”

The name of the bar was the Texas Hold ’Em Saloon. At ten minutes to noon it already had about twenty people inside. It was decorated in a western theme, heavy on saddles, bridles, cowboy hats and boots, and with murals of horsemen, cattle, and the flat Texas plains. At the far end of the space was an enormous bar that spanned the entire width of the interior. Barstools with faux bull’s horns as seatbacks lined the space in front. Behind the bar a large Texas flag hung on the wall. All around the flag were stacked hundreds of libations designed to wet the whistle, lighten the wallet, and dull the senses.

“Somebody spent a lot of cash on this place,” commented Robie.

A young woman dressed all in black except for her white cowboy hat and white boots and holding a menu approached them.

“Party of three?” she asked.

“Maybe,” said Robie. “We were given this address for a friend of ours. Jerome Cassidy. You know him?”

“Mr. Cassidy is the owner.”

Robie and Vance exchanged a quick glance.

“Is he here?”

“Can I tell him who’s asking?’ said the woman politely.

Vance held out her cred pack. “FBI. Could you take us back to where he is?”

The woman looked uncertain. “Can you let me just check to make sure he’s here?”

“So long as you check while we can see and hear you,” said Robie.

The woman’s polite features vanished. She looked at them nervously. “Is Mr. Cassidy in some sort of trouble? He’s a great boss.”

“We just want to talk to him,” said Robie. “So he is here?”

“Back in his office.”

“Lead the way,” said Robie.

She turned and started off hesitantly. She walked past the bar and down a short hallway and turned right. Passing through a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only,” she continued on. There was another short corridor down here with two doors on either side. She stopped at one marked “Office” and timidly knocked.

They heard noises coming from inside this room.

Robie’s hand ventured toward his gun. Vance saw this movement and mimicked him.

A voice from inside the room called out, “Yeah?”

“Mr. Cassidy? It’s Tina. I have some people here who want to talk to you.”

“Do they have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Then tell them to make one.”

Robie moved past Tina and tried to open the door. It was locked.

“Hey!” Cassidy called out. “What the hell is going on? I said to make an appointment.”

Robie pounded on the door. “Cassidy, it’s the FBI. Open the door. Now!”

Robie heard more noises, shuffling, and a drawer slamming. He moved back and then drilled his right foot against the doorknob. The door flew inward as Tina screamed and jumped back.

Robie and Vance had their guns out. Vance moved Julie to the side. “Stay back,” she ordered.

Robie moved into the room first, with Vance covering him.

Cassidy was standing behind his desk staring at him. He was about Robie’s height, but thinner, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His hair was longish, gray-and-brown. His face was slender but good-looking, with a few days’ worth of stubble. He had on faded jeans and an untucked white shirt.

As Robie moved forward, Cassidy said, “You want to tell me why you just broke my door and are pointing a gun at me?”

“You want to tell me why you didn’t open it when we asked you to?”

Cassidy glanced at Robie’s gun. Then he stared over at Vance as she moved into the room. “Let me see your creds, right now.”

Robie and Vance held them out.

Cassidy read them carefully and picked up a pen and wrote their names and badge numbers down on the white blotter on his desk. “Just want to get the info right for my lawyers when they sue your ass.”

“You didn’t open the door, Mr. Cassidy,” pointed out Vance.

“I was just fixing to when you broke it open. And I didn’t know if you really were the Feds.”

“Your employee told you that we were FBI.”

“I pay her ten dollars an hour to look cute and seat people. I don’t trust her to know the FBI from a postal worker or some guy looking to rob me.” He eyed Tina through the open doorway. “It’s okay, Tina. Just go back to

work.” She hurried off and Cassidy looked at Robie, who had holstered his gun. “And you’re not even FBI. You’re DCIS.”

“You know DCIS?”

“I was in the Army. So what?” He sat down behind his desk, pulled a slender cigar from his shirt pocket, and lit up.

“You can’t smoke in a restaurant or bar in Virginia,” said Vance.

“While it’s true that the good commonwealth of Virginia has seen fit to deprive its citizens of the right to smoke in an establishment like this-even though the health department, which enforces said law, has no real enforcement powers and lots of places still light up to their heart’s content-this is my personal space and it has a special ventilation system, so I can smoke myself into late-stage lung cancer if I want to. Care to sit and watch?”

“We have some questions for you,” said Robie.