‘Reginald Picklesimer’ might raise suspicion?
The mirth left Walter’s face. “I’d never let personal feelings endanger one of my agents,” he snipped. His scowl sent prickles racing down Lucky’s spine. Yep. The friendly-looking hound dog still had his bite. “While John Smith would certainly be easily lost among a sea of John Smiths, a local family name brings instant acceptance. And who’d suspect Picklesimer of being a pseudonym?”
Walter did have a point, however— “And what happens when they ask me ‘how’s yo momma an’ dem?’”
Walter graced Lucky with a smile only piranhas might find charming. “Lucky, are you backing away from a challenge?”
Lucky hurrumphed. “Okay, if I’m Reginald Picklesimer, who’s Bo?”
Bo dumped his new identity out onto his lap. “Eric Scott,” he read from a badge.
If looks could kill, Walter’s last meal would have been cake.
CHAPTER 6
Normally, between field assignments Lucky utilized the department’s “Wheel of IP Addresses” program to contact Internet companies offering prescription meds without a prescription. He’d make the buy and have the goods analyzed. If they turned out to be valid, the seller faced charges for dispensing drugs unlawfully, and usually without a license. Fake drugs piled on counterfeiting charges as well. Illegal imports carried international ramifications.
Checking with government agencies for current licenses came next. Saps who’d tried to rip the public off wound up out of business—a task as soothing to Lucky’s nerves as popping bubble wrap, and far less annoying for his cube mate. But for every illegal Internet pharmacy taken down, two more cropped up, a neverending cycle. And job security.
Today, with one case following closely on the heels of another, Lucky surfed the Internet, not for Viagra ads, but for information on the life-saving drugs no one seemed able to find. Three main manufacturers, one closed due to process violations caught in a random FDA audit, another in the middle of major renovations, and the third struggling to keep up with increased demand from the other two’s customers. A shipment of raw materials held in customs. A warehouse fire. Contamination found in a batch of bottles. No damned wonder the US found itself in the middle of the worst drug shortage in decades.
Lucky printed out a listing of unavailable drugs for later use. A forceful sigh called his attention to Bo, doing research at the next desk.
“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?”
Lucky paused reading an analyst’s opinion of the drug crisis.
“It isn’t.” Damn, the showdown he’d hoped to avoid.
“Oh? Do you expect me to believe Walter, who has access to
your personnel files, got the date wrong?”
“Yup.”
Bo kicked his bristling down a notch. “Then when is your
birthday?”
Lucky turned his full attention to his partner and braced for a
fight. “Yesterday.”
“Yesterday? You mean, you let me come over and didn’t
bother to tell me it was your birthday?”
Why did people have to make such a big fucking deal about
birthdays?“What difference does it make? You came over, right?” “What difference does it make?” Bo repeated Lucky’s words,
three octaves higher. “What if I’d wanted to take you out? Buy you
a gift? Get you a cake?”
Lucky snorted. “It’s no big deal. It’s just another day on the
calendar.” He strained his ears. Was Walter calling him? At the
moment, he’d even accept a distraction from Keith.
“We’ve been dating since before Thanksgiving. Don’t I
deserve to know these things?” The anger fled Bo’s face. Dating? “We’re not dating.” Lucky’d rather deal with anger
than have a kicked puppy peering up at him from beneath a fringe
of sootblack lashes. Anger didn’t trigger guilt. “We’re…we’re
seeing each other,” he amended.
Bo leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “And do you mind keeping your voice down?” Lucky
The mirth left Walter’s face. “I’d never let personal feelings endanger one of my agents,” he snipped. His scowl sent prickles racing down Lucky’s spine. Yep. The friendly-looking hound dog still had his bite. “While John Smith would certainly be easily lost among a sea of John Smiths, a local family name brings instant acceptance. And who’d suspect Picklesimer of being a pseudonym?”
Walter did have a point, however— “And what happens when they ask me ‘how’s yo momma an’ dem?’”
Walter graced Lucky with a smile only piranhas might find charming. “Lucky, are you backing away from a challenge?”
Lucky hurrumphed. “Okay, if I’m Reginald Picklesimer, who’s Bo?”
Bo dumped his new identity out onto his lap. “Eric Scott,” he read from a badge.
If looks could kill, Walter’s last meal would have been cake.
CHAPTER 6
Normally, between field assignments Lucky utilized the department’s “Wheel of IP Addresses” program to contact Internet companies offering prescription meds without a prescription. He’d make the buy and have the goods analyzed. If they turned out to be valid, the seller faced charges for dispensing drugs unlawfully, and usually without a license. Fake drugs piled on counterfeiting charges as well. Illegal imports carried international ramifications.
Checking with government agencies for current licenses came next. Saps who’d tried to rip the public off wound up out of business—a task as soothing to Lucky’s nerves as popping bubble wrap, and far less annoying for his cube mate. But for every illegal Internet pharmacy taken down, two more cropped up, a neverending cycle. And job security.
Today, with one case following closely on the heels of another, Lucky surfed the Internet, not for Viagra ads, but for information on the life-saving drugs no one seemed able to find. Three main manufacturers, one closed due to process violations caught in a random FDA audit, another in the middle of major renovations, and the third struggling to keep up with increased demand from the other two’s customers. A shipment of raw materials held in customs. A warehouse fire. Contamination found in a batch of bottles. No damned wonder the US found itself in the middle of the worst drug shortage in decades.
Lucky printed out a listing of unavailable drugs for later use. A forceful sigh called his attention to Bo, doing research at the next desk.
“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?”
Lucky paused reading an analyst’s opinion of the drug crisis.
“It isn’t.” Damn, the showdown he’d hoped to avoid.
“Oh? Do you expect me to believe Walter, who has access to
your personnel files, got the date wrong?”
“Yup.”
Bo kicked his bristling down a notch. “Then when is your
birthday?”
Lucky turned his full attention to his partner and braced for a
fight. “Yesterday.”
“Yesterday? You mean, you let me come over and didn’t
bother to tell me it was your birthday?”
Why did people have to make such a big fucking deal about
birthdays?“What difference does it make? You came over, right?” “What difference does it make?” Bo repeated Lucky’s words,
three octaves higher. “What if I’d wanted to take you out? Buy you
a gift? Get you a cake?”
Lucky snorted. “It’s no big deal. It’s just another day on the
calendar.” He strained his ears. Was Walter calling him? At the
moment, he’d even accept a distraction from Keith.
“We’ve been dating since before Thanksgiving. Don’t I
deserve to know these things?” The anger fled Bo’s face. Dating? “We’re not dating.” Lucky’d rather deal with anger
than have a kicked puppy peering up at him from beneath a fringe
of sootblack lashes. Anger didn’t trigger guilt. “We’re…we’re
seeing each other,” he amended.
Bo leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “And do you mind keeping your voice down?” Lucky
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