Free Night and Day (Book 3): Bandit's Moon by Ken White Page A

Floresta.
    “Come with me,” the man with the
    mustache said. He turned and went through the door in the back of the
    living room. I followed, smooth voice right behind me.
    The other room had been a kitchen
    and maybe dining room as well. The stove and refrigerator were gone. Taken
    when the occupant moved out or looted after the war. The fixtures on the
    sink were missing too.
    In the middle of the room was a
    small table, a little larger than a card table, with a single wooden chair
    behind it. On the table was a propane lantern, turned down low.
    The man with the mustache went
    around the table and sat down. Smooth voice stepped past me and laid my
    pistol and ID case on the table.
    The man behind the table stared at
    them for a moment. He ran the tips of his fingers over the barrel of the
    Glock, then picked up the ID case and opened it.
    “Charles L. Welles,” he said.
    “Private Investigator. Night and Day Investigations.” He paused. “What are
    you doing here, Mr. Welles?”
    “Working a case,” I said. “Who are
    you?”
    “What kind of a case?”
    “Missing person,” I said. I paused
    a moment. “And you are?”
    He put my ID case on the table and
    looked up, his eyes glittering in the light of the lantern. “I’m Special
    Agent Robert Eichhorn,” he said. “My associates are Special Agent Pirelli
    and Special Agent Brewster.” He pulled an ID case from his pocket and let
    it fall open. Little gold badge, ID card. “FBI. And you’re interfering with
    a federal investigation.”
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
     
    FBI.
    There had been an FBI office in the
    city before the war, a small one with three agents and a secretary. If
    their cases needed heavy lifting, they’d call in more bodies from
    Atlanta.
    I hadn’t had much contact with the
    FBI agents in the local office. Most of what I worked as a cop, uniform or
    plainclothes, was violations of state law. Sometimes those offenses were
    also violations of federal law, but the feds left the investigation to the
    locals. Down the road, a federal prosecutor might file some additional
    charges, but that was usually about the level of federal
    participation.
    Once I had been waved off a case by
    the local special agent in charge. Big drug case that the FBI and DEA had
    been jointly working for months. I was late to the party, drawn in by an
    especially violent dealer named Tear who had a little thing he did with
    competitors that involved gasoline and matches. He wasn’t important to the
    federal case they were building, but I think they were afraid he might lead
    me in the direction of somebody who was.
    So they sat me down and we talked.
    They promised that Tear was mine if he was still standing after the dust
    cleared from their arrests. He was. Unfortunately somebody got to him
    before I did. With gasoline and a lit match.
    I could feel a wave-off coming from
    Special Agent Robert Eichhorn of the FBI.
    “So, you guys reopen the office
    here, or are you out of Atlanta?”
    “We’d prefer to keep this friendly
    and unofficial, Mr. Welles,” Eichhorn said. “I’m sure you didn’t
    deliberately set out to compromise our investigation.”
    “I wasn’t even aware of your
    investigation, Agent Eichhorn.”
    “Aware or not, your presence on the
    street could draw unwelcome attention. What are you doing down
    there?”
    “Same as you,” I said. “Watching
    the Floresta.”
    Eichhorn glanced at smooth voice,
    Agent Brewster, then back at me. “Why do you say that?”
    I grinned. “Okay, maybe I’m
    assuming. Maybe you’re interested in that fire hydrant in front of the
    Floresta.” I paused. “Saw a stray mutt sniffing around it earlier. He one
    of yours too?”
    “You’re not being very cooperative
    and forthcoming, Mr. Welles,” Eichhorn said.
    “Neither are you. You’re set up at
    the window to watch something. The only thing to watch is the Floresta.
    Like I told you, I’m working a missing person case. I have reason