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“All right then. Let’s call it a night,” Ace says just as a knock sounds on the door. “What the fuck is it now?”
McKenna pushes the door open and sends a small smile in Ace’s direction, but it’s her eyes that say more than that. “Sorry. You have a visitor.”
Ace is on his feet and marching toward the door quickly, the rest of us on his heels.
“Doherty,” he growls. “It’s late.”
Doherty nods and points a thumb toward the door. “Two detectives outside. Homicide detectives. They think at least one of your guys is responsible for the deaths of Frank and Ruth Braden.”
Ace scoffs. “What the hell would my boys have to do with that?”
Doherty shrugs. “I don’t know. But you should probably talk to them. Get ‘em off your back.”
“Thanks for the heads up, Sheriff.” He walks over to where the two detectives are waiting.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asks.
The taller detective steps forward. “We’re here to talk to you about the deaths of Frank and Ruth Braden.”
Ace scoffs. “What does that have to do with me?”
The detective shrugs. “We’re not sure. But we think you might know something that could help us solve this matter.”
Ace shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about it. You got a warrant?"
The detective shakes his head. “No, we don’t have a warrant. But we can get one if you don’t cooperate.”
Ace shrugs again. “I don't know anything about it. And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you.” He starts to walk back into the clubhouse, but the detective stops him.
“We can make this easy, or we can make it hard, Mr. Quint. It’s up to you.”
“You have my answer.” Ace pushes past the detective and goes back into the clubhouse.
The detective sighs and turns to his partner. “I think we’re going to need that warrant.”
Dix and I keep an eye on Doherty’s marked unit and the detective’s unmarked vehicle until the tail lights fade. Then we turn back into the clubhouse.
“We need to get this Nogales shit cleaned up quickly and quietly. Can’t fuck around with the cops watching our every move.”
And I have just the plan to end this war for good.
* * *
