Yesterday, he’d watched his law enforcement colleagues drain the Heineken on tap in the Thirsty Dutchman Pub, empty the pea soup kettle in the Hungry Dutchman café, and devour every available slice of Dutch Apple Pie.
Oblivious to the ponytailed teenager called in to serve their dinners, the two Homeland Security blowhards had babbled that “commercial outfitter” was the perfect cover for human smuggling. The DEA hotshots had joked that narcotics could have been transported by actual mules. The feds apparently eager to prove that the six people killed were as criminal as their murderers.
While they debated turf war scenarios and Steve sucked in their every word, Kent had seen the waitress go whiter and quieter. He guessed she’d probably attended high school with the two youngest victims.
