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I’ll be the judge of that.
“What’s the name of the place?” I asked.
He peered closer at the screen. “Don’t know, but I’ve got a work number here.”
“Do a search.”
He shot me a look. He resented my tone – a biker and strip club owner telling the Chief of Police to do an internet search, like a common errand boy – but I was in no fucking mood to play nice and pretend he wasn’t my bitch.
You take my money, Dan, so bend the fuck over.
He finally turned back to the computer and did the internet search.
“Abrams Private Investigations… Sid Abrams. She’s not even listed on the site. File girl, I’ll bet. Or maybe a shutterbug. Is she hot?”
“What does that matter?”
“If she’s hot, she might be a honeypot. Bait for married guys getting a little on the side. Whore,” Peters snarled, like he’d already made up his mind what she did on the job.
As a corrupt and greedy chief of police, Peters was useful – but he could be stupid as fuck. Because that’s what writing off somebody without getting all the facts was: stupid as fuck.
Everything started to click into place. That kung-fu shit she pulled on the ass-grabber at the Veils last night… angling for a job in my club… shacking up with Jack within days of getting into town…
If she wasn’t on the PI website, it was possibly because this Abrams guy didn’t want people to know she existed.
Fuck.
This girl was trouble. She was smart. Good in a fight. She had PI training and a game plan, which she’d executed perfectly up until now. And she was determined to find her cousin’s killer.
She didn’t just have a dog in the fight, she had a goddamn Rottweiler.
What the hell do I do?
Options popped up lightning-quick, and I shot them down just as fast.
Kill her?
No. She’d probably told people where she was going and what she was doing. A drug addict getting shot in an alleyway is one thing, but a PI – and a relative – going to investigate and getting murdered? Beyond coincidence. Not even Peters could protect me if that shit got to the Feds.
Make her ‘disappear’?
No. Same problem. Plus, the media do love themselves a pretty little white girl who mysteriously goes missing. The story practically wrote itself: Los Angeles Woman Disappears While Investigating Cousin’s Death. Couldn’t take that chance.
Let her know that I know, and threaten her?
It would take her out of action temporarily, yeah, but it would just let her know she was on to something. And she’d know I was in on the murder. I didn’t see her giving up just because she couldn’t work undercover anymore.
Expose her to Jack?
Same thing. It would solve the immediate problem, but it wouldn’t necessarily break her. And it might raise some nasty questions with Jack.
Jack.
That stupid motherfucker, bringing a mole into the middle of my operation. The shithead didn’t even know what he’d done. Goddamn ignorant cocksucker was unfit to be the president of –
And just like that, the solution came into my head, wrapped up with a bow on Christmas morning, pretty as you please.
I just about jumped up from my chair.
