Maybe that’s because in the old days when violence was an everyday act, we’d been an excellent tag team. Call it good cop, bad cop on steroids. I missed those days more than I usually admitted to.
As I approached, his grin widened. “I can tell you’re excited,” Donatello said while already laughing.
“What, the Harley?”
“Yeah, you normally ride her into work when you need a heavy hand. Maybe it was about what you did last night.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“The fancy party? A party with lots of sexy chicks? Are you going to get season tickets to the ballet now instead of your usual basketball?”
I stopped long enough to glare at him. “If you know what’s good for you, leave it alone.”
“Sure. Boss man.” He was the only man who could get away with such egregious behavior.
Snorting, I glanced at the crew of bandits. At least they had the good sense to appear concerned about what I might do. They had no idea how unlucky their day had been. We’d recently added to our security team.
Which currently my buddy was petting, stroking the fur behind his head. When I crouched down, offering Zorro a biscuit, Donatello sighed.
“You’re spoiling him,” Donatello said.
“So the fuck what?”
“He’s supposed to be a drug dog.”
“He is a drug dog.” Grinning, I took a few seconds to enjoy rubbing Zorro’s muzzle before slipping him another biscuit. “He’s won his weight in steaks.”
“Then I’ll drop him by your house late today. You feed him.”
“You know what? Why don’t you do that? Let’s face it. You kill plants. I can only imagine what will happen to this poor baby boy.” I’d used my baby talk, a language I hadn’t known I spoke.
Seeing Donatello’s pinched face, I grinned as I stood. Zorro had managed to sniff a heavy weight of cocaine and heroin inside the liquor boxes. Normally, the crates were checked, but not every bottle was pulled because there was usually no need. The false bottom in the boxes wasn’t enough to notice, yet the drugs inside had Zorro woofing his way into stardom.
Of course, that meant we had a traitor on the inside of the club, which would mean another round of torment before the day was out.
I’d say it was turning out to be an incredible day.
I knew exactly what would make it even better. And not cutting the heads off some assholes who dared try to get one over on us.
“I don’t kill plants. Do I?” He scratched his head.
“Remember the ficus tree Emmeline gave you for Christmas? It was dead within two weeks.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Yeah, alright. Zorro doesn’t seem to like me too much anyway.”
The pup growled as if on cue. “What’s there to like?” I threw him a look, grinning as I did.
Although the determined infiltration did piss me off. If the cockroaches were starting to crawl from their holes again, I’d need to place everyone on high alert. We were used to stragglers here and there, but the clandestine activity meant thoughtful planning, including putting someone on the inside. That meant a bigger investment of time and opportunity was likely on the horizon.
So much for boring peace.
“Any idea who they are?”
Donatello shook his head. “Nothing yet. The obvious leader is inside the warehouse waiting for you. I thought you’d want to use your bag of tricks for interrogation.”
“Yeah, why the hell not? I can’t remember the last time.” I walked closer, Zorro dutifully following.
I’d always adored dogs. I had since I was a kid, yet my father hadn’t been interested in his children having a pet. I don’t know why I hadn’t relented before. Zorro was my discovery, a beautiful three-and-a-half-year-old retriever/shepherd mix who’d been with a rescue organization at a local hardware store I used for my interrogation kits.
