Page 55 of Givin' Me Fitz!
The man grabbed me, clutching my wrist where I held the towel. “El pendejo tiene que pelear o el viejo se muere. Ellos vendrán por él…”
His whispered words were Spanish, but not the Mexican Spanish I was more familiar with. I understood a few words—kid, fight, die. That was enough for me. I was sure it was a threat that if the kid didn’t fight, someone would die. Whether it was TJ or his grandfather wasn’t clear.
The bloody man’s body went slack, and I was able to pull free from his hand that clutched my wrist. There was a butcher knife next to him and a Beretta on the other side. I touched his neck, finding no pulse.
It wasn’t obvious who’d struck first because Rosemary’s wound might not have been a kill shot. She might have still been able to fight back for a moment before she bled out. Bottom line, they were both dead. At that point, did it really matter?
“What the fuck?” I turned to see Sawyer standing behind me with his mouth open.
“They’re both dead. Any idea who the guy is?”
Sawyer stared for a moment before nodding. “Yep. He’s a Viper King. See the coiled snake with the crown on his neck? That’s their patch. It’s a Dominican Club that’s started moving into this area. I’d guess he’s one of their enforcers, based on the fact he came here with a gun.
“They’re affiliated with the Scorpions now, or so I’ve heard through the grapevine. I have a feeling he came here to threaten the old man to get TJ to show up for the fight. I’m going to guess he didn’t realize Rosemary was a former Los Angeles cop.”
I stood from the body and saw the blood covering me. Surely, one of the neighbors heard the gunshot since there wasn’t a suppressor on the barrel of the Beretta. The cops were probably on the way.
“Get Grandpa and TJ out of here before the cops show up or someone comes looking for him.” I pointed to the dead man. “Someone had to hear the gunshot, and I touched him, so my prints are on him. I’m in the system as a bail recovery agent, so I’ll talk to the police and call after they’ve taken my statement.”
We walked into the hallway where TJ was leading his grandfather into the living room. “I don’t think the old man saw anything. He’s lost his sight.” Sawyer nodded and walked into the room, quietly explaining to TJ what was going on.
I studied the man, the president of an outlaw motorcycle club, who I was falling in love with. I was sure the scene in the kitchen wasn’t new to him because he’d likely seen much worse and, in some instances, had caused the destruction. What we’d walked into had to be explained to local law enforcement without getting Sawyer or the Cowboys involved.
Could I keep them out of it? I sure hoped to fuck I could.
“So, you just busted down the door when you arrived, Mr. Morgan?”
I met the police outside the house and explained that I was a friend of Rosemary Hayes from her days as a cop for LAPD. I said she’d left when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and that she’d taken a job as a caregiver for the elderly. That’s as much as TJ knew about her from the cursory background check Sawyer had their tech guy, Mouse, perform before she was hired. That was as much as TJ told me before he and Sawyer left with Grandpa.
“I heard someone calling for help inside, so I went to investigate. Surely, you’ve heard of exigent circumstances, officer. I believe it was the dead man. Nobody else was in there, and based on the hole in her chest, Rosemary was already gone.”
The officer, Gale West, nodded as he wrote down the half-assed information I gave him.
“Okay. Do you know the man in the kitchen?” Gale West lifted his eyebrow as if daring me to lie.
My answer was easy. “Nope. Never seen him before. Don’t know if Rosemary knew him, but she could have been dating him.”
“You think this was a lover’s spat?”
“Like I said, I have no idea. I was in this part of the state with a friend, and I thought I’d look her up while I was here. She lived next door to me when I was growing up.” Okay, that was a lie.
“Where’s your friend?” The cop looked around. I could see when he noticed the Range Rover at the end of the block.
“He’s in town for business. He dropped me off after I saw Rosemary’s car in the driveway. She’s had that thing forever.” I pointed to the old Malibu parked in front of the detached garage. It had Nevada plates, thankfully. If she hadn’t changed the plates from California, there’d be follow-up questions that I couldn’t answer truthfully.
A young cop came off the porch with a blood-soaked wallet in an evidence bag. “West, the male victim is Yoordie Baez. The address on his driver’s license is listed as 721 South Indian Hills Drive, St. George, Utah. That’s in the resort area. I grew up in St. George.”
St. George was a nature-lover’s paradise. Snow skiing, hiking, rock climbing. Based on the club tat on the guy’s neck, he wasn’t a Utah native.
“Get a background check on him and, uh, this guy. Mr. J. Fitzgerald Morgan.” He handed the young cop my driver’s license, my bail enforcement agent’s license, and my concealed carry permit. He’d already bagged my Glock 22 to check ballistics to ensure I hadn’t shot Rosemary.
“Whose house is this?” West pointed to the little bungalow.
“I’m gonna guess it belongs to Rosemary’s client. He’s an older blind man she takes care of. He wasn’t here when I went inside.”
“Did she live in?” the cop asked.
I guessed she did if Mr. Middleton was blind, but I had no idea. “Not sure. She told me to meet her here when we last spoke.”
