Chapter 20: Grenade!

“Well done, Rowan.”
Seeing Avila leave the room and begin ordering the bartender to find someone, Lacey tossed the whip aside and patted Rowan on the shoulder with great satisfaction.
“I never expected you to be such a skilled liar.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
Glancing around the room, Lacey casually picked up an unopened egg-shaped toy, slipped it into her pocket, then handed Rowan a similarly unopened grenade-shaped toy, grinning as she did so.
“Of course it’s a compliment—you didn’t lie to me, after all.”
Ignoring Lacey’s little antics, Rowan turned and left the pink room. The bar owner, Avila, beckoned him over, then led the two into a room with a violet door.
“These are our staff.”
Avila shoved a stack of pink business cards into Rowan’s hand, her fingers lingering on his palm, then gestured at the men and women entering the room.
“They’re all here.”
Rowan looked at the cards with a blank face. There were well over fifteen people in the room. After a moment’s silence, he turned and asked,
“Have all of these people served Sabina?”
“Who’s Sabina?”
Lacey patted Rowan’s shoulder and whispered,
“No one uses their real name here—only aliases.”
With that, she showed the photo on her phone to the group. Recognition dawned on their faces.
“Oh, you mean Callista!”
“Our Queen of Discipline!”
“She’s our favorite customer!”
“Yes, every time I serve her, I can’t get out of bed for a day!”
Hearing the men and women’s reviews of Sabina, Rowan couldn’t help but think that Mr. Darrin was truly a cactus—his head had turned so green it was about to bloom.
Clearing his throat to gather attention, Rowan asked seriously,
“From eight last night to six this morning, did any of you see Callista?”
The group exchanged glances but no one answered. Finally, a white girl with sun-kissed skin, a chiseled midriff, and visible abs laughed,
“Agent, sir, that’s our busiest shift. With the boss around, who’d dare skip work?”
Avila smacked the girl’s backside, and she dodged away, giggling. Rowan frowned, grabbing Avila by the arm and asking sternly,
“You’re certain all of them were at work last night? Did anyone sneak out for a delivery or something? Think carefully. Don’t hide anything from me—lying to a federal agent is a serious crime!”
Rowan could now deliver such lines without a second thought.

His solemn questioning sobered Avila up. She scanned the room, then slapped her forehead.
“There’s a black kid, Craig—he works here part-time. He’s not in the room. I think he went out with Callista last night.”
“Where is he?”
“In the blue room.”
Rowan and Lacey exchanged a glance, then walked out through the crowd toward the so-called blue room.
A young black man, wearing only his boxers, was just leaving the blue room. Lacey called out,
“Craig, did you see Callista last night?”
“?”
Hearing his name, Craig instinctively turned and, at the sight of Rowan and Lacey in suits, his eyes widened in panic. He dropped the toy in his hand and bolted.
“Fu—”
The moment Craig took off, Rowan shot after him. The bar was dimly lit, and with Craig’s dark skin, if he hid in some unlit corner, Rowan would have a hard time finding him.
Craig had grown up on the fringes of society—running was second nature. He’d been chased by NYPD before; being chased by the FBI was hardly a new experience. Weaving deftly through the crowd, he didn’t panic, even choosing the optimal escape route.
As the dazzling entrance drew closer, Craig flashed his white teeth in a triumphant grin. So what if it’s the FBI? They’re eating my dust. Did they really think all those years of running were for nothing?
Wait—what’s that?
A sudden whoosh sounded overhead. Craig looked up, and his soul nearly left his body:
A grenade!
“Shit!”
The instant the grenade landed in front of him, Craig’s legs gave out. He dropped to his knees, hands over his head, bracing for the explosion.
But… nothing happened.
Well, not nothing. Lacey walked up and cuffed him. Rowan, grinning, picked up the grenade and bounced it in his hand.
“I hear you work here part-time. Care to show me how this toy operates?”
“...Fuck! Shit! Damn you all!”
Realizing he’d been duped by a toy, Craig exploded into a stream of curses so foul that Lacey’s brow furrowed deeply. She snatched the grenade from Rowan and jammed it into Craig’s mouth.
“That’s enough. You’ll have plenty of time to curse when you’re back at the FBI.”
“Mmmph—!”
Hearing they intended to take him to FBI headquarters, Craig immediately wilted, shaking his head desperately.
Seeing him finally quiet, Rowan tried to pull the toy grenade from his mouth to ask some questions—only to find it stuck.

Lacey: “...”
...
Ten minutes later, in the violet room, Lacey finally managed to extract the grenade from Craig’s mouth, using a generous amount of the room’s ever-present lubricants.
“Urgh—”
Apparently, the taste was foul. As soon as the grenade left his mouth, Craig clung to the trash bin, retching violently.
Lacey, her face pale, went to the bathroom to wash her hands. Rowan patted Craig’s shoulder, his tone gentle.
“All right, tell me—how did you kill Callista?”
“What?”
Craig nearly hurled the trash bin aside, looking up in horror.
“I’ve never killed anyone! You can’t do this! You can’t pin this on me!”
It was 2005, only four years since the planes hit the towers, and Craig had heard plenty about the FBI pinning unsolved cases on minorities—plenty of Black people, even more Arab Americans.
Rowan, still new to the Bureau and unaware of such notorious practices, simply spread his hands.
“Callista’s missing. Your boss and coworkers say you were the last to see her. If you’re not the killer, who is?”
“Fuck!”
Craig cursed again, but hurriedly explained,
“Bro, it really wasn’t me. I did leave with Callista last night, but we were only together for about ten minutes. We’d just gotten into bed when she got a call and left. I was left hanging—literally—for ages!”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Of course! After I left Callista’s place, I went to my girlfriend’s. She can vouch for me. From eight thirty last night until this morning, I was with her the whole time!”
“...You have a girlfriend?”
“Of course. Work is work, life is life—I keep them very separate!”
Rowan: “...”