Chapter Four
Brody
“I was at work yesterday when an old school chum dropped by,” I began. “He’s a drug dealer.”
I felt Lindsey stiffen beside me, her hands white-knuckled around her mug, though surely holding it like that burned her. Both Carlson and McAdams hiked their brows and motioned for me to continue.
“It seems that my former football team member thinks I’d stolen ten kilos of fentanyl from him.”
“Ah, er, did you?” Carlson inquired politely.
“Really?” I sipped my coffee. “Let’s be smart here, guys. I didn’t steal it, I wouldn’t steal it, didn’t know it was there to be stolen in the first place. Wherever he had it.”
I rubbed my forehead, the terrible headache I’d woken up with pounding at my temples. Nor was the coffee settling well in my stomach. “I haven’t seen him since graduation.” I set the mug on the table. “That’s it. He sent that cocktail through my window as either a warning or he tried to kill me.”
“So just who is this guy?” McAdams asked, opening a small notebook.
“Austin Rivers. I know, sounds like a place in Texas.”
“Why does he think you took it?” Carlson asked.
“He claims the cameras picked me up,” I replied. “In my old letterman’s jacket. I lost that jacket years ago. Stolen, most likely.”
“We’ll run this Rivers person through the narco division,” McAdams said. “Have a chat with him.”
“You know that if you do,” Lindsey snapped, “this asshole will be all over Brody like white on rice.”
I eyed her sidelong, surprised at her vehemence. Carlson nodded slowly, his lips puckered.
“You may be right,” he said. “We’ll ask around about him, see what the word is. We may have a print off the bottle thrown through the window.”
While I wanted to tell them to bust Austin wide open, arrest him, take his business selling fentanyl and flush it down the john, I couldn’t make the words work. The Vicodin had started to kick in, its effects making me feel sick, my head swim. I wasn’t in much of a condition to fight Austin if he came looking for me.
The cops left cards on the table, swallowed their coffee. “We’ll be in touch. Call if you think of anything else.”
Lindsey saw them out, and I lay back on her very comfortable sofa. My arm over my eyes, shutting out the daylight, I wished to have Austin on his knees while squealing for mercy.Dream on, buckwheat. He probably has an army ready to cut you to pieces.
I must have drifted off, for Lindsey’s tucking the blanket around me startled me into waking. I lowered my arm. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
She sat on the coffee table, her elbows on her knees. Her silken black hair slid forward over her face, half-hiding it.
“How bad is it?” I murmured. “My house.”
“Could be worse.” She smiled slightly. “Carpet has to go, so do the curtains. The furniture is mostly okay, but your stereocabinet is toast. The water damage is mostly in the front room. The rest of the house seems okay.”
“All easily replaced.”
“Your insurance will cover it.”
“Maybe.”
“You might, er, be able to live there,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t recommend it, though.”
“I’ll go to a hotel. When I’m feeling better.”
Lindsey merely nodded, avoiding my gaze. “Look, you need to rest. Get some sleep.”
