Page 170 of What's Left of Us

He eyes me. “Fine. Follow-up question. Do you want to make it work because you love her or because you don’t want to prove her father right?”

I go to answer but stop myself. Can’t it be both? “He doesn’t deserve to win after everything.”

Conklin shakes his head. “Nah, man. You can’t look at it as winning or losing. This isn’t a game. This is your life.”

Then why does it feel like that? “If you were in my shoes, what would you do?”

For once, he doesn’t seem to have an answer. I could always count on him having some sort of advice for me. But I think this goes above what he’s used to.

He scratches the column of his throat. “I thought you might want to know that we pulled over Jakob Volley last week. He had almost thirty grams of heroin and twenty grams of coke on him and ten grand cash.”

Christ. That amount of drugs is an A-level felony. “Where’d you yank him?”

“He was coming in from the city. We think he picked up the supply from his contact and was bringing it in to distribute to the local dealers.”

I nod in agreement. Most of the local dealers go through at least two other people to get their drugs. “He’ll get locked up for a while with that amount of shit. Good catch.”

Conklin clears his throat. “He already made bail.”

I gape at him. “They didn’t hold him? He’s a repeat offender. This is at least his third felony.”

My friend shrugs. “I’m just as surprised as you are, Hawk. I thought they’d keep him until a court date, but they said the jails are full. Somebody posted his bail within a day of his being in holding.”

“How much was it?”

“Two hundred thousand.”

“Bail bond?”

“Paid in cash.”

“Full?”

Conklin dips his chin once.

“Who paid it?”

His hesitation makes me prepare for the worst. “It was paid under Carlo Salvatore.”

“Okay, so there must be video surveillance of him paying it. We must have a face to the name.”

I can tell I’m about to be disappointed when Conklin sighs. “It was paid under the name Carlo Salvatore, but it was apparently a lawyer who came in to complete the transaction. Evan Maloney. Well-known attorney in the tri-county area. Has an office in Manhattan and here in Middle Point.”

Of course. “So we still don’t know who Carlo Fucking Salvatore is.”

All he does is shake his head.

“Great.” I hit the wall as I walk out of the breakroom. “Just fucking great.”

Conklin follows me, his coffee still in his hand. “Maybe Volley will strike a deal and talk. We could get him to tell us who Salvatore is. If not, he’s looking at five years. Maybe more because of his history. Guy like that wouldn’t survive prison.”

We stop at my office, and I scrub my tired face. “If you find out more, can you let me know?”

“You got it.” He pauses, looking around before lowering his voice. “Maybe you should head home and get some rest. When was the last time you slept?”

His guess is as good as mine. “Just tell me when you get an update on Volley.”

He nods, knowing the fight isn’t worth it.

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