What kind of idiot melted his own face with a blow torch? The same kind who hung out with people who had street names.
“Do we know his name? Like, anything other than Scar? Do we know where he likes to hang?” Jericho asked, his hand still casually stroking Atticus’s belly.
There was a sound like Seven shifting and the sounds of the crowded city streets filtering through the bedroom before he said, “They say he took over running the crew when this Magic dude went away upstate for statutory rape and trafficking of a minor. But they paroled him for good behavior and now the guy has gone underground or something since Magic came back to reclaim his throne.”
Gang policy was always so goddamn dramatic. A bunch of barely legal, low-level thugs, fighting for territory, fighting for clout, killing for street cred, so desperate to prove that they were the baddest, the toughest, abusing and butchering anybody who stood in their way. Kings of shit. A modern day tragedy.
Still, something caught Jericho’s attention and held it, the popcorn in his stomach threatening to revolt. “Trafficking?”
Seven hesitated. “Yeah, man. He’s 4Loco. They run girls out of that crack den on 5th and Compton. You know the one.”
Jericho wracked his brain. Had he known that? “It’s not our territory. I have a hard enough time dealing with the shit in our own backyard. Where do I find this Bryan Alvarez?” Jericho asked. “Did they give you a heads-up as to where he might be?”
“Nah, man. Sounds like this shit happened a while ago. I’ll keep asking. I’ll update the guys, see if they can find out any more.”
Atticus stretched to grab his own phone off the table and scrolled until he found what he was looking for.
Jericho sighed, voice tense. “Yeah, okay. Keep me posted.”
Jericho disconnected just as a chipper voice said, “Hey, Sunshine.”
Jericho’s brows shot up. It had to be almost midnight. Who was that fucking awake at this time of night? Atticus ignored the sunny greeting. “I need you to track down a Bryan Alvarez for me. Not sure of the spelling, but he did time for statutory rape and human trafficking. Runs with the 4Loco crew. Goes by Magic.”
This was the illustrious Calliope. It had to be. She was clearly used to dealing with Atticus and his lack of niceties. Jericho listened to rapid-fire typing.
“Got him. Bryan Alvarez. Thirty-six years old. Son of Darren and Dinita Alvarez. Did two years for possession with the intent to distribute, six months for domestic battery, six years for statutory rape and trafficking of a minor. What else do you want to know?”
Holy shit. Did this chick work for the FBI? It would take Jericho six months to run down the information it took her to do in less than five minutes. No wonder Atticus was so cocky about the woman. If Jericho had this kind of information at his fingertips, he’d be cocky, too.
“Well, for starters, is there a list of known associates attached to his record, and do any of them go by the street name Scar?”
There were another few taps on the keyboard. “He’s in a gang, sweetie. He’s got about a hundred known associates. I don’t see anybody who’s specifically listed as going by Scar. Though, there are more than ten that should.”
“Fuck. We’ll have to do this the hard way. Can you take the mugshots of his known associates—focus on ones with facial scars—shoot it over to Lucas, and see if any of them are the man he saw in his vision?”
“Sure thing, sweet cheeks.”
“Do you have the last known address of Bryan Alvarez?” Jericho asked, directing the question to Calliope.
There was a long pause. “Um, let me check,” the woman said hesitantly. “Got it. I’ll text you the address.”
“Calliope, right?” Jericho asked.
“Yeah. Jericho, right?” she countered, humor evident.
His brows shot up and he watched Atticus once more flush to the tips of his ears.
“Yeah. That’s me. Thanks for the info, Calliope.”
“Anytime, Jericho,” she said.
“Just send the info,” Atticus snapped.
“Already sent. Bye, Sunshine. Text me if you need me.”
Atticus disconnected without another word. Jericho fisted his hand in Atticus’s hair, tilting his head so he could murmur against his ear, “You been talking about me, Freckles?”
Atticus scoffed. “Yeah, I told her all about the pain in the ass who kept showing up without an invite.” Even as he said it, he turned himself to give Jericho better access to his ear.
