“Another one?” Cooper’s brows lifted. “There was that much blood?”
“Enough to indicate someone had been seriously, maybe fatally injured.”
“Damn.” Cooper shook her head. “This is stacking up like a war.”
Exactly. And Braddock had started it by using Shelley Patterson to get at Nash. He’d have to live with that one.
He’d let her down just like he’d let down his niece. What kind of cop allowed a seventeen-year-old girl to give him the slip?
Would CJ Patterson be the next victim of his failing ability to get the job done?
Nash’s usual array of eyes and ears loitered on his porch. Reclining on chairs that the manufacturer hadn’t intended to be utilized out of doors.
Braddock didn’t wait for an invitation. He climbed the steps and flashed his badge for the first gorilla that sauntered his way. “We need to see Nash. Now.”
The gorilla jerked his thumb toward the door. “Go on in. He’s been expecting you.”
Cooper rested her hand on the butt of the weapon clipped to her hip. Even though they’d been welcomed with open arms, that didn’t mean things couldn’t change once they crossed the threshold. Far too many folks considered anything that moved inside their house fair game when it came to protecting oneself and property.
The King reclined on a red leather sofa, his black silk pajamas worth more than he was. The unholy trinity, as he called his personal bodyguards, stood close by, prepared to protect him at all costs.
“I’d ask you to sit,” Nash said in greeting, “but you won’t be here that long.”
“Good morning to you, too, Tyrone.” Braddock liked the way Nash’s lips flattened into a frustrated line whenever he called the scumbag by his first name.
“Mr. Nash,” Cooper announced, “you do have the right to have an attorney present before answering any of our questions. Would you like to call your attorney?”
Braddock suppressed a smile.Way to go, partner. She wanted the piece of shit to know they weren’t dropping by for tea.
Nash looked Cooper up and down, then curled his lips in disapproval. A scowl lined his face, made the scar on his cheek pucker slightly. “I don’t need no lawyer. I don’t know shit about what happened to Banks, so save yourself some breath. I was at home all night last night, ask anyone here.”
“Is there anyone who doesn’t work for you who can verify that you were here all night?” Cooper countered.
Nash flared his hands. “This is the village, policewoman. Everybody works for me.” He motioned around the room. “These are my people. They all work for me.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda. “Since that included Ricky Banks,” Braddock offered, “we’ll need a list of the people who worked with or for him.” Braddock had the little black book, but he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to yank Nash’s chain.
Nash settled a glare on Braddock. “You think someone in this village killed my man Banks?” Nash shook his head. “No way. Don’t nobody do shit in this village without my authorization.”
“I guess that leaves you, then,” Braddock suggested. “Why don’t we go over exactly what you were doing between the hours of midnight and three this morning?”
“Like I told you,” Nash shot right back, “I was here. Chilling and sipping Patrón.”
Braddock claimed the few steps that stood between him and the red sofa. The threatening glares of all three tough guys followed his every move. Braddock ignored them, sat down on the coffee table in front of Nash. “I would think, seeing you’re the king of the village and all, that you would be just a little”—he held his thumb and forefinger slightly apart—“ticked off that someone murdered your number-one go-to boy right here in your own territory. There must be someone out there who isn’t the slightest bit afraid of you or your reputation.”
Nash stared at him a long moment. “I got my ways of dealing with these matters.”
Braddock belted out a laugh before his face captured and reflected the sheer fury throttling through his veins. “I know you do.” He reached into his jacket pocket; the trinity reacted by reaching for the weapons stashed in their waistbands. Braddock lifted an eyebrow at each before withdrawing a business card from his pocket. “Call me when you’ve got that list ready.” He tossed the card at Nash. “Today.”
He stood. “I won’t even ask if these thugs have licenses to carry weapons.” One last look at the bastard on the sofa and Braddock turnedhis back and headed for the door. The only way he would get anything from Nash was if a gun was bored into his skull, and maybe not even then.
“You got people, Five-oh?”
Braddock froze. His gaze locked with his partner’s. She gave her head the subtlest shake, warning him not to go there.
“We all got people,” Nash went on nonchalantly. “Even my boy Ricky had people. I’m sure they’ll be deeply pained by this tragedy. Sometimes you cross a line ... make a mistake and somebody gets hurt. You know what I mean, don’t you, Five-oh?”
Oh, he knew. The urge to kill this bastard with his bare hands roared like a hurricane.
