Read Online Triple Crossing by Sebastian Rotella - Free Book Online Page B

me of messing with women prisoners.
     I’m a gentleman out there. Ask anybody.”
    As Shepard was about to escalate the confrontation with some finger-pointing of his own, Puente interrupted.
    “We’ll concede regarding your charitable intentions, Mr. Pescatore.” Fleeting smile. “Let me ask you about something else.
     Under what circumstances did you leave the hotel security job you had in Chicago before you entered on duty with The Patrol?”
    First the money, now Chicago. Pescatore glanced at his watch, hoping to conceal his panic. Even if they had started investigating
     him a minute after he crossed back into San Diego, it was hard to believe they could have come up with all this stuff already.
     They had been at it for a while, digging into his past. This was about more than chasing Pulpo into the Zona Norte.
    She repeated the question with a severity that made him wonder if her earlier surprise had been an act.
    Dry-mouthed, he answered: “I resigned from that hotel because I decided to apply to The Patrol and I got accepted and that
     was the end of it.”
    “Interesting. My information indicates that you got fired because you were involved with a ring of doormen and bellhops who
     were thieves. You got caught riding at three in the morning in a Lincoln Continental that was supposed to be in the hotel
     parking garage.”
    “The Patrol looked into my previous jobs and everything,” he protested. “They did the background check. Everything was fine.”
    “That’s no defense,” she said. “The Border Patrol has hiredtoo many people too fast. The background investigations are sloppy. People who got fired from law enforcement slip through.
     People with criminal records slip through.”
    “I don’t have a criminal record, ma’am.”
    “Because your uncle is a lieutenant with the Chicago Police and he interceded for you. And then he had the nerve to recommend
     you to The Patrol.”
    “That’s not the way it was.”
    “But you did get arrested. You did get fired.”
    She was acquiring a street snarl. Pescatore tried a counterattack.
    “I told the cops then and I’m telling you now, I was investigating those guys who were stealing at the hotel. It was undercover.
     Like a sting.”
    “Stop wasting my time,” Puente snapped.
    “What do you want me to say?”
    “Start with the truth about last night,” Shepard piped up.
    “I told you the truth.”
    “Another thing,” Puente said. “Did you intentionally alter your name when you entered on duty? Why were you known as Valen-
tín
in Chicago when your Border Patrol paperwork consistently refers to you as Valen-
tine?
”
    “Hey, don’t put that jacket on me,” Pescatore exclaimed, eager to play legitimate victim. “My correct given name is Valentín.
     It was The Patrol’s foul-up. At the academy they kept calling me Valentine, my paperwork kept coming back Valentine. I complained,
     but they never changed it.”
    In fact, after one halfhearted attempt to correct the mistake, he had decided not to draw attention to himself. His unwanted
     rechristening was somehow appropriate. He became a Border Patrol agent; he became Valentine.
    Puente nodded. Pescatore suspected she had tossed him an easy one to change the pace, soften him up. He steeled himself for
     another barrage. But she put a hand on Shepard’s arm.
    “Wait,” she told Pescatore. She and Shephard got up and left.
    Ten minutes later, she came back into the room alone. The angry-interrogator mode had been replaced by a disconcerting calm.
     She leaned forward over the table and raised her head, accentuating the swell of the rounded breasts against the turtleneck.
     Her voice was low.
    “Listen carefully, Mr. Pescatore. You’re currently under investigation for the allegation regarding last night. You’re under
     investigation for lying about your work history. And we’re looking at other activities as well.”
    “Like what?”
    “You know what. Now’s the time to start