#daniel van ness

Your voice is soft, a hint of regret, but he realizes that he never did call you either, that maybe he should have too. Told you that he wouldn’t be in Chile if you ever came back, that he had to move on. You push yourself off the desk and towards him, so close that he can smell your perfume. It draws him back, siphons him away in the hot humidity that is Santiago, Chile, back then when your scent would linger on his sheets. He hates that he still feels the sweat on his body, tastes the salt on your skin.

It takes everything in him not to step back again, but he lets you get closer, lets you press a hand on his bicep, lets you stammer and hesitate as you try to get the words out.

‘’ Danny… ‘’ Your eyes can’t seem to meet his for too long, ‘’ I tried to, but everything was different and I didn’t want to impose, or hurt you again.‘’ Your fingers tighten on his shirt, ‘’ I signed the divorce papers. I told him everything and we tried to make it work, but I- ‘’

‘’ You came to Colombia instead. ‘’

He watches as you retreat, your hand falling off his arm, taking a step back so you can more easily look up at him.

‘’ They just sent me here. I didn’t know you were assigned to Cali until I bought the ticket. ‘’

He knew you were married, you had been clear about that from the start, when he would hang out around your office more, drive you home and spend minutes talking in his car after a drink at the bar, but you had also told him about how rocky it had been for years now, that the Chile rotation was just a way to put off the inevitable. You didn’t seem to mind, so he decided he didn’t either.

‘’ I was put on Salcero’s case a few months ago, ‘’ you begin, ‘’ Back in the States, just going through hours and hours of recorded calls. They want us to work it together since you’ve made contact with him already.’’

He doesn’t know what to say, he lets the ceramic of his coffee cup continue to burn his fingertips, lets you analyze his face as if you couldn’t remember it, all of him.

‘’ Please, Danny. ‘’

Say something. You are pleading and he hates how the sound of his name on your lips makes his heart seize like a teenager, how it warms up his chest at the same time.

It feels like years ago at this point, when you came knocking on his door in the middle of the night. You can’t be out at night at this hour- why are you crying? What is going on? Years ago when he brought you back to the airport, with only your small bag and a one-way ticket. I can’t do this, Danny, I have to go home.

It is his turn to reach towards you, to bring you back, wrapping a hand around your bicep. Your skin is warm, but even though it sends chills throughout his arm.

‘’ I missed you, ‘’ Is all he finds the courage to say, ‘’ I’m glad you’re on the team. ‘’

He can feel the change in the air when your hand raises to touch his wrist, when his hold doesn’t feel like a colleague welcoming another anymore, how his thumb has been caressing your skin for too long now.

‘’ I am deeply sorry, Danny. ‘’ You say again, your fingertips brushing the outside of his wrist. He can see the freckles on your face, ‘’ I should have stayed. ‘’

He doesn’t have to think, he just does, moving his other hand up, pushing hair away from your face, fingers wrapping behind your neck. He does not think again when he brings you closer, softly, giving you an out, an option to refuse, to tell him that he read this all wrong.

You close the gap, head first, nose brushing his, moving up to meet him halfway. You taste like coffee and something sweet, something different. You are pressed against him, warm thighs on his, parting to make way for his own.

It is a brief kiss, over almost as soon as it starts. He doesn’t deepen it, doesn’t push for it to start again. There has to be a better moment for this, somewhere when his coffee is not staining his shirt cuff, where the phones don’t ring and eyes might catch.

‘’ You’re thinking too much. ‘’ You murmur, pushing on your toes to brush your nose against his one last time, breathing him in.

It catches him off guard, but he knows you are right, reading through him like a book as always. He wants to say so many things, but he can’t find the words.

‘’ I missed you. ‘’ He decides to say instead. It makes him feel good, relieved.

The death of Escobar didn’t mean that the work in Colombia was over. Far from it, actually. All the death of Escobar meant was that Escobar was dead. The other cartel leaders, the Cali Godfathers, had been operating almost completely unchecked in the meantime because the country, the world, was so obsessed with catching and stopping Escobar.

However, even though there was still a seemingly endless amount of work to be done, it was very evident that the previous years, the chase, all of the loss, had taken a toll on everyone. While in some cases people would assume, “Well, you’re already in Colombia, you might as well stay here and start working on the next thing,” that wasn’t the case when the shift from taking down Pablo changed to taking down the Cali cartel.

Everyone met with their superiors when it came time to discuss options and make decisions for the next move. A lot of people left, too exhausted to go right from one brutal manhunt to the next. A lot of agents, a lot of officers, transferred or went back home shadows of their former selves. No one was the same after all of that.

Steve went home. He had a wife, a family, and still managed to keep a few shreds of his humanity. He cut his losses and went back to the states. No one could blame him for that. Peña, despite his less than desirable slap on the wrist and suspension over Los Pepes, was asked to return to help with the Gentlemen of Cali. The ask was surprising, as was his agreeing to do it.

Search Bloc wasn’t what it had been. The rules of engagement for tackling the Cali cartel were different than for Escobar. Having a massive, police-based hit squad on deck at all times wasn’t going to be necessary the way it had been in the years prior. That being the case, Colonel Martinez was still around, and still very much involved with the police and the plan going forward to continue dismantling the next cartel that was on the chopping block, but it wasn’t the same as it had been before. In truth, he was probably beyond thankful for that, because it wasn’t something that he had ever really wanted or asked for.

Then, there was one person who, through no choice or real fault of his own, existed in a very strange limbo between the CNP and the DEA. Again, something that he hadn’t ever planned on or asked for. Diego Ramírez had spent the better part of the last few years pinballing back and forth between Search Bloc and the DEA. No longer a true part of the Bloque de Buscada, not an actual member of the DEA, he had been on an island between the two. All of the danger with almost none of the camaraderie.

Diego met with Martinez to discuss next moves. The two were professional—after all, Martinez was always professional. But the advice and insight that Martinez could try to provide was coming from a more distant place than when he advised his other men. It wasn’t the Colonel’s fault. It wasn’t Diego’s either. Colonel Carrillo, for better or worse, was probably one of the only people who could’ve given Diego real advice on what his next move should be. But, even if the man had still been alive, he probably wouldn’t have offered up much. The man never did learn how to let go of a grudge.

But now Diego was sitting across from Messina. He hadn’t expected to be pulled aside by her. He assumed that whatever they were about to talk about, it was going to be about what his plans were. He wished that he had a concrete answer to give her.

“Officer Ramírez,” she finally addressed him as she looked up from the folders in front of her.

“Yes, ma’am?” He looked more confused than anything else. “What can I do for you?”

“I was talking with Colonel Martinez, with Agent Murphy before he left. The word around town is that you haven’t decided what you’re doing next.”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Any particular reason for that?”

He took a deep breath, trying to figure out if he knew how to articulate exactly what he was thinking. He had a hard enough time sorting out his thoughts for himself, let alone getting them in order enough to explain them to someone else and have them get it.

“I don’t have any intentions of leaving the force…or Colombia,” he told her with certainty. Of all the things he was unsure about these days, he had that. “This is my home—I don’t want to leave it if I don’t have to.”

“But?”

He leaned forward slightly. “We all lost a lot because of Escobar,” he said honestly, allowing a small fraction of the pain from the last years to shine through for a moment, “and I don’t…I don’t know if I want to put myself right back into that position again. I was lucky last time, but no one gets lucky every time.”

She nodded. “I’m not here to strong-arm you into making one decision over the other. Hell,” she laughed dryly, “I’m not long for Colombia at this point. But,” she paused, her tone sobering back up, “you’re right—this is your home. You’ve done a lot of good so far, and I think that you could keep doing a lot of good.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. Messina was watching Diego, and Diego’s eyes were glued to the top of Messina’s desk even though he wasn’t really looking at anything in particular. All of the papers and folders blurred together as he tried to think about the ramifications of whatever he ended up deciding to do. Messina studied his face, seeing the slight shifts in his expression as he thought it all over. She didn’t rush or prompt him to say anything. He’d come to his own conclusions eventually.

Finally, Diego let out a deep sigh, his eyes refocusing as he looked directly at Messina. “Who should I talk to about Cali?”

She smiled, feeling a small sense of triumph over the whole thing. She gave a small wave, an almost dismissive gesture without it being rude. “I’ll take care of it. I have all of the paperwork here.”

“Is that what you were filling out when I came in?” he asked, a bit of a grin tugging at his lips.

She shrugged but there was a knowing look on her face. “I had a feeling.”

He stood up, and she did the same, Reaching across her desk, he held his hand out for her to shake. “Thank you, ma’am. I know it hasn’t been easy, but I appreciate everything that you’ve done.”

She nodded, giving his hand a firm shake. The only person in the entire office that could call her ma'am and it didn't make her skin crawl. “You’re a good kid, Ramírez. Truthfully, I wish more of my guys could be a little more like you.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I have some people who would beg to differ.”

They both chuckled for a moment before she nodded to him as she sat back down in her chair. “I’ll make sure all of your paperwork gets put through. They’ll be reaching out to you about Cali ASAP, I’m sure.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Stay safe.”

The small laugh he let out was mostly genuine, but a little heavy. “I’ll do my best.”

He was reaching out for the handle of Messina’s office door when she said, “I’m sure that Peña will be glad to see at least one familiar face when he comes back.”

Diego’s eyes popped a little wider as he froze for a moment. Half-turning, he looked back. “Peña?”

She looked up from the paperwork that she’d already begun filling out for him. “Yea. Stechner pushed it through himself.”

“Huh.” He didn’t know what else to say. Messina gave him a short nod, and Diego finally got himself back on task and pulled the office door open so that he could let himself out.

Diego wished that she was right about Javier being glad to see him. He knew that that wasn’t going to be the case, but he still hoped. New case, new location, mostly new team—Diego hoped that maybe the two of them could have something resembling a fresh start. It was a pipe dream if ever there was one.

The only saving grace of it all was that Javier wasn’t overly chummy with anyone upon his return. It made his coldness towards Diego less noticeable. Javi didn’t dislike the two new agents that he had on his team, but change was hard. He understood why Steve didn’t stick around, but as he sat in his glass-walled office, he really wished that he had.

Diego liked the two new agents well enough. They were eager, a little green in some respects, but they were good men. He could work with that. The dynamics were completely different now than they had been in Medellín. The job itself was also very different. The stakes were still high, but the feeling of immediate danger wasn’t as intense as before. It created a false sense of security that none of them could afford to fall into.

It was early in the morning—everyone was just getting settled. Diego, Feistl, and Van Ness were all in their own little area. Not the same cramped quarters that Steve and Javier had been given back in Medellín, something that still made Diego chuckle to himself when he thought about it sometimes. It was still close quarters, but it wasn’t bad.

As the day went on, Diego found himself listening to the two of them talk about all sorts of things between actual work tasks. He always listened to the banter—every now and then one of them would try and rope him in to break some sort of tie, end whatever debate they were locked in. Not that it ever really mattered because they would always just pick something new to bicker about.

He was shaking his head at the two of them when Javi’s office door slid open. All of them stopped and looked over to see him leaning out the doorway, bracing himself against the frame of it. He gave a small nod in greeting before locking his eyes on Diego.

“Ramírez, a minute.” He nodded in a gesture to beckon him over.

Diego didn’t hesitate, standing up and heading over to Javi’s office. By the time he reached the doorway, Javier was already back in his seat behind the desk.

Javi waved him in. “Shut the door.”

Diego did as he was asked before walking and sitting down in one of the two chairs on the opposite side of Javi’s desk. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to do a pick-up for me.”

He couldn’t hide his confusion. “A pick-up?”

Javi was looking at the paperwork that had been dropped off on his desk earlier. He was talking to Diego without really looking at him, something outsiders might see as a bad habit but the two of them knew was a calculated move. “Got a guy flying in from México.”

That only made his confusion intensify. “Who?”

He looked up only to hand Diego the folder with the man’s file in it. “DEA Agent Walt Breslin.”

Diego opened the folder, giving it a brief glance. “Is he transferring here?”

“Nope.”

Diego looked up from the pages in front of him and over at Javi. He waited for the man to elaborate on his own, but when he didn’t, he asked, “So…why is he here?”

“He thinks that his guys in Juárez and our guys in Cali are keeping each other in business.”

Diego frowned in thought as he mulled over what Javi had just said, what he was seeing on the pages in front of him. He looked back over at the agent behind the desk even though he knew Javi wasn’t going to look back at him. “Just him coming in?”

Javi shrugged. “Last I heard.” He looked at the time on his watch. “Better get going—plane gets in soon.”

Diego knew he was going to regret asking the question but he did it anyway. “Why can’t Feistl or Van—”

“I got them doing other shit today,” Javi said before Diego could even finish the question.

Moments like that gave Diego little flashbacks to their hunt for Escobar. Reminded Diego that Javi and Carrillo had more similarities than differences, some of those similarities being how they felt about and spoke to him. He’d love to say that it wasn’t personal, but it was. Still, he didn’t let it bother him. Not anymore.

“Alright,” he said as he flipped the folder shut. “Anything else?”

Javi shook his head. “Nope.”

“Okay.” He got up and stepped towards the door. “I’ll be back with Agent Breslin, then.”

Javi nodded but didn’t say anything else. Diego shook his head as he slid the door open and slipped out of the man’s office, the folder with Breslin’s information tucked underneath his arm. When he looked back at the area where their desks were, he saw that Feistl and Van Ness were looking at him, trying not to look too eager or curious and failing miserably at it.

“Everything okay?” Feistl broke the silence when Diego walked back over.

The officer nodded, grabbing his jacket and searching for the keys to one of the government-issued vehicles, not really wanting to pick up a visiting agent in his own beat-up car. “All good. Peña said we got another agent flying in—gotta go pick them up.”

“Who?” they both asked in unison.

Diego chuckled, setting the folder on Feistl’s desk. “He’s been working on cartels in Mexico. Started off in Texas first, El Paso. Then moved across the border.”

“Now he’s moving down the continent?” Feistl said as he read the pages in front of him.

Diego nodded. “Seems like it.”

The airport was busy the same way that it always was. It struck Diego that this guy wasn’t even going to know who he was looking for. The risk level was lower now than it had been in years past for agents coming and going. Even still, Diego kept a close eye and his head on a swivel. Just in case.

Then, right on time, Diego saw him. He was smaller than Diego had imagined based off the tiny headshot photo in the man’s file, a little shorter, too. He had the same haggard look that everyone who was chasing down cartel leaders and sicarios and massive amounts of drugs seemed to have. That, at least, was exactly what Diego had been expecting. He watched as the man scanned the area, giant duffle bag hanging off his shoulder.

“Walt?” he spoke up, flashing a smile and waving him down.

His head snapped in the direction of someone saying his name. His expression got a little less intense when he saw the Colombian police uniform, when he saw the bright look on Diego’s face. Walking, over, Diego held out his hand for Walt to shake. A little bit of the tension disappeared from Walt’s body—at least this guy was safe.

“Agent Breslin,” Diego said as he shook his hand. “Beinvenido a Colombia.”

He let out a dry chuckle as he nodded, giving Diego’s hand a firm shake. “Gracias.” He paused for a moment. “Lo siento, pero, quién eres?”

Diego laughed, shaking his head at himself. “Diego Ramírez. Lo siento.” There was a split-second pause and when Diego saw that Walt was looking for a little elaboration, he said, “Trabajo un poco con la policia aquí, un poco con la DEA.”

Walt nodded, taking it all in. “Busy guy.”

Diego shrugged, a smile still on his face. “Most times.” He waved for Walt to follow him. “C’mon, I’ll take you to the base to meet everyone.”

Despite how exhausted Walt was as he sat in the passenger seat of the car that Diego was driving, he was still sitting up, looking out the window and windshield as the officer drove them through Cali. Colombia had never really been on Walt’s list of places to visit, but now that he was here, he figured he might as well try to take as much of it in as possible with what little time he had there.

“Your Spanish,” Diego commented as he turned off one road and onto the next, “it sounds good.”

Walt chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

Diego laughed and shrugged, sparing a glance at the agent sitting next to him. “Last gringo with a drawl that transferred down here didn’t know any Spanish. I don’t get my hopes up anymore.”

Given what the kid must’ve been through over the last years, Walt was surprised that he was still able to be as light-hearted as he was. He tried to match the energy, a tinge of humor to his voice as he said, “All us white guys are the same, huh?”

Diego’s grin grew a little wider as he laughed again. “Más o menos, sí?”

Walk shook his head, a smirk on his face as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Yea, more or less.” He held the pack out to Diego. “Want one?”

He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Walt shrugged, tucking the pack back into his pocket before flicking his lighter. Neither of them said much more for the rest of the ride, Walt assuming that most of the questions that he had for Diego would be answered by him or someone else when they got to the base. He bided his time by smoking his cigarette and flipping through stations on the radio.

When they got to the floor where Javi and the other agents were, everyone turned to look as the elevator doors opened. By that point, everyone around knew that another agent from Mexico was being brought in. No one really knew the full scope of why except Walt—even Javi still had some pressing questions. Even so, the layers of unknown to it all made it an even bigger piece of news to everyone else who knew next to nothing.

For a floor full of agents, one would think that they’d be better at subtlety, but they weren’t. Walt felt himself getting defensive before anyone had even said anything. He tried to hope that those stares didn’t mean the same thing in Colombia as they did in Mexico, or back home, but he didn’t get his hopes up too high.

Javi walked up to them once they got closer, instantly extending out a hand to Walt. “Agent Breslin,” he shook his hand, “I’m Javier Peña.” He turned and motioned to the two other men standing by. “This is Chris Feistl, and Daniel Van Ness.” He waited for them to exchange their handshakes and “Nice to meet you’s”. Then he nodded towards Diego. “I’m assuming Officer Ramírez already introduced himself.”

Walt nodded. “He did.” He looked around at all of them for a moment. “Appreciate you guys making the time for this. I know collaborating to actually get shit done isn’t the government’s strong suit, so…” his voice trailed off.

The comment got a few knowing smiles and chuckles out of the group. When they all fell quiet, Javi spoke up, nodding towards his office. “C’mon, let’s get some stuff straightened out. Then we can all start trying to string all this shit together.”

Walt nodded as he followed in Javi’s footsteps. He gave another nod and said, “Nice meeting you,” to the rest of them as he walked off.

Once the office door was shut, both agents immediately turned and looked at Diego for answers to questions that they hadn’t even asked yet. It was in all of their natures to be curious, nosey even, but their obviousness and eagerness still got a laugh out of Diego as he dropped the keys onto the surface of his desk and sat down.

“Yea?”

“So?” Feistl asked, leaning so that his palms were flat against the top of Diego’s desk.

Diego was trying to tone down the smile fighting its way onto his face. “So?”

“What’d he say? What’s going on? What’s he here for?”

Diego shook his head as he opened his desk drawer and pulled a few of the files out. “You think we got into all of that on the drive from the airport to here?” He leaned back in his seat. “It’s not like he’s going to get into that with me before talking to Peña anyway.”

“Yea, but you’re, you know,” he tried to say it like it was so obvious, “you’re Colombian Police. That ranks.”

Diego chuckled, but the repeated shake of his head spoke volumes. He was an optimist still, sure, because that’s just who he always was and who he’d always be. But the naivety that he’d been plagued with when he joined the CNP, joined Search Bloc, got beaten out of him over the years. “Yea, because it’s a well-known fact that all the police officers in Colombia are upstanding individuals. None of them would ever—”

“You wouldn’t, though,” Feistl argued.

Diego shrugged. “I know that. You know that.” He nodded towards the office. “Agent Breslin does not know that.” He saw the way that both the men were shaking their heads. “If the two of you flew into Mexico, would you tell the cop who picked you up everything about why you were there?” He sat silently, waiting for the answer. When neither of them said anything, he nodded. “Exactly.”

Feistl knew that he’d lost the argument, but it didn’t stop him from wanting the last word. Being wrong didn’t mean that he didn’t still want to be right anyway. “Still, though,” he said flippantly as he sat back down at his desk.

Meanwhile, Javi gestured for Walt to take a seat in his office. Refocusing once again, he said, “What can I do for you, Agent Breslin?”

Walt didn’t want to get into all of it. He knew that he was going to have to be some kind of honest if he wanted to get answers and information, but he wasn’t ready to start poking and picking at the wounds that were still incredibly fresh. He wondered how little he could divulge and still get what he needed.

“I know that your cartel here in Cali is connected to my cartels in Mexico through at least one guy.”

“The pilot,” Javi said with a nod.

“Yea,” Walt tried not to sound as hollow and bitter as he felt, “Amado Carrillo Fuentes.”

“Like I told you on the phone, we’ve been more focused on the godfathers than anyone else. I’m not sure if any of the information that we have would be of any use to you. We know that our guys make layover stops in Mexico before getting their shit across the border into the states. But anything going on on the ground there is your area of expertise, not ours.”

“Help me paint a bigger picture, then. Whatever you’ve got. Hell,” he shrugged, the action looking much less desperate than he felt, “maybe what I’ve got could help you guys out too.”

Javi knew that there was more to it than that. He could tell by the look on Walt’s face that there was plenty that he wasn’t privy to. Javi knew better than to take the secrecy personally—he’d spent years doing the same thing. Most other people in Javi’s position would’ve pressed until they got all the details they wanted, or would’ve sent Walt on their way. But there was something in his apparent exhaustion that made Javi trust him.

“My guys are gonna have a lot of questions for you,” he said as he nodded towards the glass. And, sure enough, two of the three men sitting out there were blatantly staring at Javi’s office, trying to read lips, trying to figure out what was going on.

“You don’t?” was all Walt said in return.

He sighed, shaking his head once. “You’re the one who flew all the way down here for answers—not me.” He gave a few seconds for Walt to say something else. When he didn’t, Javi stood back up. “Come on.”

Javi got up and walked to the door, Walt following close behind. When the two of them stepped out, they had three sets of curious eyes on them. Javi hardly looked at the men on his team as he waved for them to all get up and follow. “Let’s go.”

Notebooks, folders, and pens in hand, the three men all but jumped up and strode quickly to play catchup with the two agents in the lead. Feistl and Van Ness kept looking back and forth at each other, Diego trailing just a half-step behind them watching all of the men in front of him, wondering what was going to happen next.

The room they all walked into, making sure to shut the door behind them, had been a conference room at some point. Now, though, it was a hub for any and everything about Cartel Cali. Photos were arranged into hierarchies, some with x’s through them, others with notes written off to the sides of them. There were maps hung up, folders and photographs and transcriptions scattered all over the table.

Walt looked around, a little bewildered by it all. It made the shitty abandoned warehouse he and his team had been meeting up in look like…well…a shitty abandoned warehouse.

“Shit,” Walt said as he walked up to the wall that housed the web of photos.

“Yea,” Javi said nonchalantly as he leaned back against the desk and stared at the row of photos at the top of the godfathers. “Welcome to Cali.”

Walt turned around to look at the other men in the room. He saw the way that even though they must’ve been looking at the pictures and information in that room nonstop for weeks, or months, they still looked at it with just as much scrutiny and determination as if they’d just walked into the room for the first time. He knew that feeling.

Walt walked up and tapped the photo of Amado that was taped to the wall. The pilot and his fucking shades. “This is the guy that my team and I had started focusing on.”

“The pilot?” Diego asked, clearly curious.

Walt nodded. “He’s not just working for your guys here in Colombia. He’s making deals with the guys in Mexico too. He’s knee-deep with a lot of shit going down in Juárez.”

“Makes sense,” Diego said with a nod. “He’s just transportation, right? Why not get paid by two cartels to do the same shit that he’s been doing? He’ll be able to retire and disappear across the globe somewhere with his best plane while the rest of these guys rot.”

“Yea,” Walt said bitterly, “not if I can do anything about it.” He folded his arms across his chest as he started to explain, with a little more detail, how Amado was their link to the guy that his team was really after. He knew that the men in the room weren’t going to give him Felix Gallardo. But they could still help him get Amado. “I’ve got it on good authority that the last shipment he moved was seventy tons.”

All the eyes in the room widened. Feistl shook his head, “That’s a shitton of coke.”

“I know.” Walt nodded slowly, anger still etched into his features. “And now it’s lost in the fucking wind. Thanks to some fucking,” he shook his head, almost shaking with anger, “some fucking cop playing both sides.”

Javi shook his head, sadness crossing his face for a moment. “Same shit everywhere.”

The group of them all gathered around the table as they dove into their discussion. Walt outlined what he and his team had been doing and looking into, got into the details of what he thought the extent of the Cali cartel’s involvement was with his targets in Mexico. They were two different spots on the same map, two different levels of the same game. There were a few connecting threads, but a lot of the chaos in Mexico was happening with or without the help of the men in Colombia.

“How long are you in Colombia for?” Van Ness asked when they all hit a lull in the conversation.

Walt shrugged and shook his head, tucking his chin down for a moment. “Through the weekend, at least. If we get somewhere with this I might be able to stretch it a little longer, but…” his voice trailed off.

Javi’s brows knit together at that. It was the first real inkling he got that maybe Walt was operating outside of the DEA’s knowledge. Javi wasn’t one to judge, but it would be something that was good to know.

“Why don’t we get back to this tomorrow then?” Javi asked, looking around at all of them.

Everyone was nodding in agreement, but Diego was the first one to speak up as he looked at Walt. “We’ll get you a car you can use for now. Let you get to your hotel, unpack, sleep, whatever. Come back tomorrow with everything you have and we’ll see what we can do.” He gestured vaguely to the wall of photos. “Red-string it.”

Walt couldn’t hide the relief at the thought of being able to lay down for a couple hours after being on the go for as long as he had been. “Alright, yea. That works.”

“We should grab drinks,” Feistl suggested as everyone was getting ready to leave the room. He saw the looks everyone shot his way. “Tonight, I mean,” he clarified.

Everyone exchanged looks and shrugs, no one necessarily looked opposed to the idea. Some of them were expecting Javi to shoot the idea down, but apparently he was trying to extend some hospitality, and he agreed. They picked a time, and a place. It was the same place as always, but Walt didn’t know that.

Walt also didn’t know what to expect when he showed up at the bar that evening. He knew how he’d been with his team, the dynamics there, but he didn’t know these guys. Nothing that had happened made him think that he was going to have any kind of problem with them, but he still didn’t feel certain.

When he walked in, he saw the four of them already sitting at a table together. Javi had been sitting facing the door, so he saw Walt the second that he walked in. Javi held his hand up slightly to get his attention, nodding slightly for him to come over once they made eye contact.

He pulled out the seat at the end of the table, feeling the creeping sense of awkwardness coming over him. He’d hardly sat down all the way when the waitress appeared asking for his drink order. He rattled it off, one of the things in life that he had committed to memory. When she walked away, he finally took a second to breathe and take in the scene in front of him.

They instantly pulled him right into the conversation. They talked a bit about work, but most of it was just them bullshitting around. It was a less-intensive way for Walt to get to know them, and vice-versa, than doing the whole twenty questions routine. It also allowed Walt to do more listening than talking, which was something that he would always be grateful for no matter where he was or who he was with.

Walt was shaking his head at something the other DEA agents had said when he reached to pull his pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his shirt. He went to grab his lighter from his jeans pocket when he realized that he didn’t have it. He frowned for a moment before looking at the men sitting around him.

“Anyone got a lighter?”

He was 0 for 3 by the time he got to Javi, but luckily he was the one person who always had one on him. He handed it over, nodding in response to Walt’s quick Thanks before turning back to Van Ness and asking, “What happened to your fanny pack? Thought you kept everything in there?”

It wasn’t as though anyone in present company really had any right to be criticizing the others’ fashion choices, but the fact that both Feistl and Van Ness played so heavily into the tourist shtick because it made the most sense for them definitely made them the easiest targets. The comment from Javi also ensured that the conversation wasn’t going to get too heavy for the time being.

None of them had been keeping track of the time until Diego looked down to check his watch. When he saw the hour, a smile crept across his face. He wasted no time in standing up from his chair at the table. “I gotta run.”

Despite the more than pleased look on his face, the sudden change still prompted Javi to ask, “All good?”

Diego opened his mouth to respond but Feistl beat him to the punch. “He’s fine. Ramírez is just high-tailing out of here because his girl is coming to Cali for the weekend.”

Even though Javi didn’t give much of a reaction one way or another to the information, it got laughs out of Walt and Van Ness, and Diego too. It wasn’t the first time that either one of the new DEA agents gave him grief about it, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was all in jest, and Diego didn’t mind it—it was a welcome change.

Diego walked around the table, clapping his hand onto Walt’s shoulder as he leaned down, almost like he was telling him a secret even though he was purposely talking loud enough for the whole table to hear, “Ellos solo están enojados porque yo tengo una novia que me visita.” They laughed as Feistl and Van Ness waved him off. Diego spoke to the two of them as he turned to walk away, “Try not to need me.”

Diego’s early departure didn’t mean that the night was over for the rest of them. Feistl and Van Ness were happy to have someone new around to talk to. And, for as closed off as Javi tended to keep himself these days, he had to admit that he was enjoying himself much more than he thought he would. Most of his late-night drinks were solo now, but having their company and being able to listen to the banter that was apparently an all-day, everyday affair, was amusing. He also took the opportunity to try and piece apart what he thought the deal with Walt really was. He didn’t think that the agent was lying when they spoke earlier, but he also didn’t think that he was telling the full truth, either. Javi understood it—he would’ve played it the same way if the roles were reversed.

Eventually, both Feistl and Van Ness took off as well, leaving just Javi and Walt sitting at the table together. Neither of them was in much of a rush to leave. Javi didn’t want to go back to his empty apartment, and even though Walt was still exhausted he wasn’t that eager to head back to his small and very empty hotel room. Usually he had his team in the rooms on either side of him, but now it was just him. He didn’t want to think about that.

Things were quiet between the two of them for a moment—all the chatterboxes had left the building. Walt sipped on the scotch that was still in his glass while Javi worked his way through another whiskey. Both were watching everyone around them now more than they were watching each other.

“Can I ask you something, Breslin?” Javi asked, still not looking at him.

Walt looked at him from across the table. “Shoot.”

Javi finally locked eyes with him. “Why are you here?”

His face scrunched in confusion for a moment. “What?” He shook his head, setting his glass down on the table. “I told you, Amado—”

“I know, I know,” he took a sip of his drink, “you’re connecting the dots. But that could’ve been a phone call. A few phone calls. We could’a faxed you some of our intel and that would’ve been the end of it. You didn’t have to come all the way down here.” He paused. “No one comes to Colombia when they don’t have to. No way you ran out of shit to do in Mexico.”

Walt tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I’m just looking for answers, man.”

He was waiting for Javi to come back with something, another question or a comment about how he was full of shit, but he didn’t. Javi just sat and stared at him. Javi knew how to play the waiting game. Hell, he was more than content to sit there for another hour in silence and order another whiskey while he waited. He wasn’t the one on a time crunch—Walt was.

Walt swirled what little was still left inside his glass around once, twice, before bringing it to his lips and finishing off the entire thing. “I lost,” he exhaled sharply as he set the glass back down, letting it clatter against the top of the table, “about ninety-nine percent of my fuckin' team trying to get this guy. And I’m no closer to—” he stopped himself short, shaking his head. “I need the fuckin' win.”

Javi nodded. If there was anyone on the Cali team who understood that type of loss, that type of desperation, it was him. However, if the hunt for Escobar, if all the political hoops and bullshit with the Cali Godfathers had taught him anything, it’s that no one ever really gets a win. Judging by the look in Walt’s eyes, Javi had a feeling the man might’ve had an inkling about that already.

He waited for Walt to look at him, but when he didn’t, Javi spoke up, his tone not gentle but not as harsh as it could’ve been either. “Hey.” He sighed. “I can’t promise you the win that you’re looking for. Wish I could. Hell, wish that any fucking one of us could get a win these days. But,” he shook his head, “I can’t.”

“I just need enough to hurt these guys.”

Javi could feel how personal this all was for the man sitting across from him. He knew that feeling. He remembered the feeling of futility as the number of dead officers kept going up and up and up. He remembered what it felt like after Carrillo was killed. Losing your partner, your team, that was something that you never really shook off. It put a different tint on everything. All the steps you took after that had a new depth to them. Everything felt personal. Everything felt painful.

Javi knew what Walt was feeling. He also knew that whatever warpath the man was set on, wasn’t going to work out the way he thought it was going to. Javi had been there, done that, gotten the suspension paperwork to prove it. Still, he didn’t listen when people tried to warn him. He had the feeling that Walt wasn’t in the mood to be heeding any warnings either.

“Me and my guys will tell you what we know, whatever you wanna hear,” Javier told him, “but we don’t really know shit about Mexico.”

Walt shook his head. “Leave that to me. I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

“Alright.”

There were a few beats of silence before Walt said, “Your guys…they’re good?”

Javi chuckled dryly. “Pfft. Yea,” he shook his head with a tired smile, “annoying and eager as all hell. But they’re good.”

Walt laughed quietly. “Eager is good.”

“Don’t tell them that. Can’t afford to give them any more leash than they’ve got.”

“Your boss say the same about you?” Walt asked, the knowing smirk on his face said that he already had the answer.

“Probably. Begs the question, though, of how you got enough leash to get all the way down here to Cali.”

“Oh,” Walt laughed, “that’s because I don’t ask anymore. They want me? They can fuckin' fly down here and get me.”

Javi smiled a little at that. It wasn’t so long ago that he was doing and saying the same kinds of things. Part of him missed that. The other part of him vividly remembered the fallout of it all—bureaucratic bullshit pouring salt into the wounds left by things that actually mattered. He had a feeling that Walt probably knew about that, too.

“Think they will?” he asked.

Walt shrugged, toying idly with his glass on the table. “Keep me down here long enough and I guess we’ll see.”