Page 45 of Protected from Torment

“Yes, you did!” I snap. “And I have the proof. I know you were there. It was one week ago yesterday. In Northville. Around nine PM. Ring a bell?”

Margolin pales. “What? How?”

“I know. Don’t waste my time lying about it. I know you did it.”

He casts a frantic look around the room. “You can’t do this. I didn’t let you inside. I have my rights. You have to leave. I could sue⁠—”

Indy snorts. “We’re not the police, asshole. And we’ll do whatever we want.”

“I know the woman you hurt,” I tell Margolin coldly. “And it would be an understatement to say I’m angry about it.”

“She stole my drugs,” he whines. “She lied about them. That was two grand worth of coke. She had it coming⁠—”

“What?” I can’t stop myself. My fist flies out and connects with his face. I pull my punch at the last second, so I don’t knock him out, but I hit him hard enough to break his nose.

As blood streams down his chin, I hiss, “You are going to tell me why you went there. Was it the wrong address? Did you see her somewhere and think you could take advantage?”

“She’s a pretty woman,” Webb adds. “Maybe you saw her in town, started following her, got all pissed off because she didn’t pay attention to you…”

“That wasn’t it,” Margolin says. “She made the deal. Told me to come to her house to pick them up. But when I got there, she lied about it. Told me to go away. She threatened to call the cops on me. And now I’m getting shit for it?”

Indy meets my gaze from the other side of the couch. I can tell from his expression what he’s asking without hearing a word.

Could she have sold him drugs? Is it possible she lied about it?

I shake my head immediately. No. She wouldn’t. There’s no way.

“How did she get in touch with you?” I ask, thinking of the messaging platform I found on his computer. I know Melissa wouldn’t have done it, but...

“She made a post,” Margolin replies. “On SnapApp. She said she had two ounces of coke. Prime. Said she wanted to sell it quick to pay some bills.”

“How did you know she was selling coke?”

“The emojis she used. Snowflake for coke. Bomb for high potency. Cash for—” He shrugs. “I’m sure you know what that’s for.”

“So you responded to her post? How did you know it was legit?”

“When I responded, she sent me a picture of the product.”

“On the app?”

Margolin looks at me like I’m an idiot. “No. Not on the app. Do you think I want to go to jail? I gave her my burner number. And I’m assuming she sent it from hers. Then she gave me her address. Told me to pay half up front, and she’d give me a deal on the rest. Late bills, and all that. So I agreed. Sent her the money and headed over to her house to pick up the product. Except the bitch never gave it to me.”

I’m stunned by his stupidity on so many levels. First, agreeing to a drug deal based on an anonymous post that might or might not be from undercover police. Then sending money blindly, based on a photo that could have come from anywhere. And finally, breaking into a strange woman’s house because he thought she stole drugs from him.

“Fuck,” Webb mutters. “What a moron.”

“Did you ever consider that the post didn’t come from her?” I ask. “That someone gave you the wrong address because they never had any intention of handing the drugs over?”

“And how did you know the police couldn’t track the post?” Indy asks.

Margolin turns to look at Indy. “The posts disappear after an hour. So the police couldn’t find it.”

After a few seconds, I lower my gun so it’s aimed at his chest. “Alright. You’ve done a decent job answering my questions so far. But I want to know something else.”

Desperate hope lights his gaze. “What? Anything.”

“Did the person who made the deal tell you their name? Or did they just give you an address?”