Free Foreign Influence by Brad Thor

to stay where it was while she crossed a group of kids with backpacks and skateboards.
    He had never liked cabbies very much. The fact that they were predominantly immigrants wasn’t what bothered him. As long as they had come in the front door like everybody else, he was okay with it. What bothered him was what lousy drivers they tended to be.
    It didn’t make any sense. A rational person would be correct in thinking that the more one performed a task, the better one would become at it. But that didn’t seem to apply to cab drivers.
    He seriously doubted the cab would have even stopped for the kids if the guard hadn’t been there.
    At that moment, he got an idea. Pulling out his notebook, he turned to a fresh page and clicked his pen. He removed his cell phone and dialed the main number for the CPD. When the operator answered, he asked to be connected to the Public Vehicles Division.
    “Public Vehicles. Officer Brennan,” said the voice who answered.
    “Good morning, Officer Brennan. This is Sergeant John Vaughan from Organized Crime.”
    “It was all my wife and mother-in-law’s idea. I had nothing to do with it. Put me in the witness protection program and I’d be happy to testify.”
    Vaughan loved working with cops. No matter what, they all had a pretty good sense of humor. “I’ll send someone down to take your statement, officer. In the meantime, I’m wondering if you could help me out with something I’m working on.”
    “For the sergeant who’s going to relocate me to Florida or Arizona, you name it.”
    “Part of your responsibility is keeping an eye on the cab companies, right? You make sure the licensing and the medallions are all in line, follow up on criminal complaints involving drivers; that sort of stuff, correct?”
    “That’s us. Miami Vice without Miami or the vice.”
    “I’m looking into a hit-and-run that involved a Chicago Yellow Cab.”
    “Do you have a number?”
    “Case number or cab number?”
    “I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” said the officer.
    Vaughan read off the case number. “That’s all we have. We are trying to track down the cab.”
    There was the sound of keys clicking as Brennan pulled up the report on his computer. “It looks like Yellow Cab was contacted by our division, but we were unable to get any further information. Yellow claims it doesn’t have any knowledge of any of its drivers being involved in hitting a pedestrian on the evening in question.”
    “What about damage to a vehicle consistent with a hit-and-run on the night in question?”
    Once again, the keys clicked away. As the officer searched, Vaughan added, “Or maybe there was a driver who failed to return his vehicle.”
    Finally, Brennan said, “Sorry, Sergeant. It doesn’t look like we’ve got anything here that can help you. This doesn’t mean you’re going to back out of your promise to get me into the witness relocation program, does it?”
    Vaughan chuckled and then was all business. “If your wife was struck by a cab and the driver fled the scene,” he began and then corrected himself. “Strike that. If your mother was struck by a cab and the driver fled the scene, who in your division would you want on the case?”
    “Paul Davidson. No question.”
    The officer hadn’t even hesitated. “He’s that good?” said Vaughan.
    “You asked me who I’d want. I’d want Paul Davidson. Now, if the guy had struck my mother-in-law, that would be completely different.”
    “I’m sure it would. Can you pass me over to Officer Davidson, please?”
    “He’s up in Wisconsin, fishing.”
    “Can you give me his cell number?”
    Vaughan absorbed a couple more jokes about the man’s wife and mother-in-law, and after getting his promise to put in the word for him with the witness relocation program, Brennan gave him the number.
    Thirty seconds later, a cell tower had located Paul Davidson on Wisconsin’s Lake Geneva. “You have reached the cell phone of vacationing Chicago