Read Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) for Free Online Page A

headache that came with it. Most of his colleagues would readily agree. He was into his twenty-second year as a cop and it was definitely showing. His once dark hair was now peppered with streaks of gray, and the stubble on his face had long since matched. Despite regular trips to the gym, his muscular frame was now showing the beginnings of a spare tire. The scars had weathered a little from the years, but still served to remind others of his days on the force. Despite the damage, he retained the weathered-yet-rugged look that suburban moms found enticingly attractive. Something he would have been surprised to know if he ever took the time to meet one. Work as an Interpol agent just didn’t leave much spare time, and after a failed marriage, Lenny had accepted the truth—he was married to his job.
    He now gazed through the glass at the man seated alone on the other side. He was the reason he had been awakened at home by both his pager and phone going off simultaneously. That was over three hours ago and Lenny was now on his third cup of coffee. The file he held was thick and still warm from the printer. He had taken all the time he needed to review it carefully while the Marshals, state, and local cops had watched him impatiently from across the room. What they were in such a hurry for, he didn’t know. Was he supposed to burst into the room and run a good-cop-bad-cop approach or something? He’d ignored them while he took careful notes on a legal pad. A cigarette burned on the desk next to him despite all the no-smoking signs. It was three in the morning and they had called him, not the other way around. Besides, the man in the interrogation room wasn’t going anywhere, at least not soon.
    He now took careful stock of the prisoner. The file he had in his hand wasn’t entirely new reading to him. He had read it once or twice before. Unfortunately, there were several of its kind and the review was necessary before he spoke with the man.
    Angel Sanchez was one of the higher-ups in the Cali cartel. Born in California to illegal immigrants, he was first arrested at the age of fourteen for drug possession with intent to distribute. Getting the usual slap on the wrist three more times before finally serving some time, he eventually graduated to smuggling. Low on education but very street-smart, he was soon moving more product across the border than most men twice his age. Recognizing early that greed is what doomed most of his fellow smugglers, he spread his money around, buying protection and information. When the Mexican Army joined the fight, he was pulled out of the trenches by Oscar Hernandez, head of the Cali drug cartel. He was elevated to chief negotiator with the Mexican gangs that moved product across the border. He also developed the many new methods the DEA had discovered the cartel using over the last couple of years. Tunnels. Cruise ship employees. Submarines, even. The man had a capable mind, which also meant he had to know the depth of his problem right now. Lenny watched him closely. Angel sat quietly without fidgeting. No drum of his fingers on the table or tapping foot under it. The cast on his lower leg was apparent, sticking out of the oversize prison jumpsuit. He had reportedly refused any pain killers after the leg was set. He didn’t gaze around the room at the bare walls or stare into the mirror with his tough-guy look as the ignorant gang members often tried. He was simply waiting, Lenny decided, for him.
    “Said nothing to nobody huh?”
    “Not a word, not even to ask for his lawyer.”
    “Camera running?”
    “Yup.”
    Lenny took a healthy swig of his coffee before opening the door and walking in. He shut it behind him and nodded at the prisoner as he sat down.
    “Hello, Angel.”
    Angel took his time sizing Lenny up. Even bending down to see what kind of shoes he was wearing. Evidently Lenny passed whatever test he was being subjected to, as Angel chose to speak.
    “Who are