Of course, X was insane …
Jason ground his teeth as the doctor worked his narrow fingers, probing and pushing.
“Well, you’ve looked worse.” The old man’s voice was thin as a reed, but his eyes were clear. “Cracked ribs—again—and at least one that’s broken. Dislocation of the left shoulder. I can’t count all the contusions, but he went easy on your face this time. Kidneys are the worst. You’ll pee blood for a few days. Let me know if it lasts longer than that.” He cocked an eyebrow over the sharp, right eye, looking down until Jason nodded, then continuing in the same reedy tone. “Two broken fingers, a dislocated thumb…”
Jason closed his eyes as the doctor droned on.
He’d been here before.
He knew the drill.
In his cell sometime later, he remembered something X had called him.
An admirable man …
But Jason knew the deeper truth: that if he were truly that admirable, he’d have killed X then and there, for Tyra’s sake, if nothing else.
One more day and another night …
Jason shifted on the bunk, wary of the pain.
After that, the bastard dies …
32
In thirty years on the force, Bill French had faced a lifetime of short-cut lives and the disbelieving stares of those who’d somehow survived. What he’d learned in all that time was to watch the eyes, the eyes of the grieving child, the wife, the empty-handed lover. Some could accept the changes life had so cruelly wrought—roadside or blood-spattered, they gathered shards of hope as a child might gather shells. Others would never recover, and when that showed, it did so in the eyes, as well.
French didn’t like what he’d seen in Gibby’s eyes. They weren’t the warm eyes he knew so well, nor were they the thoughtful, deep ones, and not the kind or steady ones, either. Five minutes ago, eyes like that might have peered out from his son’s face, but not anymore. His eyes now were remorseless and unflinching.
Like Jason’s eyes, he decided, and not like Robert’s at all.
French was still at the table when headlights slashed through the window. He recognized the car; checked his watch. Outside, he found David Martin halfway across the driveway, looking haggard in the shadows. “Captain.”
“You know why I’m here?”
“I have a suspicion.”
“You’re lucky it’s not uniformed officers, cuffs out.”
They met on the bottom step, and French stuck out a hand. “It’s not exactly great to see you.”
Captain Martin grunted in agreement, and they shook. “You’re not on the top of my list, either.”
“He’s pressing charges?”
“Let’s talk inside?”
“Yeah, sure.” French led the captain into the kitchen. “Beer?”
“You have anything stronger?”
“You still like Macallan?”
“The twelve-year?”
“What honest cop can afford the eighteen?”
“You’re the only one I know.”
“Three hundred a bottle? No thanks. You think that’s why Martinez hates me?”
“Rich wife? Fancy house? Nah, nobody wants that.”
“Funny. Thanks.”
“He does want your job, though. He pretty much asked me for it.”
“Recently?”
“An hour ago.”
French made his own throat noise, then poured three fingers of scotch into a pair of cut tumblers, and gave one to the captain. Martin took a sip and made all the right faces: appreciation, contemplation. That lasted about three seconds. “Did you have to hit him so hard?”
French sat, and sipped, and shrugged. “He made my wife cry.”
“Martinez was right to come here, and was right to ask those questions. Gibby’s whereabouts and movements need to be accounted for, if only to rule him out as a suspect. It’s Cop 101.”
“Yeah, well. He was being an asshole.”
“Oh, an asshole?” The captain faked amazement. “No one told me that. Can you imagine the shock I’m feeling right now?”
“Now you’re being an asshole.”
“Only to make a point. Because I know you’ve pushed hard plenty of times, and suspect that what Martinez did was no different. Right or wrong, my friend, your son is in the thick of things.”
“Only circumstantially.”
“He knew Tyra and Sara. Your other son knew them, too, but that’s not the point. Or, hell, maybe it is. The only thing clear to me is that Martinez was doing his job. You were out of line to interfere, let alone lay him out on your kitchen floor.”
“Maybe.” Another sip. “But you didn’t see the pleasure he took in doing it.”
“You shattered his nose.”
“Worth it.”
“You also broke off two veneers.”
“That reminds me.” French fished in his shirt pocket, pulled out bits of fake teeth, and dropped them on the table. The captain turned a little green. French threw a leg up on the table beside them. Blue jeans. Nice loafers. “Will he press charges?”
“So far, he’s not … uh … amenable to letting you slide.”
“You don’t really believe Gibson has anything to do with this, do you?”
“Two days ago? No. Never. But now?” The captain spread his palms in a way French did not like at all. “Now, his brother’s back in town, and dealing guns. Gibby’s out all hours, and mixed up with another outlaw motorcycle club—”
“Just the Angels, and only the once.”
“A naïve kid trying to help his big brother. Yeah, you told me. But it’s not that simple anymore.” The captain pushed his drink to the side, his features serious. “The night we arrested Jason on weapons violations, we picked up one of the Pagans he’d been selling to. Darius Simms, some kind of shot caller. You heard of him?”
“He says Jason shot him in the foot and leg. I read the report.”
“Not all of it.”
The tone of his voice was not a good sign. “You held back on me?”
“I’m sorry, Bill. I had to. Gibby was there when Jason shot Darius Simms. He was in the room, an accessory.”
“Accessory to what?”
“Multiple assaults? Attempted murder? The DA has it under review, and is keeping his cards close. What we know for sure is that Gibby helped Jason carry off the guns and cash, and load it all in the van. And don’t argue with me, Bill. His prints are on the guns.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“It gets worse. He was seen at Sara’s condominium. Today. This morning. Martinez found a witness.”
“Who?”
“You know better than that, Bill.”
“How solid is the ID?”
“Bulletproof. I’m sorry…”
“Who is this witness?”
“Come on, Bill. I’m over the line even being here. You know that.” The captain reached for the drink, waiting for French to shake his head, and stare off into space. Seeing what?
His wife, when she heard?
The ruin this would cause?
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”