Free Don't Know Jack by Diane Capri Page A

showed him her badge and her photograph.
    He looked. Said nothing. Kept the shotgun steady.
    “I’m FBI Special Agent Otto,” Kim said. “This is my partner, FBI Special Agent Gaspar. Would you like to see his ID too?”
    Leach nodded once. Gaspar repeated Kim’s actions. Leach repeated his.
    “What’s this about?” Kim asked him.
    He said nothing.
    “You are holding a federal officer at gunpoint, sir. You realize that?  What you’re doing is a federal crime. Do you understand?”
    Leach kept his eyes open, his mouth shut, and his shotgun pointed.
    What the hell?
    Kim looked over at Gaspar and he shrugged as if to say, “Now what?”
    According to the diner’s clock, four minutes had passed since Gaspar noticed the GHP unit in the lot outside. Her arms were tired. She’d never actually been ordered to raise them, so she lowered them again. Gaspar did the same thing. Leach showed no reaction. He just stood there, braced, shotgun pointed, staring, silent. Everybody waited. For what, she didn’t know.
    Six minutes later, the second GHP officer emerged from the kitchen and strode down the aisle. He stopped two steps north of the first guy. His name tag said Leach, too. Brothers?
    The second one did the talking.
    He said, “Can I see your identification, please?”
    “What is this about, Officer Leach?” Kim asked him. When he didn’t reply immediately, to make a clear audio record at the very least, she said, “We are FBI agents. Why are you holding us at gunpoint?  What is going on here?”
    He stood with his hand out, palm up. They handed the wallets to him. He took them, read them, refolded them. “If my dispatch says you check out, you can be on your way. It’ll take a minute, if you want to sit down.”
    “What’s this about?” Kim asked, and was ignored, for the third time.
    “Finish your pie. Mary makes great pie.”  He took the ID wallets and returned to the cruiser. Rain settled on the brim of his hat while he opened the driver’s door, before pouring onto the ground when he ducked his mass to enter the vehicle. He left the cruiser’s door open while he used the radio.
    The first Officer Leach remained in position, shotgun pointed. Looked like a Browning A-5, weighing about eight pounds. Even if he could bench press 80% of his body weight, his arms had to be getting fatigued by now. Yet the shotgun didn’t waver.
    No one sat. No one ate pie. They waited. About ten minutes later, the second Officer Leach returned. He handed their ID wallets back.
    “It’s OK,” he said to his partner. “You can put the gun down.”
    The first Officer Leach lowered the shotgun.
    “Will you tell us what’s going on now?” Kim asked again.
    The second Officer Leach’s manner was professional and matter-of-fact. “Everything checks out with you two. GHP is aware of you now. We’ve got your rental in the system. We’ll be able to find you, wherever you are. You understand?”
    “Mary needs to close up,” Leach continued. “She’s already late for her boy. She’ll feel better if we wait for her. So you two run along now.”
    “Sure, no problem,” Gaspar said, hostility apparent. He gestured for Kim to precede him. They exited the diner, made it to the Blazer through the ceaseless rain. Gaspar unlocked the doors and settled behind the wheel and started the ignition. Kim bent inside the vehicle, reached into her bag and pulled out her camera. She ignored the deluge to snap pictures of the GHP cruiser, its plate, and both Officer Leaches. The burly brothers were braced side by side, facing the parking lot, watching through the windows. Mary stood dwarfed between them.
    Before Kim entered the Blazer, she opened the hatch and pulled out her laptop case. She stowed it on the front floor, then climbed into the navigator’s seat.
    “What the hell do you suppose all of that was about?” Gaspar spoke first, after he flipped on the heat, and pointed the Blazer’s nose toward the exit.
    “You’re