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SWAT team. Hell, the two guys monitoring the wire taped to your chest? They’re sitting in an apartment one floor down laughing their asses off right now!”
    The color drained from Cyrus’s face. He looked like he was going to be sick. His shoulders rolled forward as his eyes droped to the floor.
    Shit…
    Shit! Shit! Shit!
    Finally he looked back at Stretch. He tried to look the man in the eye, but couldn’t. Cyrus’s eyes dropped back to the floor. He was beaten. He’d gotten the two detectives to admit to their murder for hire scheme, but it was all for nothing. Literally nothing! The guys on the other end of his wire probably weren’t even recording their conversation. Stretch was right. They were downstairs laughing right now.
    Cue Ball pulled his girth from the sofa, drawing a snub nose revolver from inside his cheap suit coat. With some disappointment, Cyrus realized his work on the story was drawing to a close. It had been fun playing the part of Tyler Alcot. Gallivanting around town, hitting the clubs, putting on a show, all the while knowing he was being tailed. But that was over now.
    “Ok,” Cyrus muttered. He knew the detectives had been through this before. They had killed a lot of people and made a lot of money in the process. They thought they’d done a good job hiding the money but they were mistaken. Unfortunately, while these two had been sloppy with their finances, clearly others were involved. Officers who’d been more circumspect with their ill-gotten goods. Obviously the two cops running surveillance downstairs were in on it. He’d actually suspected as much but there had been no anomalies in their financial histories. He knew because he’d run a thorough check. The burning questions in his reporter’s mind were simple. How many cops were a part of this, and who were they?
    “Ok,” Cyrus repeated, still running through his next move. “What happens next? You stick me in a steel drum and dump me in a landfill somewhere?”
    The idea made Cue Ball chuckle. “Hardly. This isn’t a mob outfit. We’ve got more class than that. You’ll be glad to know you’re going to a great little place not too far from the Wisconsin border. Out in the middle of nowhere, really. A place where no one will ever look for you. You’ll be fertilizing a cornfield before you know what hit you.”
    Cyrus resumed his slow pacing before the picturesque skyline. It had already become habit in this brief but intense time of stress. It was a habit that wouldn’t trouble him for long. “You make it sound almost pleasant,” he muttered mostly to himself. “Judging by the research I did on you two, I’m sure I won’t be lonely. How many guys like me have you got planted out there?”
    Cue Ball shook his head and waggled his gun at Cyrus, discouraging any thoughts of making a break for it. “Son, you’re a reporter to the bitter end, aren’t you?”
    “It’s my nature—can’t help it.”
    “No, you’re not going to be hurting for company. Must be fifty or sixty bodies buried out there by now,” Stretch said, pride in his grin.
    Cyrus first though Stretch might be boasting, but a glance at Cue Ball led him to believe otherwise. These guys had been busy.
    Shit…
    Shit! Shit! Shit!
    He had most of what he needed. But he still didn’t have a full idea of how deep the corruption went. How many cops were involved? In order to fully wrap this up, he needed to know who was in on it.
    “Ok,” Cyrus said dropping his hands back to his side and facing the detectives. They were both pointing guns now. “There’s still one thing I don’t understand. You two are bent, I knew that. But your cohorts downstairs, I didn’t see that coming. They’re obviously much better at hiding the money. You might want to get some tips on that, if you want my opinion…
    “Anyway, I thought there were only two of you in on this ‘murder for hire’ thing.” He held up his fingers to make air quotes as he said ‘murder for