Sin walked over and pointed his gun at Farraday while Stryker opened the bags. One bag was filled with cash, neatly stacked. The other two contained bags of heroin.
“You cops?” Farraday asked.
“Businessmen,” Stryker replied.
“What the hell! If you wanna make a deal, all you gotta do is ask, man. You didn’t need to pop my guys.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Stryker said. “I got a coupla questions.”
“You’re crazy,” Farraday said. “I don’t have to tell ya nothin’.”
“He is crazy,” Sin said. “So, answer his questions.”
With his gun still pointed at Farraday, Stryker asked, “Who killed undercover cop, Doug Easton?”
“You wanna talk to me about a cop? What the fuck do I know about some cop?”
“Wrong Answer.”POP!Stryker shot him in the shoulder.
“Fuuuuuck you! You motherfucking lunatic!”
“I’m only gonna ask one more time. Who killed Doug Easton?”
“My boss.”
“What’s his name?” Stryker growled.
“Barca, Jimmy Barca.”
“Show me on your phone.”
With trembling hands, Farraday pulled up Barca’s number and showed it to him. Stryker took the phone.
“Hey, man, you gotta gimme that back.”
“No problem. You answer my questions, you get your phone.” Stryker glared down at Farraday. “How’d he do it?”
“I set up the meeting. Barca pumped him full of heroin and fentanyl, just like his boss told ‘em to.”
“Repeat what you told me about Easton.”
Stryker tapped the video app on Farraday’s phone and Farraday repeated what he told Stryker. When Farraday finished, Stryker stopped the video, turned off the phone, and shoved it in his pocket.
“Hey, that’s my phone,” Farraday complained.
“Who’s Barca’s boss?”
“I don’t know his name, I swear.” Beads of sweat trickled down Farraday’s forehead. “I only know him as The Father.”
“Get him up,” Stryker said.
Sin and Rhys pulled him to his feet.
“You’ve been very helpful,” Stryker said. “You been running your business for long, Mr. Farraday?”
Farraday pressed his hand against his bleeding shoulder. “A while.”
“What do you sell?”
