Page 57 of Dirty

“No. But he gave me some information.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

I didn’t want to hear it. By my guess, he had my tag number, or the tag numbers of one or more of the fellas. The thought of it made me sick.

“Kid said the girls were all hauled out on the backs of Harleys. More than a dozen, from what he said. In the middle of the night.”

“More than a dozen?” Crip’s brow wrinkled. “Sounds like the work of an MC, detective. Were they wearing kuttes? Any of them sporting colors? Maybe I can point you to their clubhouse.”

“No. As fate would have it, they weren’t wearing their colors,” he said.

“Sounds like a loose-knit bunch, detective,” Crip said. “Here at the Filthy Fuckers MC, we have a strict policy. If one of the fellas is on their bike, they’ve got to wear their colors. It’s a pride thing. And we’re a mighty prideful bunch. Any MC in SoCal has the same policy, if that helps. My guess is it’s the work of vigilantes. Probably some do-gooder Christian group.”

“Thanks for the tip, Navarro. I’ll stake out the local churches and look for Harleys.”

“Anything else?” Crip asked.

He folded his arms in front of his chest and shook his head. “Calle 18 doesn’t give a fuck about the deceased, Navarro. Hell, they can replace ‘em in ten minutes with a few more volunteers from Tijuana. Rumor on the street, however, is that they aren’t too fucking happy about the missing dope and money, though.”

Crip shrugged. “Don’t imagine they are.”

“My concern isn’t so much with the deceased, it’s with what might happen up the Calle 18 food chain,” the detective said. “This could very possibly start a war.”

Crip cocked an eyebrow. “With the Christians?”

“With whoever took the fucking money, Navarro.”

“I’ll let you know if I see any bikers spending money frivolously,” Crip said.

The detective looked at me, and then at Crip. “You do that.”

“Sure will, detective. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got to get busy wreaking havoc on the city.”

“I’ll let myself out.”

He turned around and walked to his car, and then left.

“Holy shit,” I said. “My asshole is tighter than a nun’s twat.”

Crip looked at Pee Bee, and then at me. “You didn’t mention any money.”

“We didn’t take any,” I said. “Or any dope. Left it right there where it was.”

“Who was the last one out of the house?” Crip asked.

“Smoke,” I said. “I think.”

“No,” Pee Bee said. “He was outside with me.”

“Not sure who it was,” I said. “Not really.”

“How much dope, and how much money are we talking?”

“From what was out in the open, I’d say three kilos of smack, and fifty grand. Maybe more.”

He looked at Pee Bee.

“We talked about it, Boss. Decided taking it wasn’t worth it. With them being Calle 18, and all, the risk was too big. I didn’t count it, but it was a good-sized pile. Could have been a hundred grand for all I know.”