Page 27 of Angel's Share

White deflated, the smile slipping from his face.

“Here’s the problem, Darien,” Aidan said, drawing the criminal’s attention back to him. “Your prints are also all over the stolen tags you put on Angel’s car. You weren’t filling in for someone. You hijacked that truck out from under another driver’s nose. We have his statement.”

Jamie didn’t think it was possible for White’s skin to blanch more, but as Aidan continued, he continued to edge toward ghostly.

“You coerced Angel into being your accomplice by having your sister hold his friend hostage so he’d show up at the port and help you steal that truck. Then, you had him ferry the stolen goods to another party for you.”

“We don’t care about a meth head,” Rooster said. “You’re not worth my time to prosecute. Rate you’re going, you’ll overdose or cross the wrong person soon enough.”

He gulped, audibly enough for Jamie to hear through the speaker.

“Or maybe you already did,” Rooster said. “That’s the person we want.”

“Did you know what you were transporting?” Berat asked.

“You don’t have to answer that,” White’s PD said.

He glanced his direction. “But I got nothin’ to hide. I didn’t know.” He turned back to Berat. “It was just a briefcase.”

“The value of its contents put you squarely in grand theft territory.”

Rooster hummed. “Maybe I’ll rethink that prosecution.”

White mumbled a curse and skated a shaking hand through his hair.

“Doing the math, Darien?” Aidan said. “With your record, that’s three strikes. Twenty-five years in prison. I wonder how many people in there you’ve crossed.”

Too many, apparently. Tipping point reached, White lurched forward, beseeching. “Okay, look, I got upside down on some stuff. I owe money to this guy, Pudge.”

“Pudge?”

“Patrick something, skinny, freckled fucker. He runs stuff, I don’t know for who. He said I do this one run, and my debts would be clear.”

“And you were too much of a chickenshit to do it yourself.”

“Look, I needed a hit, but I needed to get clear too.”

“That’s why you called Angel back in?” Aidan’s voice vibrated with anger. “Because you got fucked up?”

“He did good at the port, distracting folks like I told him, and I knew he’d do it again. Anything for that girl.” He rolled his eyes and puffed out his chest, sneering. “Sorry excuse for a faggot.”

On the other side of the glass, Berat’s arm flung in front of Aidan was the only reason Aidan didn’t get his hands around White’s neck, while on Jamie’s side, Matt’s arm around his middle was the only thing keeping Jamie from barreling through the door to his husband.

White tried to push his chair back, away from the immediate threat, and missed the one he’d thought friendly before. Quicker than Jamie could blink away the red in his own gaze, Rooster was beside the table, a foot hooked around the leg of White’s chair, foiling his escape.

“Did you know who Angel was delivering that briefcase to?” Rooster demanded. “All you told him was a white guy in a black Benz on the third floor of the P-7 at LAX.” When White didn’t answer, Rooster leaned closer, a shark’s grin curling one corner of his mouth. “You know, maybe I will prosecute you. For attempted murder.”

“How do you get that?” White protested.

Rooster grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him nose to nose. Every word he bit out was full of the same anger that had colored Aidan’s voice earlier. “Because you sent a kid to a meet not knowing a name, with only half the information he needed to survive it. What stops mister mysterious from just ending him right there? Making your and your sister’s lives a hell of a lot easier. You get your money and keep collecting from the state. Sounds premeditated to me. And with that silly snake tattoo on your arm, I’m sure I can sell it to a jury. One less brown faggot in your lily-white world.” He shoved White back in his chair, hard enough to make it wobble on two legs. “I don’t take kindly to assholes who set kids up. Especially ones like me.”

White brought the chair down, barely, and darted a gaze at Aidan and Berat. “Are you just going to let him threaten me like that? You’re cops. He can’t do that.”

“My husband’s in the other room,” Aidan said.

“And I’m brown too,” Berat said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Also very gay.”

White took up knee bouncing again, the speed increasing as Rooster propped a hip on the table and crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest, a much more intimidating display than White’s earlier. “News flash, despite what your cult leads you to believe, us queer folk are in the criminal justice and law enforcement systems, and just your luck, you got them all on your case. You’re outnumbered, you racist, homophobic junkie, so start talking.”

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