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• Classic-Fiction

“Well, that follows, doesn’t it. We’d never allow anyone to deal on our property.”

“Because this is your boss’s territory and he doesn’t appreciate the competition.”

She smiled. “There is no competition here, Detective.”

And that was the truth. Rehvenge was top dog. Period. Any two-bit ass-wipe trying to pass small loads off under the club’s roof got cracked. Hard.

“To be honest, I’m not sure how you’ve done it,” de la Cruz murmured. “There’s been speculation about this place for years, and yet no one’s been able to get probable cause for a search warrant.”

And that was because human minds, even those plugged into the shoulders of cops, were easily manipulated. Whatever was seen or talked about could be erased in the blink of an eye.

“Nothing shady happens here,” she said. “That’s how we do it.”

“Your boss around?”

“No, he’s out tonight.”

“So he trusts you to run his business while he’s gone.”

“Like me, he’s never gone for long.”

De la Cruz nodded. “Good policy. On that note, I don’t know if you heard, but there seems to be a turf war going on.”

“Turf war? I thought the two halves of Caldwell were at peace with each other. The river isn’t a divide anymore.”

“Drug turf war.”

“I wouldn’t know about those.”

“That’s my other case right now. We found two dealers dead by the river.”

Xhex frowned, thinking she was surprised she hadn’t heard about that already. “Well, drugs are a rough business.”

“They were both shot in the head.”

“That’ll do it.”

“Ricky Martinez and Isaac Rush. You know them?”

“Heard of them, but then both have been in the papers.” She put her hand on the copy of the CCJ that was neatly stacked on her desk. “And I’m a big reader.”

“So you must have seen the article on them today.”

“Not yet, but I was just about to take a break. Gotta have my Dilbert fix.”

“Is that the one about the office? I was a Calvin and Hobbes fan for years. Hated to see that stop and haven’t really gotten into any of the new ones. Guess I’m behind the times.”

“You like what you like. Nothing wrong with that.”

“That’s what my wife says.” De la Cruz’s eyes drifted around again. “So, a couple people said both of them came into this club last night.”

“Calvin and Hobbes? One was a kid and the other a tiger. Neither would have gotten past my bouncers.”

De la Cruz grinned briefly. “No, Martinez and Rush.”

“Ah, well, you walked through this club. We have a huge number of folks in here every night.”

“True enough. This is one of the most successful clubs in town.” De la Cruz put his hands in his hip pockets, his coat falling back, his suit jacket pouching out around his chest. “One of the junkies who lives under the bridge saw an oldish Ford along with a black Mercedes and a chromed-out Lexus leaving the area a little after those two got popped.”

“Drug dealers can afford nice cars. Not sure what to make of the Ford.”

“What does your boss drive? A Bentley, isn’t it? Or did he get a new ride.”

“No, he’s still got the B.”

“Expensive car.”

“Very.”

“You know anyone with a black Mercedes? ’Cuz witnesses also saw one hanging around the apartment Grady’s eagle jacket was found in.”

“Can’t say as I know any Merc owners.”

There was a knock on the door, and Trez and iAm came in, the two Moors making the detective look like a Honda parked between a pair of Hummers.

“Well, I’ll leave you all to talk,” Xhex said with absolute faith in Rehv’s besties. “See you at the funeral, Detective.”

“If not before then. Hey, you ever think of getting a plant for in here? Could make a difference.”

“No, I’m too good at killing things.” She smiled tightly. “You know where to find me. Later.”

As she shut the door behind her, she stopped fronting and frowned. Turf wars were not good for business, and if Martinez and Rush got done, it was a sure sign that in spite of the December weather, Caldwell’s underbelly was developing another heat rash.

Shit, that was the last thing they needed.

Vibrations coming from her pocket told her someone was reaching out