Free Strike Dog by Joseph Heywood

seemed to get.
    â€œJust that once?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œContact since?”
    â€œNow and then.”
    â€œAbout other cases?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s none of your business,” he said. There was a smugness—or something—in her attitude that was beginning to really rub him the wrong way.
    Hmmm, her lips said.
    He sensed she wouldn’t let up. “He wanted a job in Michigan.”
    â€œWhy?” she asked.
    â€œWisconsin wardens aren’t fully empowered peace officers.”
    â€œHave you encouraged him?”
    â€œNo, and I haven’t discouraged him either.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI don’t take positions in hiring decisions unless I’m tasked to do background checks.”
    â€œWhat was your opinion of him?”
    â€œSmart, dedicated, and determined,” he said.
    â€œYou already told me that. Is there something else?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLet me add something,” Monica said. “He’s a pathological ass-man.”
    â€œIf you say so.” What the hell was going on? Service could feel the hairs standing up on his arms.
    â€œI do say so, and by all reports, marital status hasn’t ever been an issue for him.”
    â€œWhy ask me?”
    â€œHave you ever gotten mixed up with married women?”
    â€œOnly my wife,” he said, “and that’s none of your goddamn business.” Why all these questions? She was beginning to really piss him off.
    â€œThat would be your ex, who died on 9/11 in Pennsylvania,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
    â€œI bet,” he said. Jesus, did she know his entire life history? Then she must know about Nantz and Walter, he thought. He felt his face flush and started to stand, but she reached out and grasped his arm.
    â€œWayno Ficorelli is dead,” she said.
    Service stared at her, trying to comprehend. “When?”
    â€œA little more than forty-eight hours ago.”
    All the questions she had been asking were driving at something. “You think I know something about it?”
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œDon’t be an asshole!” he snapped, standing up and telling himself if she shot off her mouth one more time, he was going to bury a fist in it.
    â€œHave you ever lied to your violets?” Agent Monica asked.
    What the hell was she trying to get at?
    â€œWhen necessary,” he said.
    â€œSit down,” she said. “Please.”
    He sat. “How did Wayno die?”
    She pondered this for a moment. “He was executed.”
    Service stared at her. Executed? “What the fuck does that mean?”
    She said, “You have the reputation of being an extraordinarily skilled and aggressive officer.”
    â€œDo I?”
    â€œDon’t jerk me around. You’re a loaded gun on bad guys. You’ve been wounded in the line of duty, both in the marines and as a game warden. Did Ficorelli mistreat prisoners and suspects?”
    â€œNot that I saw,” Service said.
    â€œYou and Ficorelli are a lot alike—except for a predilection for married women.”
    â€œLook,” he said, trying to tamp down his rage, “I was ordered to come over here and cooperate. I didn’t come here to get mind-fucked.”
    â€œGood,” the agent said. “Just calm down and cooperate. I sense that you’re not surprised someone killed him.”
    â€œI’m not happy about it, but I guess I’m not all that surprised. Wayno could push pretty hard.”
    â€œHe stretched the envelope and made some enemies,” she said.
    â€œI worked with him just once, but I suspected he pissed off a whole lot of people.”
    â€œWhich he surely did,” she said. “Did you know that his second cousin is Wisconsin’s attorney general?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œApparently Wayno talked to his cousin about you a lot. He said you were the best officer he’d ever worked