Rebirth (John Taylor #1)

Chapter 15

I was lying underneath a beat up old Chevy, changing the oil and letting my mind wander again. The whole episode with Renata, ending that day in Sergi's compound, was six months in my past, now, but I still thought back to it a lot.

As predicted, the first thing they did after their agents stormed into the compound, was slap me in cuffs and haul me out. Robles made a noble effort to convince them we were all playing for the same team, but these guys were already pissed at the Marshals, and weren't inclined to do him any favors.

I don't know what happened to Renata. Yuri's trial is coming up, and I heard from Lowenstein she was still listed as a prosecution witness. It seems she's safe and sound, for now.

After I was pulled out of the compound, they hustled me to the FBI office in Miami and locked me in an interrogation room for a long time. I wasn't sure how long since there wasn't a clock in the room. I was just left to cool my heels. That wasn't too surprising. I'm sure the mess at the compound brought up a lot of questions they had to sort out first, and Barrett probably threw them for a loop.

Eventually they did get around to talking to me. They seemed pretty hell bent on finding something to charge me with. First it was questions about my working with Barrett or the Russians. They had this elaborate theory that I was hired muscle for them. It didn't really stand up to any reasoning, but they went at me pretty hard with that theory.

After I didn't crack, they tried a variation of that, accusing me of shooting the lady Marshal. When that didn't pan out they regrouped and tried to find a way to charge me with the various dead Russians. That they had a better case for, since I had in fact killed those men, but considering the circumstances I was confident any half-decent defense attorney would get me off if it came to a trial.

I was glad they didn't know about Ronny and his gang. I had no remorse for what I had done to them, but it would be a lot harder to talk my way out of it.

They held me for two days in that interrogation room. I managed to get a couple of terrible fast food meals brought to me, and the occasional bathroom break; but other than that I saw those drab, white walls, and that was it. I didn't even get one of those one way mirrors you see in the movies to stare at.

Near the end of Day Two they just opened the door and said I could go. I was surprised they had given up, right until I got out and found Lowenstein and Robles in the lobby, waiting for me.

"I guess I have you to thank for my freedom," I said to Robles as I shook their hands.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "They were pretty pissed at my whole office, and didn't want to listen to me much. It's this guy you have to thank. He really pulled out all the stops."

I looked at Lowenstein, who gave a shrug.

"Don't be modest," Robles continued. "He got the article in the next day's paper, and it was a doozy. Most of the papers you had sent him were worthless, but there were some things that connected the Russians with Barrett, and to people in the local departments. His article was a mix of scathing indictment of corruption in our law enforcement, and exposé of trafficking and forced prostitution in Florida."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yep. He also wrote up a whole thing on you, citing you as a reason why the corruption was uncovered, and how you were being railroaded by the FBI. It was really dramatic and there's been quite the uproar. National news organizations picked it up yesterday, and their stringers have started pouring in."

"Thanks," I said, looking at Lowenstein.

"Don't thank me, yet," he replied. "Your name is out there, and people know you are somehow at the center of everything. You are going to get tired of the media hounding you for a while."

"Still better than being in jail," I said.

"We'll see," he said with a laugh.

"So how'd everything end with you," I asked Robles.

"I'm 'on paid leave pending an investigation,' at the moment. A bunch of DoJ heavy hitters came in town this morning to tear our office apart. They made it clear they want this to all disappear, and that they would prefer it if I just quietly resigned."

"So you're out, just like that?" I asked.

"Yeah, but I already figured this was going to happen. There was no way I was going to make it through all this with my job intact. It's ok. I have enough leverage that, if I mind my P's and Q's, the department won't fight against me applying to other agencies."

"Well, I hope you land on your feet."

"Thanks to you, I have a chance to do that," he said, shaking my hand again.

We walked out of the lobby and true to Lowenstein's prediction, the front of the building was surrounded by reporters. As soon as they saw us a nearly unintelligible wall of questions started coming our way. I kept varying between no comment and 'ask Lowenstein' as we pushed our way through the crowd.

That was the last I saw of either man, although Lowenstein and I have talked on the phone several times. For a reporter, he isn't a bad guy.

The FBI never brought any charges, and eventually the media lost interest in me as it became clear I wasn't going to say anything.

So, I was again at loose ends. I was sitting around my hotel, trying to figure out my next move when Albert managed to track me down and offered me a job. He said he was slammed and needed help, but it felt a bit like a handout. I still took it, at least until I could figure something else ... still, the list of stuff I owed him for was getting extreme.

I pulled myself out from under the car, having finished changing the oil. I was just getting up when I heard Albert shouting from the main office.

"Taylor, get your ass up here. You have a call."

I wiped my hands off on a greasy rag I had hanging out of my back pocket and walked over, taking the phone from him.

"Taylor," I said into the receiver.

"John, it's Trevor Robles. How do you feel about Texas?"

The End

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The next part of the adventures of John Taylor can be found here:  www.wattpad.com/story/212807584-false-signs-john-taylor-2.  

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