A Delicate Matter. Don Easton

pay by then, we’ll put a couple of ’em in hospital for incentive. Might use the GDs for that, or maybe have a couple of our guys tag along. Then they’ll be given another couple days. After that, we won’t be so nice.”

      “You know where some of them live?”

      “Nah, but we’ll find them if need be.”

      “What if they really didn’t do it,” Jack said. “Did you consider that?”

      “Who the fuck cares? At least it’d send a message to whoever is doin’ it. Besides, it’s time the Cobras were taught a little respect. We’ll make them pay regardless — one way or another.”

      After hanging up, Jack reflected on his previous conversation with Isaac. I’m only authorized to watch from the sidelines. He gave a half smile. This could get interesting.

      Chapter Twelve

      Twenty minutes after speaking with Cockerill, Jack received a call from Connie.

      “Bad news,” she grumbled. “King demanded a lawyer immediately. I couldn’t get a word out of him. A search of his house didn’t turn up any guns. There was a little weed and coke for personal use, but that was it. The guy you call Weasel lives with him.”

      “What about his boat?”

      “The lab says the blood on the stern is fish blood. I had to cut him loose.”

      “Damn it.” Jack’s clenched his fist and had to make a conscious effort not to punch the wall in frustration. “What about the marks or scrapes on the engine cowlings?” he asked.

      “One scrape is fresh, but without the rock to match, it means squat.”

      “Son of a bitch.”

      “It doesn’t mean I’m giving up on him,” Connie said.

      Jack took a deep breath and slowly relaxed his fist, then stared at his fingers as he opened and closed them a couple of times. “He may wish he was still in custody,” he muttered.

      Connie became hostile. “What do you mean by that?”

      “Satans Wrath paid some of his guys a visit tonight. They’re blaming them for the rip and demanding payment.”

      “Oh.” Connie’s tone returned to normal. “I must be on the right track if Satans Wrath think they did it, too.”

      “Not necessarily.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Satans Wrath think the Cobras were involved because of what you told Larry. After you showed him the photos, he passed on the info to the Gypsy Devils, who then told Satans Wrath.”

      “That jerk! Wait’ill I get my hands on him.”

      “Don’t,” Jack replied. “If he knows we know, it could jeopardize my informant. Leave it for now.”

      “What are Satans Wrath going to do?” Connie asked.

      “They gave them until Saturday night to pay up. If they don’t … well, I think you get the picture. At that point a few of them will end up in hospital and the deadline will be extended for another two days.”

      “And if they still don’t come up with the money after the next two days, then what?”

      “Then I’m told that Satans Wrath won’t be so nice to them.”

      “Crap,” Connie muttered. “I’ve got more work now than I can handle. When did you find this out? Isaac told you explicitly —”

      “To watch from the sidelines. Yes, I know. I received the information from my informant right before you called me. I’m at home. It wasn’t like I was out investigating the Cobras. I simply heard about it.”

      “Oh.” Connie said. “Still makes me think the Cobras had something to do with the murder for Satans Wrath to become involved this fast.”

      “Possibly, but it was intimated the Cobras needed to be taught some respect. I think Satans Wrath are using it as an excuse — not that they need an excuse.”

      “The Anti-Gang Unit also told me that the Cobras move a lot of weed on the street, which supports my belief that King did it.”

      “Weed is everywhere,” Jack said. “You can get it by the truckload.”

      “Yeah. So how’s it going with your semi full of weed?”

      “I’m pretty much out of that one too,” Jack replied. “Drug Section is taking over the investigation and they’ll be working with the DEA. So far it looks like everything is going according to plan.”

      “That’s good.”

      “So what do you plan on doing about King?”

      “Forensics hasn’t finished,” she said. “We still have his boat and will be checking for DNA.”

      “They might have towed the body out.”

      “Gee, don’t you think I thought of that? We also found rags and rope in his boat and seized some dirty laundry from his room.”

      “So you’ll check for DNA, gunpowder residue, blood —”

      “Jack?”

      “Yes?”

      “I know my job,” Connie said firmly, “and to tell you the truth, I’m too tired and too busy to listen to you trying to tell me how to do it.”

      “I didn’t mean to be telling you how —” He quit talking when he realized she’d hung up. You think you’re tired and busy now? We’ve got the Cobras, Gypsy Devils, Satans Wrath … and me. Connie, your murder count can only go up.

      Chapter Thirteen

      It was 4:15 a.m. when Neal Barlow turned off the main highway to complete the last delivery of marijuana to his brother’s semi. He yawned as he glanced in the side mirror of his pickup truck — nobody following. The gravel road was narrow and without street lights. If anyone was tailing him it would be obvious. Not that he was concerned. To ensure he was alone, he’d already driven through several quiet residential areas after leaving the stash house.

      Minutes later, his senses came alive and he braked to a stop. A car was parked in the middle of the road with the driver’s door open and the interior light on. He rolled down his window and listened. The car’s engine was not running and he could see a toddler’s car seat in the back. Nobody appeared to be around. He tapped his horn, wondering if someone was slumped over in the car. It was then that he felt the muzzle of a pistol in his ear.