Who could treat children this way?” Cooper shook his head. “Turns out the answer is, we can.”
“We?”
“They’re government facilities. DAR facilities.”
“But not Equitable Services.”
“Close enough.”
“It’s not ‘close enough.’” Quinn’s voice sharp. “You are not personally responsible for the actions of an entire agency.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. We all—”
“Do you believe that Alex Vasquez was trying to make the world a better place?”
“What?”
“Do you believe that Alex Vasquez—”
“No.”
“Do you believe that John Smith is trying to make the world a better place?”
“No.”
“Do you believe that he is responsible for killing a whole bunch of people?”
“Yes.”
“Innocent people?”
“Yes.”
“Children?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go get him. That is what we do. We take down bad people who hurt good people. Preferably
before
they hurt the good people. That’s our responsibility. After that,” Quinn said, “we go out for beer. Which you buy. That’s your responsibility.”
Cooper chuckled despite himself. “Yeah, all right, Bobby. I hear you.”
“Good.”
“That was something.” Cooper stood. “Getting all
righteous
on me. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I am multilayered. Like an onion.”
“That part I’ll buy.” Cooper clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’m going to check on Vasquez.”
“Calm him down, will you? He’s sweating so bad I’m afraid he might somehow shake that tracker loose after all.”
“And thank you for that image.”
“Here for you, boss.” Quinn yawned and put his feet up on the polished wood table.
Cooper strolled down the hall, passing a gold logo with the names of three white guys followed by LLC. The law office was in a building overlooking the Metro station where the meet was to take place. Quinn had reached out to them yesterday, and the partners had been delighted to help Equitable Services. Cooper had met one of them earlier, a trim guy with a halo of white hair who had wished him good hunting.
Good hunting. Shit.
Two guards stood outside the corner office, their tactical blacks today replaced by bland business suits. The submachine guns were still ready-slung. He nodded at them. One said, “Sir,” and opened the office door.
Inside, Bryan Vasquez stood by the window, his hands against the glass. At the sound, he jumped, turning with an expression that was part guilt and part nerves.
Fever Orange,
Cooper decided to name the color. He thanked the guard, then stepped inside.
“You startled me,” Bryan said. He had one hand pressed against the glass, the other to his chest. Ghostly white dots of condensation marked where the pads of his fingers had rested on the window. There were sweat stains at his armpits, and his chest rose and fell swiftly. He licked his lips as he shifted his weight from right to left.
Cooper slid his hands into his pockets and—
He’s dedicated to his sister, but he’s also a believer. He’s worried about his own safety but would never admit it. He’s attracted to the idea of plots and secret worlds, to comrades in arms.
He needs a strong hand, but not so strong he shatters. He needs to be pumped up and sent out to do his piece for a better world.
—stepped into the room. “Sorry about that. I always get jumpy before these things, too.” He pulled out the chair, spun it around, then sat with his arms on the back. “This part drives me crazy.”
“What part?”
“The waiting. Too much time in your head. Once things start, it gets better. You know what you have to do, and you just do it. It’s easier. Don’t you think?”
Bryan Vasquez cocked his head and turned to lean against the window with his arms crossed. “I don’t know. I’ve never had to betray something I believe in to save my sister before.”
“Fair point.” He let the silence hang. Bryan looked like a man who expected to be punched; slowly he
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