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“Well, I suggest you save your energy for fighting each other though.”
They both stop and look at me. Their faces full of their buddy’s blood. Teeth bared like rabid animals. “No,” Dog snarls.
“Well, like I said, only one of you is walking outta here,” I say with a shrug. “After you tell me what I want to know.”
“What the fuck do you want to know?” Dog hisses. “Is this about that old timer at Rocky’s bar?”
“That old timer is my old man, asshole,” I snap.
Realizing his mistake, Dog holds up his hands. “We just did what we were paid to do. We have no beef with you or your father.”
“Well now you do,” I remind him.
“We just did what we were asked.”
“By who?”
“We don’t know the guy’s name,” he insists.
“Then it looks like neither of you will be walking out of here,” I say, raising my gun and aiming it at his head.
Aaron ducks behind Dog as though that might save him. I shake my head in annoyance. What a pair of fucking clowns. I could take them both out before they take their next breath.
“I can give you his number. He texted us,” Dog says.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“It’s in my phone,” he nods to the leather jacket near the bonfire.
Alejandro steps forward and picks it up.
“Left pocket,” Dog says and Alejandro reaches gingerly inside before pulling out an old Nokia phone. He hands it to me.
“What’s your password?”
“One eight four six,” he says, wiping some blood from his cheek. “Check my last messages. They’re from your guy.”
I open the phone and scroll to the messages and sure enough there are a number of texts discussing my father’s attack, including the instructions to make sure that he survived and that he was told I was the man responsible.
“How did he pay you?”
“Cash. Left it in a plastic bag on our porch,” Aaron replies.
“But you didn’t see him?”
“Nope,” Dog says with a shake of his head. “If you text him, though, tell him you have something you need to talk to him about, he’ll meet you. I’m sure of it. Guy was getting twitchy as hell these past few days. He even called to make sure we’d told the old guy about his son beating him up.”
“You spoke to him?” I frown as I continue flicking through the messages.
“Yeah. Couple of times.”
“What did he sound like?”
“I dunno. A guy?”
“Did he have an accent?”
“No he spoke English, just like we do,” Dog says with a shrug. Fuck me, he is thick as pig shit.
