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“Can I shoot this bitch now?” Stinger asked, sounding bored.
I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. “Ooh, Stinger. Such a tough name for a sloppy wannabe gangster with terrible taste in motorcycles.”
“It’s because of my ink, ya dumb bitch.” He pointed to his cheek. “Dragonfly. Stinger. Get it?”
I shook my head. At times like this, I missed the state police. Because I had no doubt I would have won several free rounds of drinks in the “dumbest criminal” competition if I’d submitted this contestant.
“Dragonflies don’t have stingers,” I deadpanned.
He pointed to his face. “Yes, they do.”
“No, that’s a thorax, you ignoramus. Dragonflies can’t sting anything.”
“Fuck you, fuzz,” he spat at me while Grinder laughed behind me.
“I’m not a cop. Which is a problem for you. Because I’m not bound by the fourth amendment.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t need probable cause to shoot your ass.”
“Joke’s on you. We got the guns.”
“For now,” I said. “Why didn’t you just shoot Frank Gagnon? Would have been faster.”
Mitch leaned forward, pressing his palms flat against the table. “I’m not a violent man.”
I rolled my eyes. I loved it when these basic bitches lacked even fundamental self-awareness. “The gun pointing at me contradicts that statement.”
He ignored me, puffing himself up even more. “I would have shot him myself if I’d had the chance. I hated that do-gooder my whole life. I had a glass of my best whiskey the day of his funeral. He was always trying to do the right thing. You know what the right thing is? Making fucking money.”
Grinder laughed.
I glared at the idiot biker, then turned back to Mitch. “But tampering with brakes? That’s complicated. You really trusted these dufuses to pull it off?”
“That was a management call,” Mitch said curtly. Great. He confirmed he’s working for someone else. A few more minutes, and I’d be getting their socials and favorite colors. “I had my doubts.” He shrugged.
“I did it, didn’t I?” Stinger bragged.
“Yes, Norman. I guess you did. Did you enlist your uncle to commit this murder, or did you do it all by yourself like a big boy?”
He flinched almost imperceptibly, but I clocked it all the same. So Richard had been involved, or at least aware. It wasn’t confirmation. But I’d get that eventually.
“We have a lot of product to move before sunrise,” Mitch said. “Grinder, radio the other guys. Tell them to circle back.”
He turned to Stinger. “Management says shoot her. But don’t make a big mess. I’ve got work to do.”
Stinger laughed. “Sweet.”
He sauntered around the table, sliding the safety off as he did.Shit.Time to act. Run, jump, tackle him. Anything. Otherwise it was lights out.
He cocked the hammer and wrapped his left hand around the grip.
And then a deep scream echoed off the concrete walls. A war cry, really.
It was Paz. Running at me at full speed, yelling.
He hit me like a ton of bricks, sending us both flying as the gun went off. My head hit the cement floor, and his big body pressed into mine, shielding me.
