Page 143 of The Fourth Option
Mendez nodded slowly, lips pursed. “How can I help?”
Stanton glanced at J.J., who picked up the thread.
“Walker was at the Federal Building looking for a DEA contact. When presented with the standard forms to identify himself, he bolted. Now that we know more about his background, we looked up his known associates, specifically people he would have known in Afghanistan.”
“One of them is John Staub, husband of the woman killed in the Garden District,” Stanton said.
“Leigh Ann Staub was a charge nurse at Tulane. Her kid was found OD’d, heroin in the trunk,” Mendez said, recalling his earlier conversation with Stanton. “What’s that have to do with yoursicario?”
“Chris Walker, our possiblesicario, was tight with John Staub,” Stanton said.
“You saying the son was mixed up in some shit and now rival dealers are using Walker to eliminate the competition?”
“It’s a possibility,” J.J. said.
She opened her folder and produced a page of names. “We cross-referenced associates in Afghanistan with federal agents who served with Walker and Staub. One was DEA, who also worked New Orleans. Javier Gonzalez. We’d like to talk to him.”
Mendez swiveled in his chair, staring at the tabletop.
“We know Walker had a connection to Leigh Ann Staub through her husband,” Stanton said. “We also know he had a connection to Javier Gonzalez. We suspect Walker is now working for the cartels as a contractor.”
“You’re going to buy the DA-NOPD narrative?”
“We are just following the evidence,” J.J. countered.
“Other theories as to why Walker is in town?”
“Maybe a cartel hired him to hit Gonzalez next. Regardless, we need to talk to him,” J.J. said.
“That’s going to be tough.”
“Why’s that?” Stanton asked.
“Because Gonzo was killed yesterday afternoon in Mexico.”
Stanton and J.J. shared a glance.
“When Jarrett told me your guy was looking for Gonzo, I made a few calls. I kept hitting brick walls, which told me he was undercover so I let it go. Our SAC called me in this morning and briefed me up. I had no idea Gonzo was even in Mexico. He was in deep. A farmer found him dead in a field, his throat slashed, tongue cut out. I’m going down tomorrow to escort his body home.”
“I’m sorry,” Stanton said.
Mendez retrieved three lukewarm water bottles from a stack on a side table. He offered one to each agent, then cracked his own and drank.
“What else can you share?” Stanton asked.
The DEA agent tapped his fingers on the portfolio.
“I don’t know about your Cyclops guy, but I can tell you that Gonzo was chasing a lead in Mexico.”
“What lead?”
“You’ve been following the recent uptick in opioid deaths around the country, I’m sure. After years of progress, we’re seeing a reversal. Some of that’s going on here in Louisiana.”
“Yes,” J.J. said. “We’ve analyzed the statistics. Recent trend is well above standard deviation. A lot of the Bureau intelligence is linking it back to Snowball.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then they’re half-right. Some of it is Snowball,” Mendez replied. “But it’s the chemical agent inside Snowball that’s doing the killing. We think it’s getting cut into a ton of other pills: Adderall, Xanax, Valium. The stuff kids buy.”
“Isn’t that what happens with fentanyl?” J.J. asked.
