“Let me see the contact’s name before you place the call,” James said in a demanding tone.
Miguel pulled up the contact, then turned the shaky phone to show Birch Autobody in the screen.
“Set it on the desk and place the call, puttin’ it on speaker,” James said. “But if you tip off whoever you talk to that I’m standin’ here listening, our cooperative agreement will be null and void and I won’t hesitate to touch you.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “And you’ll wish all you had was a busted nose.”
Miguel gave a slight nod, then pressed the send button. The phone rang several times before a man answered. “Birch Autobody.”
“Dave?” Miguel said, his voice quivering slightly. “It’s Miguel.”
“What’s up? You needin’ a part?”
“No… I was telling my guys about the hit on Malcolm.”
“What the fuck, Mig?” Dave snapped. “I told you that was confidential information.”
“It just slipped out,” Miguel said, shooting James a glare. “One of ’em was tellin’ me how much he hates Skeeter Malcolm, and I told him he might not have to worry about him for much longer.”
“You still shouldn’t be spreadin’ it around,” Dave said, calming down a little. “Razor’ll take my head off if he finds out I told you.”
I tried not to show a reaction to his mention of Razor. Maybe the criminal world was smaller than I’d thought. But now we had a direct link to Knox.
“They don’t even know I got the info from you,” Miguel said. “You and I both know there’s not a lot of love for Malcolm out there.”
“That’s the truth,” Dave groused.
“But as much as a bunch of us want the bastard dead,” Miguel continued, “I’m wondering why Knox has a hit on him. Last I heard, Malcolm was layin’ low. Doesn’t he have a bar down south?”
“Word is Malcolm insulted his mother.”
James grabbed a paper and pen off the desk, then scratched, How does Razor know?
Miguel glared at the paper, then asked, “How’d Razor hear that?”
“What does it matter?” Dave shot back.
Miguel glanced up at James, then dropped his gaze. “Just want to make sure it’s accurate. Don’t want to get our hopes up over nothin’.”
“Razor did some jobs for Knox and heard it from one of his guys.”
James wrote Name?
Miguel looked like he wanted to murder James himself. “What guy?”
“What the fuck, Miguel?” Dave demanded. “Why’re you askin’ so many questions?”
“Because everyone was sure the bastard was gone when he was locked up in federal prison several years ago, but he slunk out like a cockroach out of the shadows. I want to know that you have a reliable source.”
“He’s one of Knox’s drivers.”
James tapped the word Name?
Miguel swallowed again. “Was it Tate?”
“Tate? I don’t know Tate. Razor said it was Nixon. Nixon called to hire him as reinforcement with a delivery for Knox, and while he was on the line, Nixon told him to be on the lookout for the asshole, and if he sees him, shoot first and ask questions later.” Dave released a low chuckle. “That is, if one of Knox’s guys doesn’t get to Malcolm first.”
Miguel’s finger hovered over the end call button. He gave James a questioning look.
James wrote who took the job?
