* * * * *

Stanzio. That’s all we ever call him. That’s all he ever responds to. I shoudda known. “So that’s how we got the break…” I feel them all looking at me, funny how in a room full of men, I’m the only one with any balls. “Let me just make sure I got this right…you bust Kinley, who’s scared shitless and gives up, Malone.” His hands are huge and I feel my stomach flutter as he begins to crack each knuckle, loudly. His unibrow furrows and I can hear my words slurring as I speed up. “So, then fucking Malone gives you Christine, who rolls Davies? What gives, why the hell would she roll her own goddamn daughter? Now? I mean, why now?” A few throats clear in the extended silence. We’re all on edge tonight, all except Stanzio. The human wall only shows one emotion and tonight’s no exception. His sigh is dramatically long and we watch as he stands, rubbing his temples. He’s mumbling just loud enough for us to hear and I easily make out “stupid fucks”. Aiden’s loud fart earns a few nervous laughs, even I can’t keep the grin from my face. We may be stupid fucks, but we’ve been the most successful DEA division in the country. We’d cracked six of the largest drug busts in U.S. history in as many years, but I was only here for the jackpot baby, lucky number seven. Davies.

She was a cop’s wet dream. Seriously. Hell, she was mine. A phantom, for years I didn’t even think she really existed. Yeah, the facts were all there. Born April 6, 1976, L.A. Daughter of rocker legend Raife Davies and hanger-on, Christine Arnolds. Straight ‘A’ report cards, girl scouts, church choir. The whole nine yards. But you know what they say about girl scouts. No? Well, neither did I. The truth is underneath those stupid green jumpers and sewn on badges, seethes a lot of rage. Maybe one day you’re trying to sell some Bar-B-Que, you know, at the annual picnic and some wanker wants an extra sausage link on his plate. Maybe your name is Ashley Davies and maybe you think it’s okay to stab him with a serving fork. It appears the six month vacation that little incident bought did nothing to fix poor Ashley’s mental state. I guess staring at padded white walls really doesn’t help much. Eh, who knew? This is what we refer to in the business as the beginning of a ‘downward spiral’.