Judgement Calls

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"I don't think there's much I can do about it, but I'm willing to talk.

Have someone call me?"  I asked.

"I can do better than that," he said.  "I got two MCT detectives

waiting for you down the street."

Garcia must've known he'd be able to work me.  He had told Detectives

Jack Walker and Raymond Johnson to wait for us at the cafeteria in the

basement of the federal building.  Created to provide subsidized meals

to low-level government workers, the cafeteria had found a cultlike

following among the city's law enforcement crowd.  A three-dollar tray

of grease dished out by lunch ladies in hair nets had a certain retro

appeal.

I exercised some moderation and got a bowl of oatmeal while Garcia

waited for his plate to be loaded up with bacon and home fries.  After

he'd paid for our meals, he led me to a corner table.

"Jack Walker, Raymond Johnson, this is Samantha Kincaid."

I shook their hands.  Jack Walker was a beefy man in his fifties,

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