* * * * *
Ernie drove me back to the motel I was staying at. It had been a long night. We went into my room and as Ernie waited, I took a hot shower. My ribs were a bit sore from the beating I’d gotten from Bradshaw, but I was okay otherwise. After I was done cleaning up, Ernie told me to go over the complete story, straight from the beginning. I was hungry, so we decided to go to a local restaurant to get a bite, and I filled Ernie in on the details over a couple of burgers and some fries.
We sat in that restaurant booth for about an hour as I recounted everything that occurred the night before. After I was finished, Ernie sat there a minute and thought. Finally, he looked at me and spoke.
“First, you did right coming clean after being roughed up. You were in a no-win situation. The bastards had you by the balls and there wasn’t much you could do but roll over. I'd done the same
“That Bradshaw is a bastard. I'd love to nail his ass,” I hissed.
“Damnit, forget that kind of talk. Take my word, you got off easy. Every and I mean every cop organization has their Sgt. Bradshaws. Gettin' a beating from them is all part of the game and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. They're the law. They hold all the cards. Sure, you can sue afterwards and cause a stink, but the odds are you’ll lose, and if you have another run-in with them, you might wind up dead.”
He lit up a smoke, took a drag and then waved it at me.
“Don’t forget, we’re in this business for the money. And speaking of money, we need to find out where Eric Slatterson is right now. I got a feeling he’s going to need us, and we won’t come cheap.”
“Need us? Hell, I told you about hearing someone leaving the house right after the fight. There’s your killer. I bet the worse thing they can do to the kid is a possession rap. Slatterson needs a lawyer, not us.”
“Bullshit. You’re the only witness that can—even remotely—vouch for Sonny Slatterson. Unfortunately for the kid’s lawyers, you were working for his old man at the time. A prosecutor would have a field day with that fact, especially if they can’t locate anyone else to hang the rap on and decide to go for Sonny.”
He took a drag off his cigarette and went on.
“But that’s their problem, not ours. Take my word for it, no matter what they decide to do with Sonny, Old man Slatterson and his lawyers are going to need to keep us happy and employed, especially if the county decides to go after the boy. They’ll need us if only to dig up dirt on the broad and to keep your memory intact, if you know what I mean.”
I shrugged my shoulders, told him he was the boss and finished my fries.
Scrambled Hard-Boiled Page 25
