Man, returning to the Greensboro police department gave Lucky the screaming shivers. He could’ve gone his whole life without setting foot on the floors he’d last trod wearing handcuffs. Same lobby, same desk sergeant. Same gray walls.
A young lieutenant approached. “Right this way, Agent Harrison.” At least he came as a guest this time, and not a new resident.
No need for directions. The interrogation room where he’d spilled his guts about Victor hadn’t moved.
Essence of Old Spice added a note of comfort to an otherwise nerve-wracking situation. Old Spice meant one thing, even without a visual: the boss. Lucky’s escort opened a door and confirmed his suspicions. Walter. With Bo as a bonus.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Walter stared through the two-way glass into the very interrogation room where Lucky once lost a game of Twenty Questions. He couldn’t go back in time and change a damned thing. Normally Walter sat behind his desk. Today, he remained standing and nodded for Lucky to take the chair next to Bo.
“No. I don’t want to, but I reckon I better anyway.” Lucky clasped Bo’s hand out of sight between the two chairs. Bo sat next to him, but not close enough. So much for Lucky’s hard-assed demeanor. Seemed like someone got underneath his prickly exterior.
Three men sat at a table on the other side of the glass. Two he’d met in passing, one he knew. Or sort of did.
The years of hard living showed on Daytona’s face. The youngest Lucklighter appeared older than Lucky and might pass for Lucky or Bristol at a distance. Same dirty blond hair. Same height, or lack thereof.
“He fucked me over,” Daytona said, staring at his hands. “I was doing good, getting my life back on track.” He clenched his hands together on the table. “Then he had to go and send me shit. He knew I wasn’t strong enough to refuse.”
Flat, emotionless words. The tone of a defeated man.
God, but Lucky’s chest ached. It’d been Bristol in his room trying to kill him, right? But drug-addled as he’d been, maybe it could’ve been Day.
Damn, now his head hurt.
“I nearly died, got kicked out of college, lost my girlfriend. And campus security found the shit I hadn’t used. Know how hard it is to get back on your feet after being busted and having possession on your record?” Daytona paused to take a sip of water from a plastic cup. “I hated him for it. Wanted to go after his sorry ass. But then he went to jail and that kinda evened things, ya know?”
The detectives said nothing. Daytona continued purging his anger. “Then he up and died. Seemed he’d straightened his ass out and worked with the Feds or something. Died a motherfucking hero.” He buried his face in his hands. “I hated him for what he did, but he was still my brother.”
Lucky didn’t even realize he’d been squeezing Bo’s hand with a death grip until Bo squeezed back.
“Mr. Lucklighter,” one of the detectives prodded after too much dead air. “How did you find out Richmond still lived?”
“My brother Bristol told me. Said he’d seen the sonofabitch in the hospital bed. I went to find out for myself.”
Shit. So the video showed Daytona.
“Where did you get the carfentanil?”
Daytona’s head shot up. “Carfentanil? What’s carfentanil?”
“The drug you injected into Richmond in a saline solution.”
Lucky couldn’t miss Daytona’s trembling even through the glass and fifteen feet away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I went looking for Rich, wanted to talk to him, but he wasn’t there.”
The detectives glanced at each other. The talkier of the two asked, “What do you mean? You were observed going into his room.”
“Wasn’t me, I tell you. I got as far as the door, but he wasn’t there. Someone said something about him dying, but I figured he’d lied once, he’d lie again. Then Bristol told me where they took him. I followed.”
“Why did you follow your brother?”
“I done told you, I needed to talk to him. Needed to find out why. How could he do that to me?” The pure misery on Daytona’s face tugged at heartstrings Lucky didn’t often use.
All these years, the kid believed Lucky’d been the reason for his downfall.
“And you planned payback? You intended to murder him.” Damn. Detectives at this precinct hadn’t mellowed since Lucky’s interrogation.
“What?” Daytona shot out of the chair. “Murder? I wasn’t gonna kill him.”
“We found a loaded .38 under the driver’s seat of your car. That makes you a felon in possession of a gun.”
