But I ask you not to transfer anything to him physically or it will have to be confiscated.â
Hauck looked in. A guard with a Taser was positioned behind Vega.
âYouâre about to meet ground zero of the human race, Lieutenant. Ready? I hope you didnât eat before comingâ¦â
The warden nodded to open the door.
Vega was in an orange jumpsuit, seated at a metal table. He had a smooth, chiseled face, tattoos on his neck, a shaved head, a scar that ran from under his nose to his upper lip.
A uniformed guard who looked like he could bench-press most of South America stood in the corner with a stun gun tucked in his belt.
Hauck took a seat in one of the chairs across from him. âIâm Lieutenant Hauck. This is Detective Munoz.â
Vega showed his wrists, making a show of the rattling of chains. âSorry if I donât shake hands.â
âIâm the head of detectives in the town of Greenwich, Connecticut, Mr. Vega. Weâre here to talk with you about a drive-by shooting that took place there last Saturday morning, at an Exxon station in town. A bystander was killed, who turned out to be a prosecutor out of the U.S. Justice Department in Hartford. Are you familiar with this incident, Mr. Vega?â
âJeez, I heard the price of gasoline is sky-high out there,â he said, shaking his head, âbut thatâs a bit crazy, no?â
âThe shooter was Hispanic,â Hauck went on, ignoring the remark, âand wore a red bandana over his head. Are you getting where Iâm coming from, Mr. Vega? As he drove away, he shouted the name of a local girl. Josephina Ruiz, who, it turns out, was a teenager from Bridgeport who was accidentally drowned last summer at a public pool. Is any of this starting to ring a bell?â
âSorry to bring you all the way down here, Lieutenant.â Vega jangled his chains. âBut in case you hadnât noticed, my alibiâs pretty tight.â
âWe know your alibiâs tight, Mr. Vega. Later on that evening, another Hispanic male, also in a red bandana, was observed tossing a package into a Dumpster in Stamford. Inside the bag was a Tec-9 automatic that turned out to be the murder weapon.â
âYou making some kind of a fashion statement, Lieutenant, with all these bandanas? âCause if you are, I know I can fit you out in one just right.â
Vega blew a kiss at Munoz. âWhat about you, jefe ?â
Hauck went on, placing a hand on Freddyâs forearm to hold him back. âThe vehicle spotted at the Dumpster in Stamford was a tricked-out Jetta with a blue and red cross on the back. The car was traced to a Hector Morales in Hartford. Mr. Morales is from the same town in the Dominican Republic that you hail from, has a rap sheet that reads like a novel, and is a known member of the DR-17 gang.â
âYou come here with some kind of question to ask me?â Vega rocked back. ââCause I donât mean to be rude or anything, but, you know, itâs like almost time for Ellen and I was hoping to get in a little dancing. Got it? Talking to the police, without a warrant, ainât exactly a credo with me.â
â My question, NelsonââHauck leaned forward, trying to cut through the prisonerâs smirking glareââis what connection was there between DR-17 and Josephina Ruiz? This thing wonât be going away, Mr. Vega. I can put together a case right now against Morales that ties you in as an accessory after the fact. If it turns out Morales was in contact with you while you were in here, maybe more. The FBIâs all over it. A federal prosecutor was gunned down, Mr. Vega. If he wasnât the intended target, then you donât need that kind of attention at all, do you? Not on top of all youâre facing here.â
âLemme get this straight.â The gang leader bunched his lips and nodded. âYou come all the way down here like Homeland
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