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“I didn’t know who the fuck you were when you woke me up with all that fuckin’ noise.”
He grunted. “You got any coffee?”
I yawned. “Do I look like I got any fuckin’ coffee?”
“I meant, you got a fuckin’ coffee maker?”
“In the kitchen. Make some for me while I go get dressed,” I said, and shuffled back to the bedroom.
When I walked back in the kitchen five minutes later, I still had the Glock tucked in the back of my pants. Just in case.
He was sitting at the kitchen table sipping on a cup. I poured myself a mug and sat across from him.
“Well?” I asked.
“Did you have anything to do with her murder?” he asked me, point blank.
“No, I did not,” I said, staring him dead in the eyes.
I’m a good liar. I don’t know if he bought it, but I sure as hell didn’t give him any reason not to.
“Can you think of anyone who might have had something to do with it?”
I sat back in my chair and pretended to ponder the question. “I seriously doubt it was the Feds, so… could’ve been a coke dealer. Somebody she owed money to.”
“Why would he kill her if he wanted money?”
“I know you’ve forgotten how this works, since the Riders have gone legit and all,” I said sarcastically, “but sometimes you write off a bad debt to send a message to all the other deadbeats.”
“How’d he know she’d be there?”
I shrugged. “Maybe he followed her.”
Jack glared. “That’s quite a coincidence, him following her to the exact place we were meeting.”
“Not really. If he couldn’t pop her at her place or the Veils, it might’ve been the first time he had the opportunity.”
Jack thought about that for a second. “Did you tell anybody else she was snitching?”
“No.”
“Do you think anybody could have overheard you at the Seven Veils?”
“Who, Peanut?” When Jack didn’t look amused, I sighed. “It’s possible, I suppose – but somebody could have just as easily overheard you at your shop and taken it upon themselves to remedy the situation. You got way more Midnight Riders workin’ for you than I got workin’ for me.”
He looked off in the distance. “I think we should tell Dan Peters our suspicions.”
“What the fuck for?!”
“Maybe it’ll give him a lead on who killed her.”
I wanted to say What the fuck for? again, but I didn’t think he’d take that very well.
Instead, I scoffed. “NO. If we’re gonna handle this shit, let’s do it internally. You get Dan Peters involved, he’ll have his sticky little fingers all over your wallet before you know it.”
“How are we going to handle it internally?”
“We make a list of the guys and find out where they were last night. Do our own investigation.”
