I was so fed up with my prospect life, running around all over the place for the Mongols, following the commands of a group of criminals whose collective IQ didn’t add up to the median temperature, and being in constant fear for my life, that I was ready to phone Ciccone first thing in the morning and tell him the investigation was over. The ATF brass had wanted to shut the case down anyway. Why not let them?The call was solely mine to make; no case agent can talk an undercover into continuing an investigation if he feels it’s become too dangerous.But after my head cleared and my fury at Red Dog’s abuse had subsided, I felt I had a better handle on the night’s events. It was probably just another of Red Dog’s mind games, another sadistic attempt to fuck with my sanity; if he’d truly known something, or had some solid reason to believe I was a cop, he would have had C.J. kill me right there with no witnesses besides those Mongols.The week following Visalia, I was staring at myself in the full-length living room mirror.
