The Viking Funeral

Chapter 44

FOUR HOURS PASSED, but Jody never returned.

The more Shane thought about it, the more he was sure that Santander Cortez was the White Angel. He sat in the dark, running their predicament over in his mind, studying it from every possible angle. The first thing he needed to do was pick up some coordination with the man silently brooding a few feet away.

"Tremaine…," he said.

Tremaine raised his head and glowered at Shane.

"You and I need to work together if we plan on staying alive. We've gotta stop fighting and do some thinking."

"We' re fucked," Tremaine said softly. "What we gonna do to change that?"

"For starters, how about the answers to a few questions?"

Tremaine stared at Shane but didn't respond.

"I still wanna know how come you're not inked… Why you didn't get that Viking tattoo like the rest of us."

"I don't buy into that. That's white-boy shit."

"That's one reason, but you wanna hear another?"

Tremaine didn't answer.

"I think you're a department mole. Internal Affairs, or something."

Tremaine's lip curled into a snarl… Or was it a grin? It was hard to tell in the dark room.

"I know you came aboard late, after Jody had already set up the Vikings," Shane continued. "Wanna hear my theory?"

Tremaine still didn't answer, so he went on.

"Somehow, you or somebody in IAD found out about the Vikings, so you got yourself assigned to SWAT. Then through your friendship with Rodriquez, you put a move on Jody and got picked to be the last Viking. But since you were workin' undercover, you weren't listed in Medwick's log. Cops hate tattoos. You didn't want a tattoo, 'cause you weren't really a Viking. You were only there to find out what they were doing and bust 'em. You were the only one in the unit who wasn't on drugs-same reason. How'm I doing so far?"

"You got a big imagination."

"Jody isn't coming back. He's gone. You and I are next. We're all gonna die. There's no police to protect us up here, and there's no government to save us, just criminals, flies, and garbage."

"You doin' fake jacks on me now. Tryin' t'fuck with my mind."

"I'll tell you something else that doesn't quite stack up. Your jive ghetto bullshit reads like street cover to me. Every now and then when you get surprised, it slips. I think it's just camouflage for Jody, but Jody's gone, so you're wasting this hot-shit performance on me."

"Zat right?"

"Yep. And laugh this one off if you can…" Shane paused. "I'm workin' undercover, too. I think we're both department plants running games on each other. Problem is, there're no Vikings left to bullshit. So maybe we oughta come clean with each other-start from there."

"I saw you cap Sergeant Hamilton… Saw her bleed out. No fuckin' way you're workin' undercover."

"It was rigged. She was wearing a vest."

"Ain't no vest gonna stop a Black Talon."

"You're wrong. It's called a level-three tactical vest… Developed by the Pentagon. I'm working a special undercover assignment for Chief Filosiani."

"Bullshit."

"Listen, Tremaine, whether you're Internal Affairs or not, we still need to work together. There used to be six of us. Now it's just you and me."

"Okay, smart guy… So let's hear your plan."

Shane glanced around the room. "You suppose those shelves will come down? We could pry loose those heavy two-by-four supports underneath."

Tremaine looked up at heavy wooden shelves and the two-by-four frames holding them. "Yeah," he said. "So?"

Then he gave Tremaine the rest of his plan.