Page 87 of Existential
“Sound like something he’d do?”
“No way. That kid’s as meticulous as they come.”
“Exactly. I brushed it off, thought nothin’ of it, but then his attitude at the table flares up and I find out some other shit he’s been doing behind our backs, and I wonder—”
“Can he be trusted anymore,” Murphy finishes with a knowing nod. “I’ve got to admit, I felt a bit off when we were questionin’ Jessup. Right about the time he was swearin’ black an’ blue that he knew nothing about stoppin’ the gypsy girl, Digits stepped in and hit him one square across the jaw. Made the fucker black out.”
“Think he was about to let too much out?” King’s suspicion about Digits setting the cops on Dagne suddenly feels a lot more solid.
“I get that itch about it, yeah.” He regards me with hard eyes that have seen their fair share of trouble over the years. “What do you want to do about it?”
I sigh, leaning back in my seat and tapping my fingertips together. “I don’t know. I was hoping for some aged advice.”
“Watch what you’re callin’ me,” he teases. “I may be old …”
I chuckle. “You know what I mean.”
“Aye, I do.” He leans on one elbow, resting his head in his hand. “What’s your concern about confronting him?”
“We’ve got no bulletproof evidence. Just hearsay and gut feelings.”
“What kind of evidence would prove it, though?”
I twist in my chair, kicking my boots up on the desk. “Written. However it comes: emails, messenger, texts, phone records … whatever.”
“You want me to organize a tail for him?”
“How much will that cost?” Tails are always independent contractors. We don’t turn club members against club members on a suspicion.
“What about those guys King has in his pocket, those Butcher Boys?”
I shake my head. “Malice is out of the game. He’s talking about babies and shit with Jane. Bronx is too involved havin’ the trade in Kansas now. And Ty …” Actually. “I could ask him, I guess. Makes sense; he’s also a whiz with that kind of shit.”
“Sounds like you didn’t need my help after all.” Murphy straightens in his seat with a smile.
“I guess.” I lean forward on the desk, and put my head in my hands. “I don’t know, brother. I doubt myself too much these days; I needed someone to confirm I was doin’ the right thing, and you know I respect your advice.”
“I do.” He raps his knuckles on the front of my desk to get my attention. “Now tell me what the fuck you were thinkin’ trying to get in touch with your crazy fuckin’ mother.”
I laugh, leaning back in my seat and wonder where to start.
If I thought the club was a mess before, I could guarantee she would have made it look like nothing in comparison to what she would have stirred up.
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know about her,” I ask. “You knew Mom and Dad better then I did at that age. Give me a story about them.”
“Jesus, boy. Where do I start?”