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Good old Roach. Too dumb to trust with anything important, and so I hadn’t, thank God. However, he was definitely the guy to handle the rough stuff – but there hadn’t been much of that the last three years. Not until the Fiona thing, which he’d botched.
“Good. Next question: that stripper that got shot last year. Was she your snitch?”
He sighed in resignation. “…yes.”
Shit.
“Did you get anything out of her?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Mostly just rumors and guesses.”
“Does the DEA have anything on her murder? Like who did it?”
“No.”
“So nothing to tie it to me or the club?”
“No.”
“What does the DEA have on me?”
“Just the pot. And the murder of those two robbers.”
I figured I could live with that.
“Well, that first one was self-defense, not murder. Plus, the other one got away,” I said in a cheerful voice.
“Yeah, right,” Eddie said, managing a bitter laugh.
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
I raised the bat. “You sure about that?”
“YES.”
“What about Dan Peters and the Richards PD? Anything on them?”
“I know you’re paying them off, but I don’t have any proof… except when they dropped off Fiona and Kade the other night.”
I figured I could live with that, too.
“You’re doing great, kid. Okay, next question: was Fiona snitching for you?”
“No.”
I swung the bat as hard as I could and cracked his busted leg.
“AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!” he screamed, and rolled over onto his side in agony.
“You want to tell me the truth?” I asked.
“I AM!” he screamed.
