“Maybe we could grab a beer sometime like me used to. Hell, we’re at the point of being able to talk about old times.” His laugh was hollow. We were faking it. In truth, it was obvious we’d never really been friends in the first place. Was he kidding me? Did he actually think this was just another day at the office?
Why bother contesting?
“Yeah, we can try and do that.” We both knew we wouldn’t. At this point remembering the past would be painful.
We were no longer those men.
Soon, I’d be less of the man who’d left law school determined to take the world by storm. The one who believed in right and wrong, never to cross the line.
As soon as I was out of the building, I yanked out my cellphone, dialing Chase.
“What’s up, buddy?” he asked.
“Are you working a case?”
“For the love of God, it is Sunday, buddy. Every so often I get a few days off. What do you need?”
“How about a cup of coffee.”
He snorted. “That’s not like you. What the hell is going on?”
“Remember what you mentioned last night?”
“Yeah…” He elongated the word. “What about it?”
“I need to hear a few more ideas and to float something past you. There are some extenuating issues with the Jacob Jones case that need… handling.” For some reason, I glanced over my shoulder as I headed to my car. It wasn’t as if I gave a shit if I was being watched. Let the motherfuckers come at me. I would do what was necessary.
“Why the sudden interest? You’re not going to give me any details?”
“Not yet. Just know the conversation is more about the woman who witnessed the crime. She’s in danger and there’s more. But I don’t think it’s wise to talk about it on the phone.”
“Wow. Now, you have me curious,” he chortled. “I know a perfect place. But you might need to have something stronger than coffee.”
“That I can do. After all, it is Sunday.”
CHAPTER 11
Hudson
The bar was seedy as hell.
Just the way Chase liked them. He was more than a little rough around the edges, preferring biker bars to anything upscale. Not that I minded. How many times had I been sitting in a fancy bar only to be accosted by a reporter or an ex-con who’d been in one of my courtrooms?
Too many.
Right now, anonymity was in my best interest. And that of the entire group of men I was close with.
I found him nursing a whiskey in the back corner, the location preventing anyone from coming close unnoticed. The lights were dim, the stench of old stale cigarettes and booze filtering through the air, and what few people were inside were rode hard and put away wet.
Thankfully, they had no interest in who I was or why I was here.
“Your kind of place,” I said as I slipped onto the seat.
“Very funny. But yeah. They have good whiskey here.” He held up his glass and nodded to whoever was standing behind the bar. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“I just followed the Harleys.”
He laughed and quickly glanced over my shoulder toward the door. “No one knows who I am in this place. I’d appreciate if you kept that just between you and me.”
