Chapter 7
The three plainclothes policemen approached Cain.
“Are you Cain Lemaire?”
“Who’s asking?” He was always on guard, but even more so when working in a foreign country.
The oldest officer reached into his back pocket. “I’m Detective Rojas,” he said as he opened his wallet and showed his badge. “My office was told the Secret Service wanted to do another security assessment before the president arrived.”
“Yes,” Cain answered with relief. He thought they might have been there because of the prostitute. “That’s right. I knew we were meeting today, but I guess the time got away from me. I’ve been handling a bunch of other stuff this morning.”
“That’s all right,” Detective Rojas said. “We are here to help you.” He extended his hand.
“Mucho gusto.” Cain shook the detective’s sweaty hand. “You gentlemen walked here?”
“Yes. Parking is prohibited because of the international conference.”
“But you’re a cop. Like Kojak and Columbo. You can park anywhere.”
Cain smiled, but he got the impression that the officers didn’t get the American references. He understood his job was not all operational; it was also diplomatic in nature. He represented the American president, and he needed the assistance of the local police for such momentous visits. “Well, I certainly appreciate all your help to make this mission go well. Your support is why these presidential trips are successful.”
“We are happy to help you. We enjoy the overtime.”
Cain propped his tactical backpack on the floor and unzipped it. “Compañeros, I brought some gifts for you.” He reached into the black canvas to retrieve various pieces of Secret Service swag. He had baseball caps, patches, shot glasses, coffee mugs, and challenge coins.
The officers graciously accepted. But while they liked the gifts, they seemed more impressed with Cain’s boots. He wore a pair of rust-colored alligator boots with his navy-blue suit, sans tie.
“You Americanos are cowboys,” said Rojas, scratching his salt-and-pepper goatee. “Like President Bush.”
Cain chuckled. This was the first time he was working with these officers, but he knew American politics often came up in conversation. Perhaps sensing a moment of awkwardness, another officer asked, “Where can I get boots like these?”
“My old friend, goes by the nickname Prince, makes these at his camp on the bayou.”
“Donde?”
“Mi casa en Louisiana. It’s a town two hours from New Orleans. He makes boots, belts, and holsters out of leather, alligator, and lizard. Let me know what you want, and I’ll make sure to bring it on my next trip.”
“Okay.” The officer smiled. “Hopefully they are comfortable, because with so much vehicle traffic today, we must walk to the conference.”
“Bueno. A walk sounds”—Cain paused only long enough to inhale deeply—“nice after the morning I just had. I can use some fresh air.”
Cain and the officers headed to the main door. The bellman, wearing a button-down jacket and white gloves, opened it. A burst of heat rushed into the lobby. “Have a good day, Mr. Lemaire,” he said.
“Igualmente,” Cain replied. “Hasta luego.”
The sun shone brightly and not a cloud was present. Cain retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his inner jacket pocket.
“Where shall we start?” one of the officers asked.
“From the beginning,” Cain said. “Let’s walk the entire path. I wanna know this place so well that locals would pay me to give tours.”
As they walked, Cain mentioned several security concerns he had. “This morning, I saw boats not too far in the distance, over there.” He pointed toward the ocean, which was only a hundred yards or so away.
“Sí,” the third officer replied. “Many of our people fish to feed their families.”
“I understand,” Cain said. “Growing up in Louisiana, I did the same thing. Fried catfish was a staple for us.”
“A staple?” the officer asked.
“Yeah, um…” Cain searched for a definition. “Like a main dish. We ate it often.”
The officer nodded his head.
“I’d like to have at least two police boats out on the water,” said Cain. “I’ll give you two Secret Service agents to put on the boats.”
As they continued walking the route toward the conference building, Cain pointed out additional areas of concern. “I would like to put a countersniper on that tall building there, and also on top of that white building over there. We’ll have a team on the roof of the hotel where the president is staying, so this gives us a triangle of protection.”
“This is no problem. Our military snipers have been informed you may request this.”
“Thank you very much. We’ll place a member of my team with each of your military snipers. The Secret Service agent will serve as a scout.”
“A scout? They aren’t bringing their own rifles?”
“Yes, they are. But overseas, we prefer to be scouts. If somebody does get shot, it’s always more politically correct when the local police or military kills one of their own, as opposed to us.”
“Here”—Detective Rojas stroked his beard—“we don’t give a damn about political correctness. A dead asshole is just a dead asshole.”
Everyone laughed. It was a nice distraction for Cain. If only for a brief moment, it got his anger toward Tomcat out of his mind.
They had passed a few shops when Rojas pointed out an ATM. “This is a safe place to get pesos,” he said. “If you need to get money—say, three hundred dollars—this would be the place I recommend.”
Speaking of assholes, Cain thought. The amount quoted was too specific. Cain was naturally easygoing, but he didn’t like being the punch line of a joke. “Are you messing with me?”
“Cain,” Detective Rojas said, “this is my town. Nothing happens without me knowing about it.”
“I’m listening,” Cain replied.
“She came into the station wanting to file a report this morning. The desk officer referred her to me.”
“Why you?” Cain asked.
“I run the special investigations unit.”
“What did she tell you?”
“It does not matter,” he said.
“It matters to me.” The edge on Cain’s words was sharp.
“What matters is what I told her.”
“And what was that?”
“Salte de mi oficina ahora! Puta!”
“Good, because I already paid her, and she was not even with me.”
“She doesn’t want money,” Detective Rojas said.
“I’m starting to gather that. Sounds like she wants revenge.”
“Hopefully she was worth it,” the youngest officer said to the laughter of everyone except Cain.
“Not for me. I was just trying to put out a fire, and now I’m getting burned.”
“Burned?” Rojas asked curiously.
“I guess you don’t know everything that goes on in your town.”