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Well, they’d definitely come into the wrong fuckin’ titty bar – but they didn’t stumble in by accident. The Seven Veils was known to every Santa Muerte in Southern California, because five of their men had gotten gunned down in the parking lot two decades ago. It was one of those epic stories in outlaw biker legend – not to mention that shooting had sent Lou to prison for five years. I could absolutely fucking guarantee that every single Santa Muerte foot soldier knew the Seven Veils, knew who ran it, and would have loved to burn it to the ground.
Stupid enough to stumble into the wrong fuckin’ titty bar, my ass.
“Was the shooter high on something?” I asked.
Dan looked confused. “What?”
“Was he high at the time? Did you do any blood tests?”
Dan gave me a smug little smile. “Well, as you know, we pretty much determined cause of death at the scene. Anything beyond that would just be a waste of tax payers’ money.”
Like you give a shit about tax payers’ money.
“What was his name?”
Dan gave me a blank look. “Who?”
Jesus Christ. “The shooter’s.”
There it was again – that little fleeting look of unease on Dan’s face. “Why you want to know that?”
“Because I’d like to know the name of the asshole who tried to kill Benjy.”
Dan waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t remember.”
“Well then why don’t you fucking look?” I growled, pointing at his computer monitor.
Even though I wasn’t the President of the Riders anymore, I was still a scary motherfucker. And Dan Peters was, at heart, a coward.
He swallowed hard, then turned to his computer and tap tap tap came up with a name. “Emilio Gonzalez.”
Emilio Gonzalez. I thought about going to see Benjy again. At least I could tell him the name of the guy who’d shot him, and assure him the asshole was dead.
Dan must have taken my brief silence for some kind of weakness, because he finally grew a pair. A small pair, anyway.
“If that’s all, Jack, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he snapped, the smiley bullshit a distant memory. “I got a busy day ahead of me.”
Figuring out how to squeeze the biggest bribe out of Lou, no doubt.
“Alright,” I said, then walked to the door without another word.
As I left, I glimpsed a brief, fleeting look of hatred on his face.
Good.
I vowed to see that look on his face as often as I could, until his sorry ass got fired. And hopefully thrown in jail.
And if he got shot, I wouldn’t mind that, either.
17
Icalled Kade once I got out to the parking lot. “What’s going on with Benjy?”
“He’s out of the hospital.”
“What? When the fuck did that happen?”
“While you were off exploring your Irish heritage over the last few days.”
