Page 86 of Rules of Engagement

"I got to the hospital and it was in lockdown," continued Damien. "Anastasia freaked out. We thought one of you had been shot then when we got to my brother's room, and heard what happened... Lexi, I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do, tell me. Maybe get you a hotel room or I can take you to your parents? I'd like to go on record as the liaison working between the agency and the police. You shouldn't have to deal with all that right now."

"I'm not sure yet about any of that but I really appreciate your offer." I turned to the two-way mirror, noticing the big man on the other side for the first time. He had a wide, sloping forehead, a nose that was bent out of shape, and a big jaw. He yawned, revealing several missing teeth. The rest of him looked a little better, although he must have weighed four hundred pounds and his clothes seemed to have missed laundry day by several weeks. His denim vest was a beat-up collection of hand sewn badges. Despite wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, I couldn't see an inch of skin. His arms, hands and fingers were all tattooed along with his neck, right up to his chin. I was pretty sure they weren't the marks of Boy Scout achievements. "Is that him?" I asked.

Damien turned. "Mooch? Yeah."

"I remember him from my time on the force. The name wasn't familiar but the face is. What's left of it," said Maddox, taking a step closer. "I think I busted him a couple times. Nasty piece of work. Never figured him for something like this."

"He's just been sitting there for the last twenty minutes. Barely moved except to yawn," said Damien.

Garrett stepped into the room with a thick folder. I wondered if he planned on repeating the "what's in the envelope" game that worked so well with Mikey, or if he had a new tactic.

"Timothy Mooch," said Garrett.

"Timothy?" repeated Damien softly.

"Tiny Tim?" I suggested.

"I can see why he likes to be called Mooch," said Maddox before we all fell silent.

"What of it?" said Mooch.

"Well, Timothy," began Garrett. "You've been arrested on a charge of solicitation of a hit man. Why don't you tell me about that?"

"I don't know anything about it."

"We have a witness that claims you hired him to kill another man."

"Yeah. Who's that?"

"The man you hired, or the man you wanted dead?"

"Both, since I never heard of this before now."

"You can cut the crap, Timothy. You promised two thousand dollars for the death of John Solomon. Why did you want him dead?"

"I don't want him dead," said Mooch. "If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead."

"So you admit to hiring a man to hurt him?"

"Um, no."

"Did Mr. Solomon interrupt some business of yours? Piss you off in some way? Hit on your girl?"

"The only person hitting on my girl is me," said Mooch, thumbing his own chest.

"Lucky girl," I said.

"She must be so pleased with a catch like you," said Garrett dryly. "So if it's not personal, then it's business? You have a nice, little thing going with your club, don't you? Lots of new business. Do you want to know what we found in your house?"

"You've got no business going to my house!"

"A judge told us we did. We found fifty thousand dollars under a floorboard in your bathroom sealed in waterproof pouches along with a couple kilos of heroin. Using waterproof baggies was smart. Everything was preserved so nicely for us."

"Who says it's mine?"

"You're the only one who lives there," pointed out Garrett. "Any judge is going to look at that and say yep, Timothy Mooch has enough money to pay a hit man. Did it ever occur to you that you get what you pay for, hmm?"

"It was that little snitch Mikey Gibb, wasn't it? He set me up," growled Mooch. He slammed his fist on the table and one of the legs buckled. Garrett didn't move a muscle. "I'm gonna turn him into finely ground meatloaf."

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