Free Farnsworth Score by Rex Burns

knows we could use you here, but Farnsworth would be a big feather in our cap.”
    As if Wager didn’t know. “Yes, sir.”
    They began to clear the underpasses of downtown. Over the lowering banks of the freeway, clusters of raw and treeless apartments, condominiums, sprawling split-level houses gradually thinned into gray-green clumps of sagebrush and the yellowing buffalo grass of late summer.
    “Where did D.E.A. say they would meet us?”
    “At Fillmore Street, sir.”
    “Did they say who they were sending?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Well, I hope they’re there. I don’t want to wait all day for them.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The inspector radioed the Highway Patrol to clear his passage, then set the speedometer needle on ninety. “Great day for a bust!”
    From the back seat, Wager saw the muscles in Sergeant Johnston’s neck tense; and despite the smile in his own mind at the sergeant’s fear, he had to force himself to look relaxed for Mrs. Nelson. She was wide-eyed enough without seeing anxiety in him. If he had been driving, he would have been relaxed; but, like a lot of trained drivers, he never trusted anyone else behind the wheel, and that unease was compounded by an embarrassment that came with hearing the inspector chatter like an excited rookie. An inspector’s place was at his desk where he gave orders, asked hard questions, and kept the politicians off your back. Excitement just wasn’t professional.
    The D.E.A. had not yet made it to the rendezvous; and during the half-hour they had to wait, the inspector asked twice, “Where are they?” and Sergeant Johnston answered twice, “I don’t know, sir.” It was a stupid question and a stupid answer, and everybody, including Mrs. Nelson, knew it. Wager began to wish he hadn’t come along. At last, a car whose absence of color or ornament marked it as official twisted down the off-ramp and pulled into the parking area behind a gas station where they sat. One of two men stepped out of the car. Wager didn’t recognize either agent, though Sonnenberg did: “That’s Petersen, assistant to the regional director. It looks as if they wanted to have seniority over us. It’ll make him overjoyed to see me.” Sonnenberg got out and shook hands. Wager, Johnston, and the lab tech waited while the men smiled at each other and then Sonnenberg introduced them to Petersen. Finally all the preliminaries were over.
    “We’ve got the warrant, Inspector Sonnenberg. Do you want to follow us over?”
    “Sergeant Johnston knows the town. Why don’t we lead, Agent Petersen?”
    Only the slightest hesitation. “Fine, Inspector.” D.E.A. was cooperating amicably with local agencies.
    Johnston, a map of Colorado Springs spread on his knees, guided the inspector east to Academy Boulevard and then south toward the municipal airport. They entered one of those light-industrial areas made up of sprawling one-story buildings and fenced storage yards. This late in the afternoon, the streets were drained of cars, and only an occasional tiny home not yet bought for business purposes brought any life to the area. Sonnenberg swung once around an almost windowless cinder-block building squatting on a corner. A chain-link fence marked the bare back yard; a black-and-white sign over the door said, “ PETROLEUM CHEMICAL SUPPLY .” The inspector keyed his transmitter: “Can you cover the rear of the building? I’ll put one of my people on the yard side and one on the street side.”
    Wager felt better; the silly excitement of the ride down had been replaced by the calm, slow voice that came when the inspector was really concentrating on a case.
    “My man will be back there. I’ll see you at the front door.”
    Petersen would be amicable, but he wouldn’t surrender. The D.E.A. vehicle turned out of sight. Sonnenberg glanced at Wager. “You cover this side. Ed, you take the yard side. Mrs. Nelson, you just sit tight in the car.”
    Wager nodded and slid out of the vehicle. This wall