Page 84 of Mimosa

Muphy turned his attention to Mims. “Look it up. I have a feeling that certain cops get off with less than the slap. You and Sonny match the cops in the BBC to those having come under this judge’s review.”

“You think this judge is in with the cartel?” Sonny asked.

“How else do you figure they’ve gotten you indicted already?”

Sonny sat back in the chair. “I’ll be fucked.”

“I’d bet money this judge is as dirty as they are.”

Hippy said, “Well, they now think Mims and me are a thing, so is it really necessary that we send the kids away?”

“Yeah. I don’t want them touched by this again. Until we take down the BBC, with the help of you, IA, and the feds, we’re all going to watch our backs.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Forthenexttendays, Mims had very little time to spend with Sonny, as he and Abs were officially named the party planners.

They were having a benefit night for the family who’d lost their home to fire. It was the best, easiest and fastest way to get them the money with no questions asked.

It was nearly impossible for anyone to count heads and count the number of drinks ordered, food, and the like. It was the best money laundering scheme Murphy could think of to get the money to the real estate broker the fastest.

The pub would be strewn with pictures of the family, the house before and after, and at the door, flyers would be given as to detail what the night was for.

Abs and Mims had their first opportunity too to make the bartenders wear matching outfits, something they’d both coveted for years.

Not identical outfits, mind you, but matching. The same colors and style fit to each of the men individually. The others groaned over it, but they’d agreed.

When Mims wasn’t planning the benefit, he was in the secret room with Sonny, either fucking around or working on finding more on the judge.

Judge Martin Calhoon, the sitting judge in charge of cases of police brutality and corruption, was dirtier than all the cops in the BBC put together, he found.

“There’s a bank account in the Caymen’s that he uses. It’s sent from his computer, but I can’t hack in to get the account number.”

“But can you prove it?” Sonny asked.

“No. But the feds might be able to. Unfortunately, they have better equipment than I do, and they won’t get sent to jail for life if they hack into a bank.”

“Right,” Sonny said, chewing his lip. “Have Cosmo call Taran about it.”

“He’ll be here tonight. I’ll bring him down and show him what we have.”

As they all practiced that night in the basement for the benefit, Taran was in the secret room with Sonny. They were searching out more evidence on the judge, but as Sonny had pointed out to them, it was hard to find enough dirt on a judge to convict. They’d done their time in courtrooms for years before residing over cases and knew the tricks better than anyone.

It made perfect sense, too, that it was a judge that was helping the cartel.

On the night of the benefit, the men all got together in the common area of the second floor, their black and yellow outfits fitting in perfectly, somehow, with the green, purple and orange décor.

Cosmo’s yellow shirt was mesh, Hippy’s button up, and Haze wore a yellow vest over his bare chest.

Goldie wore his normal muscle shirt, only it was a creamy yellow, like the others wore, and Abs wore a black tank withyellow stripes over pants that had the same stripes. Mims was decked out in his yellow satin button up and tight black slacks, much like the other wore as well.

They went out with the patrons cheering, but everyone hushed quickly when Murphy was helped up on the bar with the mic in his hand.

“Welcome everyone to this party that is benefiting the Rodriguez family!”

More cheers and applause came and Hippy leaned on Mims. “He looks good up there.”

“Always. That’s our Paps.”

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