by Lynne, Carol
Solo cocked his head to the side. “You doubting me, Blue?”
“At this moment, I doubt everything,” Eric confessed. He’d been disillusioned by his career, and Solo had become emotionally walled off. How could he feel otherwise?
Solo sighed and stared at the sheet of paper in his hand. “Is this address going to be a deal breaker for us?”
Eric shook his head. “No, but pulling away from me will be.” He settled his hands on his hips. “I need the dealer away from the school, and I need to give my captain something that tells him I’ve done my job. But, the way I’m feeling right now, I’m not even sure I want the job I’ve been trained to do. Maybe I’d be better off resigning. Hell, maybe it’s time to make that move to Washington.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, his frustration level greater than it had ever been. “I get why you can’t let your brothers know you’re gay, but they aren’t standing in my kitchen.”
“I can live through the beat down the brothers will give me. It’s the fact that you’re a cop that’ll get me killed,” Solo replied. “You’re not the only one questioning things. Unfortunately, you don’t risk losing your life by making a career change. So excuse me if I’m not all fucking rainbows and sunshine this morning.”
Shocked by the knowledge, Eric moved to press himself against Solo’s chest. “They’d kill you?”
Solo kept his arms at his sides. “It’s a possibility.” He took a step back, putting distance between them. “I need to get my head on straight, and for that to happen, I need to go.” He kissed Eric’s forehead before handing him the piece of paper. “You can deal with finding Easy Ed. I’ve got another lead on a dealer I’ll check out.”
Eric clutched the paper to his chest. He knew what giving up the address meant for Solo. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Solo nodded. “I’d appreciate it.”
Before Eric could say anything more, Solo turned and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door closing.
“Fuck!” Eric kicked one of the kitchen chairs, sending it skidding across the floor. After the best night of his life, he was losing everything he’d ever wanted.
* * * *
After stopping by his trailer for a quick change of clothes, Solo entered the clubhouse. He’d called Rowdy earlier and immediately spotted his friend waiting for him in their usual booth. “Coffee,” he told the prospect behind the bar.
“How’re you doing?” Crane asked.
“Grouchy as fuck,” he growled. The kid was loyal and pleasant to be around. Solo had no doubt the prospect would become a full patched member of the club before long.
Solo wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Walking away from Blue had gutted him, but he didn’t see a way around it. For a moment, he’d considered urging Blue to quit the force. In the end, Solo knew he didn’t have the right to involve himself in a decision like that anymore than Blue had a right to ask Solo to leave his brothers and the club.
Solo carried his coffee to the booth and slid in, back to the wall. “Hey.”
“Someone shit in your cornflakes this morning?” Rowdy asked, setting his phone down.
“Is Roach working today?” Solo refused to discuss his personal life with Rowdy. Yes, Rowdy was his best friend, but he already knew the man didn’t approve of his relationship with Blue.
“No,” Rowdy answered. “He’s off today. He was here last night drinking and fucking, but he left around two.”
Without Harold to chase down, he had only two options, Roach or Marco. He wasn’t a pussy by a long shot, but going into the Devil’s territory to question Marco was a bad idea. The two clubs were not friendly, and Solo knew anything he did to Marco would come back on the Diggers ten-fold. It was the way of clubs. He set down his coffee and fisted both his hands, checking to see if his wounds would hinder his ability to fight. Confronting Roach wouldn’t happen without a backlash from the man in one form or another, and he wasn’t stupid enough to get into shit like that if he couldn’t handle himself.
“I got your back,” Rowdy said, evidently reading Solo’s mind.
Solo’s prepaid cell phone rang, drawing his attention immediately. There was only one person who had his new number. “Yeah,” he answered.
“No luck getting anything out of Harold. He’s dead and from the smell, I’d say he’s been that way for at least a day,” Blue informed Solo. “I just called it in.”
“How?” Solo asked. The state of the body would tell him a lot about who did the deed.
“Shotgun blast to the chest. Either that or someone set off a small bomb inside the guy, because shit, it’s bad.”
Solo released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Roach’s weapon of choice was a wicked-looking hunting knife he kept strapped to his leg. Which meant, either Easy Ed killed his own brother or Marco. “I need to find Easy Ed.”
Solo noticed the grim expression on Rowdy’s face, but continued. “That okay?”
“I thought you didn’t know where he lived. You’re holding back on me,” Blue accused.
“No, I’m not. I know where he hangs.” Bright sunlight hit Solo as the front door swung open. Roach. “Gotta go. I’ll call ya later.” He hung up before Blue could sign off and glanced at Rowdy. “Harold bit it from a shotgun to the chest.”
“Not Roach then,” Rowdy surmised.
“Right, but I wonder if Roach’s heard anything about it.” Solo slid out of the booth and carried his empty coffee cup to the bar where Roach had taken a seat. Roach was a squirrel, a term the brothers used to describe someone who was small and thin but would hurt you before you had a chance to hurt him. He was crazy and unpredictable on a good day. Unfortunately, from Roach’s bloodshot eyes to the dirty clothes he’d obviously worn the day before, it didn’t appear to be a good day.
“Hey,” Solo greeted Roach while sliding his cup toward Crane. “Another,” he told the prospect.
Roach lit a cigarette. “Coffee with a shot of Jack.” He grinned up at Solo but didn’t meet Solo’s gaze. “Hair of the dog.”
Solo took the refilled cup from Crane before returning his attention to Roach. There was something off about the brother. “Bring that over and sit with me and Rowdy.”
“Can’t. Gotta see someone,” Roach said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Who?” Solo noticed the way Roach’s hands shook. The asshole was either tweaking or in need of his next fix, so he had a good idea of where Roach was going.
“Just a friend.” Roach finished the coffee and Jack in one gulp even though the shit had to have burned his throat on the way down. He nodded to Solo. “Catch ya later.”
Solo watched Roach leave the clubhouse before turning to Crane. “Where’s he getting his shit nowadays?”
Crane dunked Roach’s cup in a sink of soapy water. “Haven’t heard.”
Solo knew Crane was full of shit. Always in the background, the prospect was the eyes and ears inside the club, reporting only to Switch. Yeah, if Solo wanted to know what Crane knew, he’d have to go through the Prez to get it. He slapped the bar. “Thanks.”
Solo walked back to the table. “Is Switch in his office?”
“Yeah, got in a while ago. Why?” Rowdy asked.
“I need to touch base with him.” Solo left his coffee on the table and strode to the large room used for church and Switch’s office. He knocked on the door and waited.
“Yeah,” Switch’s deep voice called.
Solo opened the door. “Got a minute?”
Switch threw down a pen and leaned back in his chair. “How’re the arms?”
“Painful.” Solo entered the room and shut the door. “I think I screwed up two of my tats and my bottom rocker’s going to need to be repaired.” He turned around and showed Switch the patch on his lower back that read Albuquerque. “You think Marlene can fix it for me?” Solo loved Switch’s old lady, and she was damn good at sewing.
“I’ll call her
,” Switch offered.
“Thanks.” Solo sat in one of the empty chairs. “I need to talk to you about what’s going down at Turner.”
“Okay.” Switch swung his feet up on the desk and crossed his ankles. “You get it taken care of?”
“I don’t know. It turns out, the dealer I spotted outside the high school was Easy Ed’s brother,” Solo began.
“Was?”
“Yeah.” Solo tried to remain calm. Telling Switch that he got the information of Harold’s death from his cop lover wasn’t an option. “Cops found him dead. His chest was ripped open by a shotgun blast.”
Switch’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up. “Easy?”
Solo shrugged. “I don’t know. When I talked to Stevie Boy about who was selling dusted weed, he gave me three names, and Ed was one of them.” He sat forward in his chair and leaned his forearms on his thighs. “So was Roach.”
Solo had put off talking to Switch about his brother because he wanted to approach Roach first. Unfortunately, it seemed Roach was into using his own shit. Weed had never been a problem for the club. Hell, even Solo had enjoyed the mellow high weed provided, but hard drugs made a man untrustworthy, and they all knew it.
Switch ran his hand over his long beard in thought for several moments. “Are you accusing Roach of selling at Turner?”
“No.” To formally accuse Roach of such a thing, Solo would need proof to take to the other brothers at a formal church meeting.
“I saw Roach a few minutes ago, and asked if I could talk to him, but he left before I got the chance. Seemed to me he was coming down and needed a fix.” Solo let the words hang in the air, knowing a shitstorm could rain down on him at any moment. “I’d like to find out where he’s getting the meth.”
Switch continued to stare at Solo. Finally, after several uncomfortable moments, he sighed. “Easy Ed.” He pointed his finger at Solo. “Roach doesn’t use guns and you know it, so I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but he isn’t involved with the shit that went down with Easy’s brother.”
“I hope not,” Solo replied. “But we’ve still got a dealer out there who’s dusting their product with poison, and if I find out Roach had anything to do with it, I’m not going to spare him anything.” He held up his hands before Switch could jump down his throat. “I’ll bring it to church, but I won’t look the other way. You know how I feel about drugs and kids.”
Switch dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “As far as I know, Roach isn’t dealing.”
“Then why’d Stevie Boy name him?” Solo asked. Was it possible he’d been lied to? Had Stevie tried to throw Solo and Rowdy off the scent by naming Roach?
“Maybe another visit to Stevie’s in order.”
Solo got to his feet. He wanted to talk to Easy, too, but he’d swing by Stevie’s on the way because no matter what, he trusted Switch’s instincts. “I’ll call you.”
“Be safe, brother,” Switch called as Solo left the office.
Solo stopped at the table and stared down at his cold cup of coffee before regarding Rowdy. “Feel like taking a ride?”
Chapter Six
While the crime scene unit processed Harold’s living room, Eric wandered into the bedroom. Wearing a pair of blue latex gloves, he pulled open the bedside drawer and began to search its contents. He grimaced as he moved aside two extra-large boxes of condoms. Harold had not been an attractive man even before his chest had been introduced to both barrels of a shotgun, so he couldn’t imagine what kind of females the vermin attracted.
The rest of the drawer contained drug paraphernalia, a couple of nudie magazines and a tube sock that was as stiff as a board. Disgusting. Eric swallowed the threatening bile before it could work its way further up his throat. He’d been right, no way was Harold a fuck machine like the boxes of condoms suggested.
Eric picked up one of the boxes and began to examine it further. Instead of happy times in a foil packet, he found a bag of white powder with a small black X on the corner. “Shit.” He searched the second box and whistled as he pulled out a roll of cash.
Eric turned and headed for the living room when a hard-core gangsta rap song began to play. “Phone?” he asked one of the technicians.
The thirty-something woman gestured to a bagged cell phone on the kitchen table.
“Can I answer it?” Eric asked.
“Keep your gloves on.”
The ringtone cut off before Eric reached the phone. “Fuck.” He doubted he’d get any information from the caller anyway, but at least he now had a record of the person’s phone number. With luck, the call hadn’t originated from a burner or public phone. After shaking the phone from the bag, he noticed Harold had five messages, which made sense since the guy’d been dead for a while. Unfortunately, Harold’s piece of crap wasn’t a smart phone, which made sense given the fuckwad who’d owned it, but it meant he had to put in a four-digit pin number before he could retrieve the messages. There were tech guys at the station who could probably bypass the pin, but he wasn’t one of them. He settled for scrolling down the list of recent calls and wrote down several numbers, noticing most of the incoming calls had originated from three different numbers.
Using his own phone, he called the station. “Yeah, this is Detective Eric James.” He rattled off his badge number. “I need names and addresses to go with three phone numbers ASAP.”
A beep sounded in his ear, and he pulled the phone away long enough to see Solo’s burner number appear on the display. He gave the officer the numbers in a rush. “Call me back at this number when you have something for me.”
By the time he ended the call with the station, Solo had hung up without leaving a message. His day just kept getting better and better. He retreated to the bedroom and called Solo.
“Hey,” Solo answered, his voice deep and sexy.
“Sorry. I was on the phone with the station. They’re checking out three numbers I found on Harold’s cell.” Eric held back the information about the money and drugs for the moment.
“Rowdy and I are on our way to see Stevie Boy. Hopefully, we’ll get Easy’s address. If not, maybe we’ll get lucky and one of the numbers you’re tracing will lead us to him.”
For some reason, Solo’s assumption that Eric would just hand over information bugged him. Eric stared at the cash and drugs still sitting on top of the bedside table. “Depends on what I find. I can’t allow you to fuck up a police investigation, or both our asses will be in a sling.”
Eric was met by complete silence for several heartbeats.
“Sorry to bother you. I was under the impression we were working together. My mistake.” Solo hung up without giving Eric a chance to say anything.
Eric tried to call Solo back twice with no answer. On his third attempt, his call went straight to voicemail. Before shoving his phone back into his pocket, he took a few photos of the drugs and money. Satisfied, he returned to the living room. “When you finish up in here, there are a couple of items on the bedside table I need you to bag and tag.”
The same woman he’d spoken to earlier rose from her position on the floor. “We’ll process that room next.”
Eric nodded. “I’ll need to know as soon as possible what the white powder is.” He left the house and headed to his car to write up his notes. The only time he wished he had a partner was when it came to paperwork.
By the time his phone rang, he’d finished typing his statement. “James,” he answered.
“Where’d you get those phone numbers?” Captain Wallace asked.
“In my murder victim’s phone.” Eric set his laptop in the passenger seat. He could tell by his captain’s tone of voice that something was seriously wrong. “Why?”
“One of the numbers is registered to Jim Sparks. I did some digging and discovered the phone itself is Andy’s.” Wallace made a disgusted noise. “The chief wants us to bury the number. I know it goes against everything we believe in, but unless we both want to land in the middle of an Internal Affairs investigati
on, we’re going to have to do what we’re told.”
“That’s bullshit!” Eric screamed, slamming his fist against the steering wheel.
“I hear ya, but for now, concentrate on the other two, an Edward Sterling, the victim’s brother, I assume, and a Steven Boyd.”
“Shit. I’ve heard of those guys. Can you text me their addresses?” Eric started his police-issued sedan. Before Solo had hung up on him, he’d mentioned that he and Rowdy were going to visit Stevie Boy. Eric would bet his badge that Stevie Boy and Steven Boyd were the same person.
“Yeah, coming to you now,” Wallace said. “Want backup?”
Eric couldn’t ask for backup if Rowdy and Solo were already at Stevie’s place. “Let me check it out first. If it looks like he has company, I’ll call it in.”
Eric prayed his captain would agree with his plan because he had no doubt there’d be nothing but trouble if anyone else found two outlaw bikers in the home of a drug dealer, especially one with ties to a murder victim. Despite what he told his captain, Eric had no intention of calling for backup, at least not from the police department.
“Check in,” Wallace ordered.
“I will.” Eric ended the call and immediately tried Solo. When he was told to leave a message without the phone ringing, he knew Solo had the damn thing turned off. “It’s me,” he said when he was prompted to leave a message. “I’m on my way to Stevie Boy’s on official business. If you’re there, you need to leave before I get there.”
* * * *
Solo couldn’t help but grin at the makeshift repair to Stevie Boy’s front door. He knocked even though it was perfectly obvious he could open the door on his own with only the slightest push.
“Come in,” a voice called from the ground floor apartment.
Solo exchanged glances with Rowdy. “You think his lazy ass’s still in bed?”
Rowdy shrugged. “You did work him over pretty good.”
Solo opened the door and stepped into the darkened interior. The smell was worse than the last time they’d visited. “Jesus Christ! Open a fucking window or something,” he said, waving his hand in front of his face.
