“Roland doesn’t react facially.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. That’ssomething.”
“But how does it help you?”
“Maybe it won’t, but it could. Please, Dylan. Before Andrew wakes up. It’s too early to do anything else, anyway.”
“I was going to ask for my phone so I could call my service.”
“Fine, but give me fifteen minutes first. I’ll zip through them like a slide show. If you say no, no, no, no, it’ll take less than fifteen. I’ve already deleted obvious tourists and locals who I’ve determined only go there to eat. There’s also a lot of repetition among his regulars, so once you’ve said no to someone, we can skip them the next time they pop up.”
Considering it, she pulled her lower lip through her teeth.
He took her hands in his. “You’ve repeatedly made clear how you feel about this. I respect your stand on it. I do. I wouldn’t ask you to violate your ironclad code of ethics except that I learned this morning some information that made my blood run cold.
“El Paso is a much worse character even than I took him to be. Trust me, Dylan, these people are ruthless criminals who do not screw around.” He paused and added as though underscoring it, “And I can’t screw up a chance to bring them down. I’m not asking for much. A tiny bend in your rule, that’s all. It’s not black-and-white, it’s gray territory. Please.”
She looked down at their clasped hands for a time before lifting her gaze back to his. “I have a question.”
“Fire away.”
“Is this why you’ve had sex with me?”
The question rendered him speechless. He stared at her for several seconds before he was able to speak. “You can’t possibly think that.”
“Can’t I? Since the first morning you came to my office, you’ve probed into my private life. With digs, innuendos, jokes. Charm.” She spoke that last word emotionally. She swallowed. “And it worked. I’ve told you about my heartaches. I told you about my lack of a love life. Did you see that as an opportunity to probe…me… in order to get what you’ve been after all along, which is insider information on Roland Malone that you wouldn’t otherwise have access to?”
Although his ears had begun to buzz with anger, and his jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, he let go of her hands, calmly pushed back his chair, got up, and sneaked into the guest room where Andrew was still sleeping soundly.
He reinstalled the battery of her phone, then, returning to the main room, delivered it to her. “Call your service.”
“Mitch—”
He held up both hands palms out. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
He sat down and scooted his chair under the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her get up. She went aroundhim and into the bedroom where she’d slept and closed the door.
With the rigid control that a person can only achieve when completely losing their shit is the alternative, he began scrolling through the photographs he had looked at dozens of times. Hundreds of times.
The mayor, city councilmen, judges, other elected officials, all but kissing Malone’s ring. Were they drug dealers, or merely paying homage to a successful businessman in their fair city?
Fuck if he knew.
A Catholic priest and a bishop who came to dine together the first Monday of each month. They probably profited richly off their faithful flock. But peddling drugs as a sideline? Mitch couldn’t see it.
The obnoxious personal injury lawyer on TV showed up occasionally, sometimes alone, sometimes with a female companion. Mitch wondered if the guy ever shut up long enough to eat.
A prominent socialite was a regular. She’d had as many facelifts as husbands, and had come away from each marriage millions richer than she’d been at the altar. Malone didn’t exactly fawn over her. He wasn’t a fawner. But he always greeted her with a stilted bow.
Could Oz be a woman? That had never occurred to Mitch, although it should have. But he didn’t think the socialite was the head of a cartel. She was too prominent.
Mitch paid special attention to Malone’s clientele who were more discreet. They wore sunglasses after dark. Malone conferred with them privately when they arrived and held their handshakes longer as he bade them goodbye.
He finished scrolling through his file without having been struck with insight or clarity that had previously escaped him.
Discouraged and depressed, upset over Dylan’s insulting suggestion about his intimacy with her, he pushed back his chair and wandered into the kitchen. He tossed his cold coffee into the sink and reached for the carafe of the Mr. Coffee, but changed his mind before lifting it off the hotplate.
“Fuck it.” He opened the pantry and reached for the bottle of whiskey he knew John kept on the top shelf.
