Page 33 of The Killer You Know

“We’ve heard you might know something that could help us out.” Jack doesn’t hesitate to cut to the quick.

Derek inches back and his brows furrow. You can see the defensiveness growing on his face.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve heard.” Derek looks perplexed. “I’m as in the dark as you are. But if there’s something I can do to help, then I’m all yours.” He puts down the glass hard as if to punctuate the point.

Jack and I exchange a brief glance. It’s time to test the waters, see if we can’t shake something loose.

“We’ve got a tip suggesting you might be holding back some information,” I say. I may as well play the part of bad cop even though Jack doesn’t want to claim his old acquaintance as a friend. “Mind if we take a look around?”

Derek’s mouth falls open, and for a moment he seems to weigh his options, then shrugs with an air of indifference.

“Sure.” He gives a short-lived smile. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Follow me.”

He leads us on a tour of the dining room, pointing out each piece of memorabilia he’s collected, along with the renovations he’s recently made. And there’s a notable hint of pride creeping into his voice despite the circumstances. It’s easy to see the Penalty Box is more than just a bar to the guy, it’s a labor of love.

“I can tell you really care about this place,” I tell him, softening my tone in an effort to keep him loose.

“You bet,” he says without hesitating. “There’s a piece of me etched into every corner. I’ve always been a big sports guy. You toss in all the burgers I can eat and it’s a match made in heaven.” He pats his belly as if to affirm the fact.

“Maybe I should open a bar?” Jack muses and we share a laugh.

Buddy gives a soft woof of approval and we chuckle once again.

“It looks as if you have a willing business partner,” I say to Jack. “But the two of you would eat your way right through the revenues.” I glance back at Derek. “You have no idea how much this guy can put away.”

“Same old Jackie.” He gives a wistful tick of the head. “You still gobbling up the girls just as fast?” He nods my way. “This guy used to pack ’em in. Six dates a night.”

Jack huffs, “Only because I was trying to give you a run for your money.”

“Hey.” Derek laughs, holding up his arms. “I was tame by comparison. I had a ball and chain.”

“Nothing kept you down,” Jack says sternly. “Thank you for the tour of the place. You mind if we take a peek at your office?”

Derek’s expression darkens and he shakes his head. “Sure.” His words contrast his actions. “This way,” he says it slowly as if he were leading us to his doom. “I can send you the security footage we have. I’ve got the last six months. Then after that, it rewrites itself digitally.”

I lift a brow at Jack. The fact the guy just volunteered his security footage once again is a pretty good indication he’s confident we won’t find anything.

He leads us through a small hallway, through a portion of the kitchen and into a small back room with a cluttered desk, an ancient-looking computer system, and a dirty white phone on the wall. There’s a leather office chair with a jacket tossed over it and a giant poster that extols the virtues of washing your hands.

“That’s it.” Derek extends an arm at the place.

“What’s this?” Jack taps his foot over a square cutout in the floor. “Trapdoor leading to the underground lair?’ he teases.

It’s a ground safe. We both know it.

“You caught me.” Derek laughs and his mood begins to lighten once again. “But that’s not the porthole to Hell. That would be right next to the arcade games, behind the Out of Order Pac-Man.”

A dark chuckle rumbles through Jack’s chest. “All right, man. We appreciate this. Where are you staying these days?”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m in Brighton, just six miles north. You want to poke around there, too? I’ll take you right now.”

“It would save us a little time,” Jack says.

Soon, we’re following Derek right out of Elmwood and into Brighton where he parks in front of a two-story townhouse. He lets us in and gives us the run of the place, and Jack and I quickly trot from room to room.

The townhouse is minimally furnished, maximally unkempt, there’s an outbreak of mold in his shower, and his bathroom sink is glowing with orange slime.

The kitchen sink is brimming with dishes and a few fast food bags thrown into the mix.

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