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“I need to see them.”
“Nuh-huh. I’m not doing this today, Smith,” he gripes. “Pick someone else.”
“Please.”
Michael narrows his eyes. “I don’t like you.”
“Sure you don’t. But your kids like private school.”
“Let’s go,” he mutters. “Ruining my fucking day. I’ll have to skip lunch now. Probably dinner too.”
The CBPD booking cell holds exactly seven people... And today is my lucky fucking day. I grin when I see Don and Jose whispering to each other in the corner.
“Heard you got picked up for theft, boys,” I call softly, my tone a delicate blade, slicing through their tired expressions like a hot iron. “I came to bail you out.”
“Got a friend on the way,” Don tells me quickly, forcing a grin even as his face pales. “You don’t have to waste your time with us.”
I shrug. “I’m already here. It would be a waste to leave without you.”
“He already paid,” Jose curtly adds.
“No one else is coming,” Michael cuts in, then turns to me. “No one else has shown up to get them.”
“Good. Cuff them and put them in the back of a cruiser. We need to have a chat.”
Michael snaps his fingers. “Haskins, grab Stevenson and Barts. Tell them to give us a hand.”
“I’ll meet you on fourteenth and Main,” I mumble so only he can hear.
“We’re not going with her,” Jose argues as the massive Stevenson steps into the cell. “She’s gonna kill us.”
“I’d be pretty pissed off if I caught my significant other trying to steal a car, too,” Barts comments dismissively, though he fully knows what’s about to happen.
As they pass me, I lean into the Mal traitors and whisper, “Fight, rabbits. There’s not a cop in this town who isn’t on my payroll. They won’t help you.”
Michael Sharpe shows up at the parking garage thirty minutes after Lory and me with his usual mask on, fully covering his face. He’s pissed off. Not that I can blame him. Don and Jose kick at the back seats, cursing him so loudly we can hear them from the other side of the structure’s third floor.
“Can we make this quick?” he asks, already exhausted as he reaches us. “I’ll help you put them in the trunk.”
“That’s not the plan today,” I inform him. “You’ll be busy this afternoon.”
He sighs like I’m ruining his life, not just his day. “Why me?”
“You lost a gamble,” I state.
“I don’t remember the bet being an eternity of servitude,” he grumbles. “Will you just do the thing so we can get on with our day?”
I walk down the empty lane to the cop car. I open the back door, propping my hip against it, and the traitors still. In the hierarchy of how the Maldonado Cartel runs, these two are comparable to mosquitoes.
Their absence won’t be noticed, and their presence won’t be missed.
“I wish I could say I’m hurt or even shocked over your poor life choices, but I’m not,” I tell them.
“Juan forced us,” Jose spills.
“They planned that spiel on the way here,” Micheal mentions from a few feet behind me. “Now you know they’re lying.”
“No,” Jose argues. “It’s true.”
