2nd Chance - James Patterson [31]
The three of us crowded into the small interrogation room facing Richard Earl Evans. The creep leered up at us with a smug grin, sleeves of tattoos covering both arms. He wore a black T-shirt with block letters on the back: “If You Can Read This… the Bitch Must’ve Fallen Off!”
I nodded, and Cappy freed him from the cuffs. “You know why you’re here, Mr. Evans?”
“I know you guys are in deep shit if you think I’m talking to you.” Evans sniffed a mixture of mucus and blood. “You got no teeth in Vallejo.”
I raised the bag of dope. “Santa seems to have brought you a lot of naughty toys. Two felonies… still on parole for a weapons charge. Time at Folsom, Quentin. My sense is you must like it there, ’cause next time up, you qualify for the thirty-year lease.”
“One thing I do know”—Evans rolled his eyes—“is you didn’t drag me all this way for some two-bit weapons rap. The sign on the door says Homicide.”
“No, big fella, you’re right,” Cappy injected. “Tossing your sorry ass in jail on a gun charge is only a hobby for us. But depending on how you answer a few questions, that weapons rap could determine where you spend the next thirty years.”
“Pupshit,” the biker grunted, leveling his cold, hard eyes in his face. “That’s all you assholes got on me.”
Cappy shrugged, then brought the flat end of an unopened soda can down hard on the biker’s hand.
Evans yelped in pain.
“Damn, I thought you said you were thirsty,” Cappy said contritely.
Red leered at Cappy, no doubt imagining running over the cop’s face with his bike.
“But you’re right, Mr. Evans,” I said. “We didn’t ask you down here to go over your current possessions, though it wouldn’t take much to hand your sorry ass right over to the Vallejo police. But today could work out lucky for you. Cappy, ask Mr. Evans if he’d like another drink.”
Cappy feinted, and Evans jerked his hand off the table.
Then the big cop opened the can and placed it in front of him, grinning widely. “This all right, or would you prefer a glass?”
“See,” I assured him, “we can be nice. Truth is, we don’t give a shit about you. All you have to do is answer a few questions and you’ll be headed home, compliments of the SFPD. You never have to see us again. Or we can lock your three-time-loser ass on the tenth floor for a few days until we remember we got you here and notify the Vallejo police. And, when it comes to a third felony offense, we’ll see about just how much teeth we really have.”
Evans ran his hand across the bridge of his nose, dabbing at the blood. “Maybe I will take a swig of that soda, if you’re still offering.”
“Congratulations, son,” Jacobi said. “That’s the first thing you’ve done that makes sense since we set eyes on you.”
Chapter 38
I LAID OUT A BLACK-AND-WHITE surveillance photo of the Templars in front of Red’s startled face. “First thing we need to know is where can we find your buddies?”
Evans looked up grinning. “So that’s what this is all about?”
“C’mon, sharp-as-nails,” pressed Jacobi, “the lieutenant asked a question.”
One by one, I spread on the table three more photos showing various members.
Evans shook his head. “Never ran with those guys.”
The last photo I put down was a surveillance shot of him.
Cappy reached out, all two hundred fifty pounds of him, and raised the biker by the shirt, lifting him out of his seat. “Listen, codshit, you’re only lucky we’re not concerned here with what you sorry bunch of losers got off doing. So act smart and you’ll be outta here, and we can go on to what we do give a shit about.”
Evans shrugged. “Maybe I did run a bit with them. But no more. Club’s disbanded. Too much heat. I ain’t seen these guys around here in months. They split. You wanna find them, start with Five South.”
I looked at the two inspectors. As much as I doubted whether Evans would actually turn over on his buddies, I believed him.
“One more question,” I said. “A big one.” I laid down the photo of the biker with the chimera jacket. “What does this mean to you?”
Evans sniffed. “The dude’s got bogus taste in attire?”
Cappy leaned forward.