“What, is he your buddy?” Jericho demanded of the tweaker. “I give you the cash, and I go down there, and he steals the crank? Fuck you, man!”
“I don’t fucking know him!”
“Bullshit!” Jericho lunged forward, but did it slowly enough that the tweaker could get the door shut and locked. “Asshole!” Jericho yelled, and kicked the door for good measure.
He made sure his shirt was covering his holstered gun, then turned and stomped down the stairs and out to the street.
“He’s cooking meth right next to a school,” he growled as soon as he was close enough for Special Agent Hockley to hear him. “The DEA’s justsittingon that?”
“We’re on it,” Hockley responded, his voice also low and intense. “We’ve got a special team coming in to make sure it’s taken apart cleanly. We’re quietly evacuating the neighbors. We’re doing thisright, Crewe, and we do not need you wandering in and making a mess of everything. Get the hell out of here. And answer your phone next time!”
“Goddamn it,” Jericho said, mostly to himself. “I only wanted to find some fucking snakes.”
