Page 66 of Dirty Behavior

Steepling his fingers, Detective Carol's elbows slid forward. “Dante, we're not going to get anywhere if you won't help. You want whoever did this as badly as we do. We know your father wasn't an A-class citizen, but he still deserves the same justice.”

Fuck you. He'll have justice.

“Are we done here guys?”

Jones held up two pictures, placing them gingerly on the table then pushing them forward. “Tell me what you see here?”

Rolling my eyes, my head fell back as I sighed. “If I'm not under arrest, you can't keep me here. If I am, I want my lawyer.”

“Look at the pictures, Dante.” Jones pounded the photo with his fist as his voice trickled out through closed lips.“Look at it.”

Temptation to just stand up and walk out made my feet twitch and rattle against the floor. They hadn't read me my rights, they didn't put me under arrest for anything. As far as I was concerned, that door was looking pretty good.

Carol caught my gaze, his head following my eyes. “If you want to leave, we can't stop you.” Holding out a single finger, he dropped it into the center of the picture. “But you need to know that we won't go away, no matter how much you want us to.” Using the tip of his finger, he slid the photo closer. “But do us this favor and just look. Better yet, do your father this favor and just look.”

Ah, the ole good cop, bad cop routine. Jones was playing the tough guy, while Carol was trying to connect with me on some lame emotional level.

Good luck with that one, dick.

Did he really think that his gentle poking and prodding would tug at my heart strings, giving them the upper hand?

Dumb-ass cops.They didn't know shit about me, even if they tried to play that card, it would never work. They obviously hadn't done their research.

If they had taken the time to look closer at my father, maybe they would have seen how little he deserved as far as a favor would go.

A favor to my father was nabbing a guy that owed us money coming out of a bar, it was throwing him in a trunk and driving him to the safe house. A favor was stringing that piece of shit up, grabbing him by his hair and holding the sweet taste of metal to this temple.

And when that was all done, and we had our answers. . .

That favor ended up at the bottom of the ocean.

“Look, this has been fun guys, really, but it's getting late, and I'm getting hungry.”

“Dante, just give us this one, and look. We need to know.”

Know what?

What the hell were they trying to get me to confirm?

Sighing under my breath, I let my shoulders roll forward, eyes dropping down the glossy finish. I felt a lump draw up in my throat, it bobbed against my Adam's apple, blocking the air from flowing in.

Swallowing hard, my eyes scanned the image. “Where'd you get this?”

“We have friends, some you may know, some you might not.”

I wanted to tear the picture into tiny bits and burn the small fragments.

“Do you recognize that man?” Jones scooted in his chair, tapping the man's face. “Because it seems to me you do.”

“When was this taken?” I asked, lifting the thick paper in my hand. My chest hurt as a spark of rage ignited, my fingers fumbled around trying to keep still and not cut the face in two.

“About six months ago. We're trying to fit the pieces together, but we think he might be the one who called the hit on your father.”

They're wrong.

These guys had no fucking clue, they weren't even close.

“Nope, don't know him.”

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