Note the sarcasm.
It’s time to skip over the detective work that takes forever and a fucking day to do and go with plan B.
I stride on up to the circle and pretend I’m part of the group.
“Stiles. What are you doing here?” Hank spots me, and his face turns about as red as a fifty-dollar hooker’s heels. Fine by me. I just so happen to be excellent at bluffing my way through shit.
“Hey, fellas.”
The rest of them turn and glower at me, except Jim Galley, who leaves the group to make a call. I, for one, have always scoffed in the face of intimidation.
“Heard a friend of mine was shot and killed this morning. Thought I’d check it out.”
This comment is two-fold. I’m letting them know that I know Donnie’s dead. I’m also flipping them the bird without actually flipping them the fucking bird.
Genius, right?
“Not sure what you’re talking about, Stiles.” Hank isn’t being flippant or pompous. He’s altogether emotionless, which wigs me out a little.
“The perp I dropped off last night. Don’t be coy, Hank.”
They all have blank looks on their faces and avoid giving me their full attention, but I’m not a fucking idiot, despite popular opinion. When no one offers up the obvious, I take it upon myself to stir the pot some more.
“Anyone wanna explain how Donnie Leary went from your capable hands to face down in the gutter this morning?”
My expression is rock solid, but inside, I want to break some bones.
There’s an exchanged look or two. A few hushed words between a couple of them. The circle of secrecy is eventually broken, though, when Hank decides to make an attempt at explaining the situation.
He starts with a shrug. “Kid left the precinct before we could book him.”
“Officially,” Jim adds, ending his call and joining us again.
“Officially, huh?” That must be cop talk for we lost him.
“That’s right.” Hank and Jim exchange smirks.
“Who’d he leave with?” I take out the notebook and pen I keep on me at all times.
“No idea,” Jim informs me. “Wasn’t there.”
I nod like I believe his load of crap. “Really. You all weren’t curious as to who was taking this vicious murdering piece of shit off your hands you’ve been searching for, what, half a month?”
A scrawny little fucker, who probably doesn’t know a conspiracy theory from the hole in his ass, pipes up, “Not our problem anymore.”
Chris Kingsley has been on the force for about five years now. Thinks he’s tough shit, but I saw him get his ass whooped in the ring by a first year a few months ago down at the gym where all the men in blue hang out. He wasn’t there last night when I dropped Donnie off. The fact that he’s here now with Hank and Jim tells me he knows something, though.
“Yeah,” says another one. I think I know him, but I can’t remember his name. Must not be that important. “And why do you care anyway, Stiles?”
He knows me, though. Duly noted.
“Yeah,” Hank tries to be the comedian. “You got paid. Your job is done. Why don’t you go on home and drink another pint of tequila, buddy? We got this.”
He laughs as do the rest of the asshats congregated here today.
“Kiss my ass, Riley.”
He takes a step toward me, but Jim stops him with a classic hand to the chest move. Like that shit’s supposed to send me a message or something.
“Jackie?”
The annoying, brotherly cry for my attention sends my mojo into a screeching halt just as I’m about to take my interrogation in a new direction.
Perfect.
I wait, patiently, for a good enough reason for being here to pop into my mind. There is none. So I guess I’m wingin’ it.
When I turn, I’m met with folded arms and a scowl that could put Ma’s to shame on a good day.
“‘Sup, bro?” I smile. I make nice. It’s my thing.
Nick’s eyebrows couldn’t get any closer if they were performing some kind of kinky mating ritual, but before he questions me, he scans the crowd I’m hangin’ with, slow and deliberate like.
“What’s going on?”
“You know.” I give Jim the old side-eye. “Just shootin’ the shit with the boys. Right, guys?”
I twist my neck around, and Jimbo is already walking away again. Must have a shit-load of calls to return today. The rest of the group straightens up, and they each give a respectful nod to my big brother.
Me? I’m still trying to figure out who done it. The only thing I know for certain is Jim Galley is a lying sack of rotten fucking potatoes.