Page 22 of One In Vermillion

There wasn’t time to play. This might be our only shot at Mickey. “Who paid you to kill Thacker?”

“Your mother,” Mickey said. Apparently, he wasn’t very sharp with the comebacks on pain meds.

“Pete OneTree was very interested to hear you were out of the coma,” I said. “He asked me when you were getting moved to the general population.”

Rain came up behind me to play bad cop to my worse cop. “Now why would he be so interested in that, Mickey? I checked the records. There are eight Iron Wolves in the general population. And you burned down their Cincinnati clubhouse.”

I piled on. “It’s interesting that was the only question OneTree asked. He didn’t seem concerned at all about your health. Well, not in a positive way.”

“I can take care of myself,” Mickey mumbled. “It’s being arranged. Not worried.”

The fact he said that meant he was worried. As much as he could be, spaced out on pain meds and fading in and out.

“Come on,” Rain pressed. “I can put in a good word with the warden.”

“Like that’s gonna matter.” Mickey exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “You guys . . . can’t do dick . . . in here. There are people who want . . . what I know. People with . . . real power.” He started to say something else, and then drifted off again.

“I wouldn’t trust Senator Wilcox,” I said, trying an angle. “She’s a snake.”

Mickey didn’t react to that. He’d closed his eyes.

“Thacker’s computer and phone, Mickey?” I asked. “Where are they? Who has them?”

“Fuck you,” he muttered.

“What about your four hundred thousand?” Rain said. “You ever readShawshank Redemption? It isn’t likely, wherever you stashed it, that the money will be waiting for you. Someone will find it. Or it will rot. You didn’t plan on leaving it long, did you?”

“If you ever get out of here,” I added.

“Fuck you,” Mickey murmured weakly. He wasn’t pretending any more. He was slipping away to the pain meds. “Money is safe.”

“Time to go,” Rain whispered, indicating her watch.

Mickey’s eyes flickered and peered about, unfocused. “Jimmy? Is that you?”

Then his eyes shut and he was out.

* * *

“Jimmy Pitts told me he never saw his dad while he was in prison,” I said when Rain and I were safely in the parking lot. “Never even talked to him on the phone. Why would he think Jim was visiting him?”

“He was half out of it,” Rain said, but she had her iPad in hand and was typing on the screen. “He was probably hallucinating.”

We sat in her car because, much as I hate to admit it, the Mercedes had much better seats than my Gladiator. It was August and she had the engine running and cool air was being pushed out through tiny holes in the seats and it was rather pleasant. My mood was anything but.

“Yeah, maybe he was just wishing his son would visit him. Like—”

But Rain held up a long finger, tipped with purple nail polish, for me to wait.

Then she put the finger on the screen as she scrolled. “Jimmy Pitts visited his father in prison twice a month, on a regular schedule ever since he turned seventeen. Old enough to drive on his own,” she added.

I blinked in surprise. “How did I miss this?”

“You weren’t looking for it,” Rain said. “You were more than ready to believe he wouldn’t have anything to do with his father in prison because, well, you know. You could relate.”

That wasn’t an excuse, and the last part stung, but Rain was giving me a way out of my tunnel vision by explaining my tunnel vision.

“I believed him. I took everything he said at face value.” I slammed a fist into the console. “He lied to me about seeing his dad after he got out of prison. And he lied to me about seeing him in prison.”

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