Free Dead on Arrival by Mike Lawson

as the Bureau.
    ‘I need a favor,’ DeMarco said, answering Banks’s question.
    ‘What kinda favor?’ Banks said, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. But then he would have been suspicious if DeMarco had asked him the date.
    ‘I need to talk to one of your guys about the Reza Zarif thing.’
    ‘Why?’ Banks asked.
    ‘I can’t tell you.’
    ‘Are you out of your goddamn mind?’ Banks said. ‘Do you have any idea how much heat I’m under because of everything that’s happened lately?’
    ‘I think so,’ DeMarco said.
    ‘But you still think I’ll let you waltz in here and start poking around without telling me why?’
    ‘General, I swear I’m not going to do anything to cause you a problem,’ DeMarco said. ‘I just want—’
    ‘Forget it,’ Banks said, and started to unlock his office door. So much for prior association.
    DeMarco had to say something to get Banks to help him, and he was pretty sure Banks wouldn’t talk to the press because he hated reporters. At least DeMarco hoped he still hated them.
    ‘Okay, look,’ DeMarco said. ‘Mahoney grew up with Reza Zarif’s father, and he’s known Reza since he was born. He just wants to know a little more about what happened, something so maybe he can understand why the guy did what he did, but he doesn’t want to ask the Bureau because they blab too much.’
    Banks stopped turning the key in the lock and DeMarco watched as he mulled things over. He knew Banks didn’t particularly like Mahoney either, but he also knew that Mahoney had been helpful to Banks and his department in the past.
    ‘And I swear, General,’ DeMarco said, ‘if I learn anything that reflects poorly on Homeland Security, I’ll tell you and no one else.’
    ‘Shit,’ Banks said. ‘These days everything reflects poorly on Homeland Security: FEMA fuckin’ up recovery after those tornadoes in Kansas. Those two kids tryin’ to blow up the tunnel in Baltimore. That one-legged al-Qaeda bozo gettin’ into the country and then gettin’ away. I mean, Jesus – it’s like there’s no end to it. All I can say is I’m glad I’ve already got a pension from the corps, because it’s damn unlikely I’m gonna be in this job much longer.’ Banks felt sorry for himself a couple of seconds more and then said, ‘Okay. The guy you wanna talk to is Jerry Hansen. He’s my liaison guy with the Bureau for this kinda stuff. He’s not in this early – none of these goddamn people ever are – but I’ll leave a message on his voice mail telling him you’ll be dropping by.’
    ‘Thank you,’ DeMarco said.
    ‘Yeah, right. You fuck me over on this, DeMarco, and I’ll run you down with my car.’
    The Homeland Security official that DeMarco was supposed to meet wouldn’t be in his office until 8 A.M . So since he had time to kill, he found a place to have breakfast and read the morning paper, and, as he usually did, he turned to the sports page first. The gloomy headlines on the front page could always wait.
    The Redskins had lost five games, two games in their division. DeMarco couldn’t understand it. The team had three receivers that were faster than cheetahs, a quarterback with an arm like a rocket launcher, a decent offensive line, and a running back who could knock over tanks – and they couldn’t score. The Post’s sportswriters had already started doing playoff math scenarios. If the Redskins won all their remaining games, and if teams A, B, and C won the next five games, and if Teams D, E, and F lost the next five games, the Skins could get a wild-card spot. Yes, it was mathematically possible that Washington would make the playoffs – just like a hole-in-one and a basket from the half-court line are mathematically possible.
    Sports news consumed and digested, he turned to the front page but gave up after a few minutes, unable to focus. He couldn’t stop thinking about his ex-wife and the conversation they’d had yesterday morning.
    Marie DeMarco had been his