“I’m Fernando.”

Wait. According to gossip, I was immortal. He couldn’t kill me with a barbecue fork.

He then raised an eight-inch boning knife.

But a boning knife?

“I’m Charley.”

Desperately needing a shave, he wore his slightly graying hair in a ponytail and a bright Hawaiian shirt with an A-line tank underneath. The sun had made an appearance, but it was far from Hawaiian shirts and barbecuing weather. He was not what I’d expected.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He chuckled and turned a stack of ribs on the grill. Smoke billowed around him, and my mouth watered. Just a little. Not enough to openly drool.

“Are you going to check me for a wire?”

He chuckled once more. “I think Umberto covered that. I hear you think I killed Adams’s daughter?”

“I don’t anymore.”

He eyed me from over his shoulder and then motioned for me to sit at a patio table. “Good, because I didn’t. I threatened, of course, but only because he doesn’t know me well enough to know I would never do something like that.”

A group of kids ran out the door and past us, the girls screaming as the boys chased them with dirty hands.

“Abuelo!” one of the girls shouted. “Save me!”

“Ay, mi’jita. Stop that and get back inside.” They raced past us back in the house. “Sorry.”

I shook my head. “No problem. They’re adorable.”

“So,” he said, wiping his hands and sitting down next to me, “if you believe me, why are you here?”

“I was wondering about your men. You questioned all of them?”

“I did. None of my guys did it, and why would any other crew?”

“Are they here? Your men?”

He took a swig of beer. “My most trusted are here, but we have a very extensive network. To get all of them here would take a while. Umberto said you have a gift for extracting the truth out of people.”

“I do. Kind of.”

He leaned forward. “I do, too.”

I bet he did. “Would you mind if I questioned them? Your men?”

“All of them? Yes, actually. But only a handful knew what I’d said to Adams, and they would never speak of it outside the circle.”

He motioned for his men to come outside. It was clearly a day off. They were dressed casual, and each had a beer or chips in his hands.

“The Walking Dead,” he said.

I glanced around at the group of about seven men. Most of them were Hispanic, apart from one. “They look okay to me. Are you planning on killing them later?”

“The show. On TV. It’s a marathon. We’re celebrating.”

“Oh.” That made so much more sense than the scenario in my head.

“They’re all yours.” He said it with a smile that was about one-quarter smirk.

“Um, okay.” I stood slowly and leveled a hard stare on them.

Most of them tried not to laugh. One of them failed and got barked at. He straightened up immediately.

“Did any of you kill Emery Adams?”

Again, most of them just stood there, but one shook his head. Vigorously. Totally making fun of the whole situation.

I walked from man to man, pausing in front of each for a second and asking the same question before continuing to the next. I was certain they thought I was crazy, but I was good with crazy. I’d been called worse.

After getting nothing from any of the men that would suggest they’d done it, I said, “I assume you’re all captains.”

The clown punched the guy next to him on the shoulder. “El Capitán,” he said, and Fernando glared at him. He shut up again, but I was surprised the guy was still alive.

“My nephew. What can I do?” he said.

“Ah. Can I ask, just to make sure, who of you heard the threat—”

“Alleged threat,” Fernando said.

“—that Fernando made to Mr. Adams?”

After getting the okay from Fernando, two raised their hands. The other five had no clue. I dismissed them and then asked, “Are you sure you told no one? It’s just a very big coincidence that Fernando made the threat two weeks before Emery Adams was killed.”

“I don’t think you understand how this works,” one said.

He was the big one who’d shown me to the backyard. The other one was younger and had a humble and yet terribly handsome face. He probably grew into his looks and into his position with the family. He wasn’t nearly as cocky as the rest.

“We don’t go home and tell our girlfriends what we did at work that day.”

“Neither of you are married?”

“Or our wives,” he added with a grin.

The young one laughed softly, and I couldn’t quite figure him out. His emotions were different from the others’.

“So, the only ones in the room when you made that threat—”

“Alleged threat.”

“—were these two men? And that was…”

I trailed off as realization dawned. “Where did this conversation take place?”

“At his house,” Fernando said. “We had to pay him a visit when Umberto told me he wanted to make such a large investment.”

I sat down again, unable to believe what I knew had to be the truth. It was the only thing that fit.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Fernando. Your ribs are burning.”

“Son of a bitch.” He jumped up and ran over to them.

I started to walk myself out, but the big guy nodded to the younger one, and he escorted me all the way to Misery.

I was going to say something to him. Something supportive and cheerleader-y, but I was never good at pep talks, and if I let him know that I knew, it would only stress him more than he already was.

Instead, I thanked him and let him walk back. He glanced over his shoulder once, as though worried I knew, so I dropped my gaze to my phone.

He was an undercover cop. And he was good. I would never have suspected him in a million years, but officers who work undercover had a level of stress that one rarely found anywhere else. And they stressed out about the wrong things. It was like giving a Rorschach to a hundred kids and getting similar answers from all but one. The kid who sees the world differently.

Undercover cops see everything from about twelve angles more than the average Joe. They have to. Their lives depended on it. Never knowing whom to trust. If you’ll be made. If you’ll be joking with the guys one minute and then lying dead with a bullet in your head the next. I didn’t envy him his position.




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