Unable to hold back any longer, he grinned.
John’s jaw turned to granite, as it was wont to do when he was furious. “What did you do?”
“You talked to her. What did she say about our session?”
“As befits her profession, she didn’t offer much. She was very reserved.”
Mitch laughed out loud. “I’ll bet she was.”
“Really, all she said was that she’ll see you again on Thursday.”
Mitch abruptly stopped laughing. His boot slid off the desk and hit the floor as he bounded out of the chair. “She saidwhat?”
“Ten a.m.” John then turned his back and went into his office.
Mitch watched him go, but when John shut the door decisively, Mitch spun around, kicked his chair, and shouted, “Fucking hell!”
Then, realizing that all eyes were still on him, he collected himself, squared up the chair beneath his desk, shut down his computer, and said, “Coffee sounds good after all,” and strode out.
He avoided the coffee shop around the corner, where most PD personnel took their breaks. Instead, he walked the several blocks to Gus’s bar. Too early for happy hour to get into full swing, the place was occupied mostly by vacant-eyed souls day-drinking alone. He’d been there.
Mitch was relieved to see that Gus himself was tending bar and not the guy he’d threatened with the broken bottle. He gave Gus a sheepish smile. “I came to ask how much I owe you.”
“I’m still getting estimates.”
“Estimates? For a mirror and a few busted chairs?”
“Simmer down. I’ll take the lowest bid. Bowie given you the boot yet?”
“No, but the day ain’t over.”
Gus frowned. “Mitch, he won’t like knowing you’re drinking.”
“Coffee, please. Iced, but black and strong.”
“Then it’s on the house.”
“You’re all heart.”
Mitch carried the coffee to a corner booth, took out his phone, and scrolled through his contacts until he found the number of a DEA buddy. Amid a lot of background noise, his call was answered by a man who sounded short on time, breath, and patience. “Tucker.”
“Jim, Mitch Haskell.”
Tucker expelled a profanity. “You didn’t waste any time.”
“You expected to hear from me?”
“As soon as you got wind of that double murder.”
“So y’allareon it?”
“Yeah.”
“What brought you in?”
“Two of our undercovers separately identified the male vic.”
“No shit,” Mitch murmured. “Talk to me.”
