Page 13 of Property of Player

“Hell, I’ve seen people murdered over twenty,” the sheriff replies.

I’ve heard the story of these men before. The three of them were best friends in high school until my father took up with the MC and Ronnie Edwards became a cop. Jimmy was the one person who kept them connected. Now he’s gone, and I wonder how long the connection will last.

“Who found him?” my father asks.

“His son. But get this, he left the scene, went to his girlfriend’s place, and didn’t call it in for almost an hour.”

“That sounds shady as shit.”

“Yep.”

“You think he killed his ol’ man?”

“I don’t know. If you’d have asked me yesterday, I’d have said hell no, but things are pointing to him. Maybe the kid needed money, and maybe you weren’t the only one Jimmy called to talk about his winnings last night.”

“Christ, man. To think he’d kill his own father. That’s some bullshit.”

“I’ve seen it before.” Edwards cocks a brow at me. “You’ve probably thought about it, right, kid?

I look at my ol’ man. “A time or two.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gage snaps, then returns his attention to Ronnie. “Have you talked to the kid?”

“No. Now that the medical examiner is here, I was just going to go do that now.”

There’s motion at the front door, and we all glance over to see them rolling the cart out with the black body bag strapped onto it.

My father’s gaze follows it until they load it in the rear of the paramedic wagon.

“I can’t believe this.”

Ronnie shifts on his feet. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’ll go talk to his son.”

“You know the kid?” my father asks.

“No. Do you?”

“Yeah. Had lunch with him and Jimmy a time or two. Let me come with. Maybe I can get him to talk more easily than you can.”

“I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

We follow the sheriff across town and pull into an apartment complex. We climb the stairs to a second level, and the sheriff bangs on the door.

A slim young girl answers. We see the son sitting on the couch behind her, his head in his hands.

When the sheriff tells her why he’s here, she opens the door and steps aside. We troop in, and her eyes hit our cuts, frowning.

“Kevin,” my father murmurs, and the kid lifts his head like he just became aware we’d entered the apartment. He seems a million miles away, but his eyes sweep over us.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to hear about your ol’ man. He and I were good friends,” my father says.

Kevin nods. “Thanks. I still can’t believe it.”

“Got a couple of questions for you if you don’t mind,” the sheriff says.

“Okay, sure.”