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This is definitely dough boy douche’s work. And these guys are on someone’s payroll which shows me how gang shit’s allowed to go on here, more than it should.
The town isn’t that huge, it’d be doable.
“And yet,” Officer Fucking Idiot says, thumbing through an actual notebook. Pages are blank, but that’s how he got that name. “One Switchblade Gonzales”—I’m gonna fuckin’ bet that isn’t his real name, and this isn’t legal police business, though they could make it that—“mentioned you.”
“I don’t know anyone of that name.”
“Why are you in town?”
“Family and old friends. I’m from here.” They’d know that.
“Did you—”
“Enough.” Nadia’s voice makes them jump as she comes up and slips her fingers into the belt of my trousers. “He didn’t do anything.”
“He mentioned you too.”
“Know anyone by the name of . . . Switchblade Gonzales?”
She stares at me with such shock I almost laugh. “Do you mean Alfie Allen? That’s his skater name. He’s fifteen and probably saw us together. He’s in a class of mine. Now what’s this about? Why aren’t you looking for the person who broke a teacher’s arm and hurt her, instead of hassling innocent men.”
“Maybe you should finish up your business in town,” one officer says.
At almost the same time, Officer Fucking Idiot chimes in, “Don’t go anywhere. We might have more questions.”
“Go do your job,” says Nadia.
Before this can escalate into more of a three-ring circus run by fucking clowns, a nurse comes up. “Josie woke. She was asking for you.”
* * *
Nadie’s quite the force of nature not to be ignored when she wants to be. We’re both in the room with her friend who looks groggy from the drugs but not concussed.
I do lean into Nadia before she rushes up to Josie and whisper, “Innocent? That’s fuckin’ pushing it.”
“Shut up, Diego.” She takes her friend’s hand, the one that doesn’t wear a cast. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Jos. I should—”
“You didn’t do it. Don’t be worried. Besides,” she smiles at me, “you bought me a present to look at. I know he’s yours but it’s just looking.”
Okay, heat rises from under my shirt collar to the top of my head.
“And he blushes. So hot.” Josie half laughs, and I want to smash something to regain dignity and my enforcer creds. “It’s not your fault, Nadia. Plus, I’m out tomorrow. It’s an overnighter, but . . .”
“What?”
She looks at me, freckles standing out on her pretty face from being so pale. “Whoever it was had lots of tattoos.” Josie shifts her gaze from me to Nadia and back again, trying to sit up in the bed with the crisp white sheet. “The one who broke my arm, he . . . he was tall, big like you. Ugly, though.”
“Josie.” Nadia squeezes her friend’s hand and swallows. “It is my fault.”
“No, no, but he’s the one who asked about you that time. It wasn’t Mr. Gorgeous here. And they mentioned you.” She looks at me. “They said they were with you and wanted to know about the kid. That’s what they called Jay, the kid. And they said you needed Nadia’s routine so you could set up security. I asked them to describe you, said I know a couple of Diegos. But . . . they got it wrong.”
“Yeah, I’d . . . well, I’d never do that shit to an innocent person. Thanks for protecting your friend. What did the others look like?”
She looks down at the sheet and swallows. “There was one more guy . . . he didn’t touch me, didn’t speak, but he seemed in charge, and he had a full mask on.”
Something cold and familiar moves through me, and I ask, “Have the cops been to see you?”
“N-no. I wouldn’t tell them about the guy, though.” Now she’s looking right at me and understanding hits, like a bolt of lightning connecting the past to now. Not like they’re linked, but the feel of it, the betrayal.
