King interrupted. “Harland Eastwood?” he asked, pulling back his shirt to reveal the badge fastened to his belt.

“I didn’t do nothin’,” Eastwood said, brushing back his stringy, dark hair.

King looked down at the startled man, “That’s not what I hear. Possession of drugs with intent to traffic.” King’s eyes roved around the room. “I bet if I looked around a little, I’d come up with something.”

“Where’s your warrant?” Eastwood asked, sitting back and folding his arms.

“We have probable cause,” King lied.

Hank nudged King aside and turned to Eastwood. “Look. We just want to ask you a couple questions then we’ll go. We can forget all about drug possession charges.”

Eastwood’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of questions?”

“About the guys you work for.”

“I’m unemployed.”

“Great,” Hank said. “Then you won’t mind talking to us about your ex-boss.”

Eastwood gave a blank, confused stare.

“We want to know about a drug money heist that went down a few months ago,” King said. “Talk to us and we were never here.”

“Mind if I get dressed,” Eastwood asked. He leaned forward, reached down, and picked up a pair of faded jeans beside the couch, then stood and slipped them on. He pulled a wrinkled t-shirt from a pile and worked it over his head.

“What d’you wanna know?” the man asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Who pulled the heist?” Hank asked.

Eastwood shrugged. “Nobody knows.” He paused. “As far as I can tell, that is.”

“Somebody must know.”

“Maybe. But if so, they didn’t tell me.”

“How much money was taken?” King asked.

“About five hundred large. Least, that’s what I heard.”

“How many gunmen?”

Eastwood cocked his head. “You mean, how many guys robbed them?”

“Yes. How many?”

“Three.”

“You’re sure?” Hank asked.

“Positive. There were three.”

“Because you were there, weren’t you?” King asked.

Eastwood said nothing.

King reached out and pushed Eastwood onto the couch. “You were there, right?”

Eastwood looked up at King. “Maybe.”

Hank touched King’s arm. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is if he’s telling the truth.”

“It’s the truth,” the man said.

“Did you recognize any of them?” King asked.

Eastwood shook his head adamantly. “They wore masks.”

“And your boss has no idea who it was?”

“Not that I know of.” Eastwood tilted his head slightly. “Why do you guys care about this? If drug money gets stolen, why are the cops involved?”

Hank looked at King, and then back at Eastwood. “Because one of the guys we think pulled the robbery is dead. Maybe two. And we want to know who killed them.”

Eastwood’s eyes darted back and forth between the two cops. “I hope you’re not looking at me for that.”

“Should we be?”

“Of course not.” Eastwood swallowed hard. “And I don’t think my boss was involved either or I would’ve heard about it.”

“Don’t you mean your ex-boss?” King asked.

“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

“You can tell your ex-boss when you talk to him, probably as soon as we leave, if he killed anyone, we’re coming for him.”

Eastwood moistened his lips. “I’ll … I’ll tell him.”

“One more question,” Hank said. “Did the robbers use pistols or rifles?”

“Pistols.”

“.38’s?”

“Don’t know.”

Hank looked at King. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, maybe,” King said, and looked at Eastwood. “Stay out of trouble because I might not overlook your indiscretions next time.” He paused. “But you can always get ahold of me if you find out anything else. That might earn you a get-out-of-jail-free card.” King pulled out a business card and flipped it onto the couch. “You can always reach me here.”

Eastwood glanced at the card, then back at King. “I ain’t a snitch.”

“Keep the card anyway. You never know when it might come in handy,” King said, and turned to Hank. “Shall we let this guy get back to his beauty sleep?”

Hank nodded, then turned and left the apartment. King followed, pulling the broken door closed behind him.

Hank whirled around, put a hand on King’s chest, and pushed him against the wall. He moved in close and scowled. “You can do whatever you want on your own time, but when I’m around, we do things right. Next time, we knock. We don’t go busting doors down.” He paused. “Got that?”

King nodded and said dryly, “Whatever you say, Hank.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, glared a moment longer, then straightened King’s collar and turned away. “Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 37

Thursday, 11:05 a.m.

JAKE SAT ON THE grass, leaning against the fence. He was half-hidden from the view of anyone who might exit the rear of the warehouse, and he waited patiently for Rocky Shaft.

If Jake’s claim to know the whereabouts of the heist money made Shaft nervous at all, Jake expected him to take steps to secure it, or at the least, to ensure it was untouched.

He rolled to one side and ducked out of sight when Shaft exited the building. Jake looked at his watch. It wasn’t lunch time yet, but Shaft was headed somewhere. He had slipped away early and was walking straight toward his vehicle.

Jake stood, keeping low, and moved to his car. He stood at the driver side and watched as Shaft opened the door of his pickup.

Jake’s eyes bulged as a man appeared at the back of the truck, an upraised baseball bat held firmly in both hands. Even from where Jake stood, he saw hostility written all over the newcomer’s face.

“Shaft,” Jake yelled.

Too late. The man stepped forward and the bat connected with Shaft’s back. Jake sprang into action as the victim went down. He heard the dull thud of the weapon striking, again and again.

Jake reached Shaft’s vehicle and the man stood straight, raised the bat, and glared at Jake. Shaft moved and groaned, then lay still again, now flat on his back.

“Put it down,” Jake demanded.

The attacker looked back at Shaft and gritted his teeth, striking the victim again. Shaft groaned and curled into a ball.

Jake stepped forward as the man backed up and pointed the club toward Jake. “Stay back.”

“Put the bat down,” Jake repeated.

The assailant swished the weapon through the air. “You’re next if you don’t stay back.”

Jake took another step forward. “Who’re you?”

The attacker pointed at Shaft. “This guy killed my cousin and I’m giving him what he deserves.”

“Who’s your cousin?”

“Michael Norton was my cousin.” He raised the bat, clenched his jaw, and glared at Shaft.

The man on the ground held his ribs and rolled to his back. He groaned. “I … I didn’t kill Norton.” The words came out amid puffs of air. “It wasn’t me.” He groaned again and pulled up his knees.

Jake took another step forward, stood by Shaft, and reached for the club. “Give it to me.”

The man poked the tip of the bat toward Jake. Jake grabbed for it and missed, the weapon connecting with the back of his hand.

The attacker swung the bat again. Jake leaned back as it whistled past his face.

The man was average height and weight, and would be easy enough for Jake to subdue under normal circumstances, but this wasn’t normal. The man held a potentially deadly weapon and Jake didn’t want to feel the wrong end of it.

He held out a hand, palm up. “You’ve punished him enough. Give me the bat.”

The assailant shook his head. Jake moved forward, stepped over Shaft, and then ducked as the weapon whistled over his head. He grabbed the angry man’s leg, pulled, and the man went down.

Jake felt the weapon connect with his ribs. Once. Twice. He grabbed for it, missed, and rolled aside as the club swung again and smacked the asphalt with a dull thud.