Damaged Goods

Chapter Thirty-Two

After one last peek at the man outside my apartment, I made sure the chain was in place and opened up. Frankly, the chain was a joke and could easily be kicked in. Thus, the need for my gun.

"Erica Jensen?" The stranger asked. He appeared benign, but you can't be sure of such things.

"Who are you?"

"Agent Phipps, FBI." He reached inside his jacket.

"Careful," I said. "Move your hands slowly." I pulled out the gun, letting it hang at my side.

Agent Phipps held a hand palm forward, placating. "I'm just getting my ID."

"Right. You should have had that out before you knocked." I started to close the door on him.

Phipps pushed back. "We need to talk."

"On a Saturday?"

"I'm sorry to ruin your weekend," he said. "But FBI agents are like the Pinkertons. We never sleep."

"What's there to talk about?"

"Slava Kandinsky."

Kandinsky? This could be about his mob connections or the forged artifacts.

Curiosity got the best of me. "Let's see that ID then."

After the man calling himself Phipps showed me what looked like a proper FBI badge, I asked for a business card. He handed one to me. "Hang on," I said, shutting the door in his face. I replaced the gun in my waistband and ran to my computer.

After a quick check online, I verified the number on the card as that of the local FBI office. A quick call to the number connected me with a voice mail greeting system that left little doubt that my visitor was an actual agent.

Only then did I unlock the chain and usher him into the living room, waving an invitation to sit on the sofa. I kept an eye on him as I sat on the opposite end, not bothering to offer a drink.

"I assume you know who Slava Kandinsky is?" he said.

My stomach clenched. "What makes you say that?"

"You've been investigating his associates." It wasn't a question.

"What do you need with me?" I asked, ignoring his non-question.

Phipps assumed an expression so serious his face seemed to turn to stone. "These are dangerous men you've become involved with. The best course of action would be for you to back off and leave this to the professionals."

"Any progress in finding out who took a shot at me?" I struggled not to shout the words.

Phipps blinked. "Who are you working for?"

I shook my head. "Don't you love when someone answers a question with another question?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I. And I don't have a client. I'm just trying to stay alive and figure out what happened to a friend."

Phipps rose suddenly and took a step toward me. "Listen," he started.

He didn't get far. The minute he rose, so did a memory from Afghanistan. The flashback came on suddenly as the blackout had occurred with Gorilla Man at Terry's place. My current stress level was clearly eating at me. An image of a shadow that loomed during a residence check in Kandahar played like a movie. I moved back a step and chopped Phipps' temple with the side of my hand. This stunned the man enough to let me kick out and slam my foot into his groin. He doubled over, gasping, and collapsed to the floor, grazing the coffee table as he did, snapping me from the past to my present condition, back injury and all. I'd pay for that later.

On instinct, I pulled the gun and trained it on him. "Don't move."

Phipps looked up at me and again raised a hand. "I'm sorry. They warned me about this. But attacking a federal agent isn't your best choice here. But I'm aware that you served in the military. I hope that'll give you more incentive to cooperate."

Heat radiated up my face, as shame and embarrassment overwhelmed me.

"Have we done this before?" I asked.

Phipps shook his head. "Not us, but another agent looking for a fellow named Terry Morris."

Another agent? I remembered Gorilla Man. Sorry, dude.

But Two-Bit Terry? "What's your interest in him?"

"Following a lead," he non-answered the question. "I'm more interested in Kandinsky."

"And what's so interesting about him?"

"He's been linked with terrorists."

I went from squinting to frowning. "Are you saying that Slava Kandinsky was a terrorist?"

"Not exactly. He wasn't a terrorist, but he was dealing with them."

"So he was supporting terrorists?"

Phipps shook his head. "Worse than that. He was ripping them off."