Beyond the Family Ties

Part 12

"I can help you win."

Becky was already turning away from the man, and froze as he spoke. Slowly turning back to him, she gave him a wary look. "Sorry, who did you say you were?"

He flashed her a smile, a triumphant look in his eyes as he stared at her with dark eyes. "A few minutes of your time. I'll explain everything."

Angel 's muttered curses drifted intelligibly towards her, and then she was at Becky's side, arms folded over her chest and a cool look on her face as she stared at the man. "Miss Armstrong already has a lawyer. If you'll please excuse us."

"Oh, I'm not a lawyer. You're welcome to join your client for our conversation. It won't take long."

With a thinly veiled expression of suspicion, Angel slowly nodded, turning to tell Freen that they'd meet her inside. Her sister's protests fell on deaf ears, and Becky turned to give her a quick encouraging smile, watching Freen throw her hands up in frustration, before she followed after the man and her roommate dejectedly walked the rest of the way up the steps to meet Sam.

Her attention trained on the man in front of her, Becky trailed after him, with Angel in tow, walking away from the courthouse as he crossed the road and walked a little ways down the street. Ducking into a dingy coffee shop, a tinny bell jingling as the stiff door was jerked open, he walked to the back, taking a seat beneath the loud, clunking fan heater. Becky perched on the edge of a rickety metal chair, keeping her hands in her lap as she took in the rings of coffee stains on the tabletop, staring at Hank expectantly.

"Well?" Angel bluntly asked, raising her eyebrows, before glancing down at her watch. "Court starts in less than an hour."

With a quick laugh, Hank opened his worn leather satchel and pulled out a thin folder, setting it down on the grimy table and opening it. He thumbed through the paper as he started talking. "I'm the Director of the Department of External Operations. We're a more specialised branch of Homeland Security. Not so different from the FBI, but more focused on outside threats to our nation."

"And what does that have to do with my client?"

"Your client is part of a crime family."

"Former part of one," Angel corrected.

Hank smiled, "there's a rule in the mob. If you're not dead, you're still a member."

"Very true," Becky dryly agreed, giving him a tight smile, "although I haven't had real contact with them in nearly three years. Not since I was kicked out of home, which I'm sure you already know."

"We've been keeping tabs on you," Hank agreed, brushing her comment aside as he continued. "And we've been keeping closer tabs on your brother too, and your mother. Most of the drugs your family moves are imported, which falls under the jurisdiction of my department. As well as the illegal firearms, the offshore bank accounts, and the most recent addition of trafficking. I've spent years compiling a list of evidence to bring down the Armstrong family, first with your father, and now with your brother. I'm to believe you recently completed a master of psychology?"

A wary feeling creeping up on her, Becky nodded, hands clenched into fists in her lap as she glanced at the door, and then around at the few occupants of the coffee shop. No one would be able to hear them over the sound of the loud fan heater and the grinding of the coffee machine, but she still wondered if perhaps it was a trap. There was no back exit - she'd already given the place a once over when they walked in - and a part of her noted that it would be a good place for an ambush.

"I'd like to offer you a job," Hank said, matter of factly.

"A job ," Becky spluttered, her eyebrows rising in surprise. That was the last thing she'd been expecting.