“I did tell you not to aggravate him,” Fred shrugged.
Molson wished he had listened to Fred earlier. No doubt Fielding was going to make Molson’s life very difficult.
“Buy you a drink?” Fred invited him.
“Thanks, but I got to get to work yet,” Molson had a few hours where he could earn some cash by working at Sammy’s auto shop. He’d been working there since Sammy had handed him a broom when he was fourteen. Molson even had a small share in the shop, helping Sammy to expand in another market with ready money to invest in the venture. Now he wanted to discuss his schedule with Sammy. He would need to work around his hours at the hospital.
It might mean losing some hours at the shop which wasn’t a good thing. Molson needed the cash for taking care of Margot and a few expenses of his own. The day where he earned his first paycheck as a doctor couldn’t come soon enough.
Hours later, Molson had a new understanding with Sammy and had put in a solid eight hours of work. It was early morning and his stomach was craving something. On the way to Margot’s, Molson decided to stop at Drew’s apartment and raid his fridge.
Molson wasn’t trying to be particularly quiet. He popped leftover shepherd’s pie into the microwave, the buttons making loud beeping noises in the quiet.
“Does he ever come in the daytime?” Bethany’s sleepy complaint reached his ears.
“I think he’s mainly nocturnal,” Drew replied, pulling the covers over his head. It was a studio apartment, the living room, kitchen and bedroom being in the same area with no partition.
“I got an idea, but I need your help,” Molson spoke into the dark apartment. He flicked on the kitchen light.
“I don’t think he’s going to go away,” Bethany shielded her eyes.
Drew groaned, peeling back the covers. “He’s like a band aid. Best to pull it off and get it over with.”
“Thanks,” Molson said dryly, grabbing a glass of water.
Drew came to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “What’s this idea and why couldn’t it wait until morning?”
“Cuz come the morning you’re gonna be at work and I got stuff to do,” Molson took the plate out of the microwave.
“Thanks,” Drew took the plate out of his brother’s hand and grabbed a fork for himself.
Molson gave him a dirty look before ransacking the fridge for another piece. “What if I could get some guys to be witnesses that through the chain, David gave them the drugs, not Michael?”
“Real witnesses? From the drug trade?” Drew scooped up a forkful of the pie. “They’ll never testify. If they did, they would be implicating themselves in the crime of drug smuggling.”
“Not if you got them immunity,” Molson popped another plate into the microwave. “Beth, you want any?”
“No,” Bethany pulled her robe around herself as she padded into the kitchen. She grabbed a plate and fork.
“Thought you didn’t want any,” Drew frowned.
“I don’t,” she rearranged a few items, pulling out a plate with a cover.
“Ooh save a piece,” Drew knew what was in the container. He pointed his fork at Molson. “What make you think I could get these guys immunity? This is an FBI case. I have no say in anything.”
“You got connections,” Molson took a seat, sniffing appreciatively at the food. “Surely you can talk to Agent Lawe or someone, ask if they’d be interested in the real truth rather than the one they’ve cobbled together.”
Bethany put a piece of fudge cake on her plate.
Molson would have drooled if his mouth wasn’t full.
“Lawe and I aren’t friends,” Drew said dryly. That was Drew’s basic way of saying they hated each other’s guts. “He’s not going to listen to any suggestions that I have.”
Bethany sat at the table.
“I think I know why you want to marry her,” Molson eyed the cake, his fork hovering in the air. “She cooks. I need to get one of these.”
“Mine,” Drew put his hand over Bethany’s.
