Walker was standing in the locker room of his gym, side to the door so he could see if someone came in. Dewey was hidden by the lockers. At the best of times, he wouldn’t be seen with Dewey, they were tight, or as tight as anyone could be with Dewey, but the kind of stink Dewey produced had a tendency to make anyone reek. But considering they were both ex-cons, he definitely shouldn’t be seen with Dewey.
But he had to meet Dewey and Dewey had just two minutes ago shoved himself through the window so he was with Dewey even though, at this moment, he did not want to be because two seconds after he shoved himself through the window, he’d launched into his bullshit excuses.
“Haven’t heard from you in weeks, Dew, no return texts, no return calls and now your cell says disconnected. Don’t like that shit. Don’t like finally hearin’ from you only for you to spout shit. And don’t like givin’ you twenty-five K for six weeks of nothin’,” Walker told him.
“Had to ditch that phone, Ty.”
Jesus. Nothing had changed. Dewey changed phones like he changed underwear.
“Why?” Walker asked.
“They read it and hear it. I know it.”
Fuck. There it was. The reason why Dewey changed phones like underwear, paranoia. The brother thought cops had superhuman powers. This was because he got caught, sent down and he wasn’t smart enough to admit he got caught and sent down because he was a dumb fuck not because the cops had superhuman powers.
Dewey went on, “You know and I know that they know, you want somethin’, you’ll come to me and I’ll get it for you. They know we’re tight. They were all over me. I had to lay low.”
With waning patience, Walker reminded him, “Like I explained, Dew, you don’t do shit. You connect with brothers who will.”
“They see that shit too.”
“Bullshit,” Walker bit out. “You want it, you’re a fuckin’ shadow and none of your connections live in the light.”
Dewey pressed his lips together because Walker was not lying and he knew it.
Walker took a step toward him, not too far he couldn’t see the door but enough to make a point. “I need dirt,” he said low. “And there’s so much dirt on these guys, I should be up to my neck in it by now. This was not a hard assignment. This shoulda taken you a fuckin’ week, not six.”
“They aren’t exactly out in the open with their shit,” Dewey returned.
“And your connections aren’t gonna win citizen of the year either,” Walker shot back.
Dewey stared at him.
Then he said softly, “Ty, this really the way you wanna go? You push, they’ll push back.”
What the fuck?
“We’ve had this conversation, Dew.”
“But –”
“Don’t like repeatin’ myself.”
“Ty,” he took a step forward, “thinkin’ on this awhile, I don’t think it’s good, I didn’t then, I don’t now.”
“Right, then give me back my twenty-five K and I’ll find someone who doesn’t have a fuckin’ opinion.”
Dewey took two steps back and Walker stared him in the eyes.
Then he whispered, “Right.”
The fuckwad didn’t have the money. Six weeks, he’d pissed away twenty-five K. Walker half expected it, it was a risk he had to take because Dewey lived with his belly to the ground and he was connected to anyone from there to Denver who lived the same. Walker couldn’t shake his tail and make those connections; he needed a man to do it for him. That was Dewey. But his friend had fucked him, not altogether a surprise but that didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed.
“You sat a game,” he guessed.
Dewey pressed his lips together again.
Walker shook his head then said, “You owe me twenty-five large, Dew. You jacked me around for six weeks; you got half of that to get it back. You don’t, I’ll find you.”
“Ty –”
“Make no mistake, I’ll find you.”
Dewey nodded and didn’t say a word. He knew Walker would find him. He knew, they were tight or not, what Walker would do when he did. He also knew to avoid that. So Dewey sometime in the next three weeks would fuck over another fucking idiot to get Walker’s payback. The vicious cycle of the life of a stupid man addicted to fucking cards.
“I didn’t come empty, Ty. I got somethin’ for you,” Dewey offered.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Your tail is gone. Bad boys of Carnal PD are convinced five years not breathin’ free, hot snatch you got at home, you’ll do noth –”
He didn’t finish because his found his body twisted, slammed against the lockers, his feet six inches off the ground and Ty Walker’s big hand wrapped tight around his throat, his face an inch away.
“You do not call my wife hot snatch,” he growled into his friend’s face and Dewey instantly nodded as best he could with Ty’s fingers curled around his throat, cutting off his breath.
Ty dropped him and stepped back.