“Don’t have one,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I call bullshit,” I said, my gaze flicking to his waistband. “I can shove you out of the truck and pat you down, or you can just tell me and save us both the trouble.”
His jaw worked, and I thought he was going to pick the hard way, then he said. “Behind my back.”
“Both hands on the steering wheel,” I said.
“I’m gonna bleed to death if I let go of my leg.”
“Then the sooner you lean forward so I can take your gun, the less chance you have of bleeding to death.”
Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the steering wheel and leaned forward. I reached over and hiked up his T-shirt, exposing the butt of a gun sticking out of the back of his jeans. I quickly snatched the gun and sat back against the passenger door. After I stuffed it into my jacket pocket, I snatched his phone off the seat.
“Okay,” I said. “You can put pressure back on your leg.”
He released the steering wheel and pressed both hands to his leg. “I hope Knox gives you a slow and painful death.”
“He’ll have to stand in line,” I said as I checked his phone screen. It hadn’t locked yet, so I called 911 and told the operator a man had been shot in the leg and needed medical assistance. After I gave her a rough address, I hung up.
“Help is on the way,” I said, opening the door.
“What am I supposed to tell them?” he asked in dismay.
“An interesting guy like you’ll think of something.” I got out and shut the door. After I threw the key fob into a patch of weeds behind a dumpster, I hurried down the street back toward my car.
It was time to pay Gerald Knox a visit. But first, I had to check in with Carter.
“I have an address for Knox,” I said when Carter answered. “351 Overton Road.”
“Do I want to know how you got that?” he asked in a weary tone.
“I shot Razor in the leg to get him to talk.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to know,” he groused.
“We both know you did,” I said as I continued to walk the six blocks. “Have you heard from James?”
“No,” he said, turning serious. “Did you find out anything?”
“No. Razor said he hadn’t been in, and I believe him. If he had, I don’t think Razor would have been there shooting the shit with a guy at the bar.” Then I added. “Do you know who the man in the photo is?”
“The blurry photo of you putting on lipstick?” he asked wryly.
“The photo of Razor and a guy in a booth. The other was an excuse to get the photo. I take it you don’t know?” I could hear sirens in the distance, so I picked up my pace.
“No, but I can do some digging. Is he important?”
“I don’t know. I guess that’s not important right now. The shipment’s going down at four in the morning in the industrial park. Some of the hired help is showing up at two.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding like he was preparing to negotiate a hostage takeover. “You got two great pieces of information. Now you need to go back to the hotel and wait for Skeeter.”
“No, I’m going to confront Knox.”
“Are you out of your mind?” he shouted in my ear. “You can’t face him alone, and there’s little chance Knox has Skeeter. Knox wants him dead.”
I wanted to argue with him. But I believed Razor hadn’t seen him, which meant James hadn’t gone to the bar. And deep down, I know Carter was right. Knox didn’t have James. Confronting Knox alone would be foolish.
So where was James? Had he been surveilling the bar? Had he left his car parked two blocks away and gone to another location? Or had he met someone in one of the buildings around the intersection?
