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There was a brief silence as we stared into each other’s eyes. A couple of unasked questions hung in the air:
Did the Midnight Riders catch up to the gunman?
And if they did, what did they do to him?
But Dan didn’t ask.
Why?
Because the fucker was letting me know two things:
Exactly how much he knew… which was everything.
And how much I was going to have to pay him off.
“You talk to Lou yet?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, I did. It’s been a rough night, we’re going to take his deposition tomorrow. You, too – just come by the station when you can, huh? And bring – what’s his name, Kade?”
I was in the clear as far as the shooting, but both Lou and Kade had shot the first Santa Muerte.
What was the last potential murder case you heard of where the cops let the two main suspects choose when to come in and give their depositions?
Yeah, I thought so.
But that’s how it works in Richards after two decades of Midnight Riders rule… and under the grasping hand of Dan Peters, Police Chief.
“We’re both coming in after I talk to Lou. Kade’s at the hospital right now with Benjy.”
“Terrible thing,” Peters clucked, and pumped my hand again. “Good to see you, Jack.”
“Likewise, Dan.”
My skin crawled as I walked away.
As far as bad guys go, I vastly preferred Lou to Dan Peters.
Lou was far more dangerous… but I like it when my adversaries can’t be bought or sold. Makes them more predictable that way.
6
Iwalked into Lou’s office. He was sitting in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, a cigar in one hand, his cell phone in the other.
“I told you five miles, you retard,” he snapped. “Five miles. Not till you got fuckin’ tired of walking.”
Jesus H. Christ.
He was discussing the disposal of a body out in the desert while he was fifty feet away from an active crime scene.
With virtually the entire Richards PD in the other fucking room.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” I hissed as I shut the door.
He looked over and made a face, like Don’t you fucking knock?
“I gotta go. Do what I told you, and don’t come back till you do,” he barked, then hung up and pocketed the phone.
“Are you… fucking… insane?” I bristled.
