“How ‘bout now?” asked Vince.
“Give me an hour,” Sandy said. Hot damn, I hope this is somethin’ good. “See you at the usual place?”
“Yep. One hour.” Vince rung off.
Sandy rubbed his hands together, glad to have a diversion from consulting with the suits. Hopefully, it would get him back to where he loved to be, in the middle of an investigation.
Pat Sandelen paused the video file from the Major twins. He looked up over his laptop through his condo’s glass wall and saw the Detroit skyline. Beyond the Ren-Cen’s silhouette he could see the Ambassador Bridge crossing the river to Canada. The Department of Homeland Security, DHS, patrolled the international border with crews from the Coast Guard marine and air base. He had been the Police Department’s representative at the first meeting of the DHS in Detroit when then director Tom Ridge came to town bringing sixteen million dollars with him.
He remembered the first collaborative meeting of all the local agencies. After an hour of bullshit, they all realized that the DHS Feds would essentially take over any suspicious activity near the border. Now even the FBI would know what it felt like when an outside government agency came in and took over your investigation. He felt sorry for them, but not much. What goes around… blah, blah, blah. In the end, it felt like another layer of red tape with guys in dark suits and sunglasses adding to the already cumbersome administration. To a policeman used to making quick decisions on the street, it was a massive waste of manpower and time. And with another layer of admin came the decision makers who were one more step removed from the real foot soldier. The possibility of a Coasty, or DHS agent, making an illegal drop was evidently possible. So who are these guys and what are they up to? And who could help him find out? As he looked back down at the black ribbon of the Detroit River, a smile came across his creased mahogany skin. He knew just the officer.