"I suppose he feels he's doing what's right. My heart goes out to him. It really does. But he's going to have to serve his time like everybody else. I sure hope our good people in law enforcement can bring him to justice just as swiftly as they brought justice to me." Then he added, "More like injustice."
"Still bitter about your conviction?"
Darrell forced a smile. "I'm not bitter about anything. I'm happy to be alive. I've been given a second chance. Perhaps I should call this my third chance.”
"Would you be willing to do a sit-down interview with Jacob Sweet after he's been arrested?"
Darrell pondered it for a moment. "I suppose if you can arrange such a thing, I'd be game. I certainly have a few things to say to him.”
"When do you think you'll get out of here?" Paris asked.
"Well, unlike my last incarceration, I can leave anytime I want." Darrell flashed that sly smile again. "They say if all goes well, I might actually go home today. They tell me the bullet went between my fourth and fifth intercostal, whatever that is. Said it grazed my lung. I had a pneumothorax. The bullet got lodged in the bone, and they were able to remove it. They put in a chest tube, but took that out this morning. If everything looks good,they’re gonna send me home at the end of the day, possibly tomorrow. Like I said, somebody was looking out for me.” He looked to the heavens, then he added, "I’m thankful Jacob didn't have very good aim. He might want to spend more time at the range, but I’m not upset that he didn't.”
Jack staggered into the galley in time for breakfast. We ate at the breakfast nook. It was still overcast and cold outside. 48°. It was nothing to the snowbirds, but down here, that was close to an Ice Age.
A bunch of packages had arrived. The aft deck looked like a warehouse of brown boxes. We gathered the toys and organized them.
I called the sheriff after we finished and told him about Darrell's impending discharge.
"What do you want me to do about that?”
"That guy’s going to be a prime target as soon as he gets out,” I said.
"You want me to babysit him?"
"I think it would be wise to keep a deputy on him. At least until Jacob is apprehended.”
"Are you volunteering?”
"I think our resources are better spent elsewhere.”
"Why did I know you were going to say that?” The sheriff sighed. "Might want to reevaluate your usefulness. Last time I checked, you two didn't have anything solid on this case."
"This one has proven more challenging than anticipated.”
"I’m stretched thin on resources as it is. But you’re right. Jacob Sweet might turn up at Sandpiper Point to finish the job.” After a pause, he said. “I’ll put Van Zandt on it. In the meantime, start talking to gangbangers. See if there is any talk on the street about the drive-by. Somebody has to know something.”
“We’re on it,” I said.
After we pulled ourselves together, JD and I drove to Jamaica Village and chatted up prostitutes, dope dealers, and gang members. As you can imagine, we didn’t get far. Nobody wanted to talk. Nobody on the street wanted to be seen as a rat. There were consequences. Snitches get stitches and sometimes worse.
While we were in the neighborhood, we looked up James William Wilson. Jay-Dub was 32 years old and drove a tow truck. He had a prior conviction for simple battery and resisting. Plead it out and did 12 months probation. That was 12 years ago. He hadn’t gotten crossways with the law since. But he did own a black Dominator GT.
He lived at 463 Avenue K. It was a poured concrete cracker box with pale blue, weather-stained stucco siding and a pitched roof. The desolate lawn was surrounded by a sagging chain-link fence. Weeds attempted to reclaim the walkway. The wrecker was parked out front, and the Dominator was in the driveway.
Jack parked behind it. We hopped out and stepped to the gate, and a pit bull lunged at us, snapping and growling. The only thing that kept it from taking a chunk of flesh was the heavy chain staked to the ground. It gave Chompers the run of the small yard.
“Easy there, boy,” I said with a smile.
Saliva dripped from its pearly fangs as it continued to snap.
“Got any doggie treats?” JD muttered.
“Back at the boat.”
The dog was an effective strategy to deter knock-and-talks. That much was certain.
The commotion drew enough attention to bring Jay Dub to the door with a shotgun. “What the fuck are you doing to my dog!?”
