Page 37 of Thick

“That is also correct.”

“When do you expect you’ll be presenting the DA with the contents of that notepad? How much time do I have?”

“I can drag it on for forty-eight hours before the informant will get suspicious. After he loses faith in me, he’ll certainly start talking to someone else. That, Mr. Navarro, is my only concern. If, and when, this information lands in the hands of another detective, you – and everyone else named in this notepad – are screwed.”

Filled with disbelief, and lacking any level of trust that the entire plan wasn’t a set up, I shifted my eyes from the detective to Crip.

“You’re going to trust this fucker?” I asked.

“Don’t have a choice,” Crip said.

“The hell you don’t.”

“What’s your suggestion?” he asked.

“I don’t have any fucking idea. But, a cop’s a cop,” I said. “Sound familiar?”

“Lift up your right shirt sleeve,” Crip said.

He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo I recognized as being the Navy SEAL Trident. He turned so Pee Bee could see it.

Crip glanced at each of us. “Look familiar?”

The detective’s involvement in the club’s activities, his provision of information regarding police investigations, and his assistance in getting me out of prison now made sense. There was one thing, however, that didn’t.

“If you two are SEAL brothers.” I glared at the detective. “Why the fuck did you arrest Crip for murder that day? Right here in the shop?”

He pulled his sleeve down and met my gaze. “Because this exact thing happened. Whipple came to me, complaining that his brother had come up missing. I tossed the complaint aside. He came to me again. I tossed it again. Then, he went to another detective. At that point, I had to act.”

“You expect me to believe that simply because you and Crip were SEALs that you’re going to let us slide on shanking a guy in the joint? I’m not buying it, detective.”

“Maybe this will help you understand,” he said. “There will always be predators, and there will always be prey. This MC is a predator. A necessary predator. Satan’s Savages are the prey--”

I choked on a laugh. “Holy shit. You just cleared everything up.” Sarcasm dripped from each word. “Want to come over for dinner?”

He glanced at each of us and then let out a long breath. “In the food chain, the grass feeds the grasshopper. The grasshopper is eaten by the snake. The snake is captured and eaten by the hawk. The hawk takes a shit from a tree branch and feeds the grass beneath him. The grass is fertilized by that hawk turd, and eventually grows enough to feed another grasshopper. The chain is endless. The Filthy Fuckers MC is my hawk. The members don’t fuck with anyone who doesn’t fuck with them. The only people who are dumb enough to fuck with you are clubs like Satan’s Savages – and a few others – who spend their spare time raping women, robbing gas stations, and cooking meth. They, gentlemen, are the prey.”

I hated to admit it, but his analogy not only made sense, I liked it.

A lot.

I nodded in acknowledgement of his statement. “Right now, you’re handing us a snake.”

“That is correct. A venomous snake.”

“Who’s the informant?” Crip asked.

“Darin ‘Gravy’ Wheatland.”

“Fucking piece of shit,” Pee Bee said. “You’re sure he raped that chick?”

“He’s even admitted it. It was the first step in him cutting a deal. According to some of the other Savages, it’s something he does with regularity.”

“That motherfucker,” Pee Bee said through his teeth. “I hate that son-of-a-bitch. I’ll take care of it. What are you going to do? Arrest me and stick me in jail with him?”

Crip shook his head. “You aren’t doing shit, Peeb. I’ll take care of it.”

The thought of going back to prison made me feel ill. Having my family living under the threat of prosecution – at the hands of a serial rapist – filled me with rage. Rage won the battle.