Page 43 of One In Vermillion

“This is private property,” the one who came up to my window said.

I flashed my badge. “Police business.”

“No one called you,” he said.

“Pete OneTree did.”

He frowned and I could almost hear the gears in his brain clanking against each other trying to figure that conundrum out. The other guy walked up and squinted.

“You’re that cop,” he said, which was a brilliant deduction since I’d just shown my badge. Then I realized he’d been with OneTree during our confrontation on Main Street a couple of months ago.

“Let him go,” he advised his buddy. “The boss will want to talk to him.” He pointed right, away from the construction headquarters trailers. “He’s in that spec house.”

I didn’t thank him. I powered up the window and drove away. One of them must have called ahead because OneTree was waiting outside one of the finished houses not far from the road. There were a half dozen Harley’s parked outside. The fact that he’d come out told me he didn’t want me seeing the inside of the place. I did sense eyes on me from the windows and I had a shadow of the feeling I used to experience when I got off the choppers on an operation. I was in enemy territory.

In Burney.

I understood George’s experience a bit better.

“Where’s your chief?” Pete asked, with a knowing grin. He was aware I knew that I wasn’t supposed to be here. We were a knowledgeable pair.

“Where’s Jim Pitts?” I asked.

The grin didn’t go away. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“In the morgue.”

He frowned. “Mickey will be bummed to hear that,” Pete said. “Not that they were the closest father and son.”

“Mickey’s in the morgue, too.”

Pete shrugged. “Spares him the pain of mourning.” He waited a second. “Thanks for coming by and letting me know. You can leave now.”

I didn’t move. “He was just a kid. Why’d you kill him?”

“Whoa there, hombre,” Pete said. “That’s a pretty serious accusation. Jimmy told me you had a hard on for him. The whole ‘no one called Captain Kirk, Jimmy Kirk’ thing? Cute. You were clueless. Jimmy was a chip off the old block.”

“Did he come here trying to buy his father protection in prison?”

“He came here because he wanted to join us.” He laughed. “Like there’s some sort of legacy thing in the Wolves.”

“You’re full of shit,” I said. “I know all about the Wolves and Cleve Blue and Senator Wilcox.”

“What do you know?” Pete challenged.

There was a rumble of motorcycles and two bikers pulled up, triangulating the Gladiator. They had ARs on their backs and pistols prominently displayed in holsters.

Pete folded his arms across his chest and stared at me. “What do you think you know, Cooper? You don’t know shit. You had your girlfriend shoot Mickey in the back and couldn’t even pull the trigger yourself. That’s what I know. I also know about your father. A crooked cop.”

I took a step back.

“Are you a chip off the old block, Cooper? Just like Jimmy Pitts? I think you’re just like your father. After all, you offered Mickey that money to leave. Had your girlfriend try to give it to him. Not exactly law-abiding, is that?”

I’d known it was inevitable my father’s legacy would catch up to me no matter where I went. But to come from this guy, now?

“What prison is he in?” Pete wondered. “I’ll have to ask around.”

“I don’t give a damn about him,” I said.

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