Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

British?” Ty cried.
    Special Agent Lassiter, who’d been standing there silently the whole time, covered his mouth with his hand and merely nodded in answer, unable to keep from laughing any longer.
     
     
    “D O YOU realize what kind of shitfit Grady’s going to have over this when this is all done?” Zane asked McCoy as they walked down the nondescript hallway of holding and interrogation rooms.
    “Oh, I’m looking forward to it,” McCoy said with relish. “I want pictures, Garrett. They’ll be great for the newsletter.”
    Zane rolled his eyes. “I hope your insurance is up to date,” he said as they stopped at another door. “Grady doesn’t forget people who fuck around with him.”
    “He gives as good as he gets,” McCoy said good-naturedly as he opened a door. Zane grunted and walked in.
    The man on the other side of the two-way glass was as different from Del Porter as night was from day. And McCoy was right. Zane did have a general resemblance in height, build, and coloring. But Corbin Porter was definitely high-class. Or he thought he was: finely cut hair slicked back, a ruby stud in one ear, an expensive designer suit with a high-collared shirt rather than a tie, custom cuff links, manicured hands, and Italian leather on his feet. He held himself like a man accustomed to receiving respect, or possibly groveling.
    “I didn’t say anything to Grady because I didn’t want to mitigate his horror. You’re going for a haircut and manicure too,” McCoy said with a twist to his lips.
    Zane nodded distractedly as he studied Corbin Porter. The man was… arrogant. That was the word Zane was looking for. Arrogant. And possibly vain as well, but only to the point of knowing he was a fine-looking man.
    He was also confident and controlled. He had propped one ankle over the opposite knee as he sat casually at the table, one forearm resting on the edge. He wasn’t fidgeting or twitching. He was simply waiting. What gave him away was the anger sparking in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth.
    “Do you want to talk to him?” McCoy asked Zane.
    Zane slowly shook his head. “I’ve met his type before.”
    “He’s hardly a drug runner or a computer hacker,” McCoy pointed out.
    “He’s a thug,” Zane murmured. “He’s dressed up pretty, but he’s still just a thug.”
    “Explains the tattoo they’ll be giving you then.”
    Zane blinked and turned his chin toward McCoy, who was grinning.
     
     
    W HEN Zane and McCoy stepped back into the observation room of Del Porter’s interrogation suite, Zane had almost expected Ty to still be there, tying himself to the table and begging not to be taken to the salon.
    But it was just Special Agent Lassiter, who had been joined by Special Agent Perrimore. They were standing at the glass, looking in at the prisoner with their heads cocked to the sides, like they were studying an animal in the zoo.
    Zane peered through the glass as well. Ty was in there, sitting opposite Del, relaxed into the seat with his back to them, his legs crossed and his elbow resting on the table, almost like Corbin Porter had been. But Ty made it seem casual and easy, where Corbin had given off nothing but contempt and hostility. There was something different in Ty’s manner, too, but Zane couldn’t put a finger on it. He was too surprised to see Ty in there at all. He wasn’t the only one.
    “What the hell is he doing?” McCoy asked in alarm.
    “He said he wanted to talk to him,” Lassiter answered.
    McCoy reached over and flipped the speaker switch.
    “He told us not to listen in,” Lassiter told McCoy.
    “Fuck that,” McCoy responded unthinkingly. “The guy’s actually talking—we might get something from him.”
    “Not like we can use it in court,” Lassiter murmured under his breath, and he and Perrimore murmured quietly before snickering over the circumstances of the undercover case again. Zane ignored them in favor of watching Ty as the speakers tuned in.
    “How long have you been married?” Ty was asking Del, who sat hunched and defensive, looking at Ty suspiciously.
    Del didn’t answer; he merely looked down at his hands, probably studying his wedding ring. Zane resisted the urge to look down at his own. He knew, without a doubt, what sort of thoughts were running through Del’s mind. Zane squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before focusing on the scene again.
    “Did you do it here in the States or did you go somewhere else?” Ty asked,