Page 84 of Rocky Ride

“I ain’t a snitch.”

“Never thought you were.” Mason pulled a blade out of nowhere and pushed the money closer to J.T. with the tip of the blade.

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

Annie pulled her Beretta out of her purse and shot the smokeout of J.T.’s hand.

J.T. shook his stinging hand and snapped at her, “Jesus, lady, that was fuckin loud and now I have to light another smoke. You’re a bit annoying.”

“I can be.”

Mason wasn’t expecting Annie to do what she did, and he had a smirk on his face. “Let’s talk about Bobby Prescott. The Interstate Rage Killer.”

J.T. raised a dark eyebrow. “That who he is?”

“Tire iron is his weapon of choice,” said Annie. “I’ve got pictures of the heads he’s bashed in and left on the sides of the interstates from Chicago to Vegas.”

“Huh. What do you want me to do about it?” asked J.T. “I don’t know where he is, and if I did know I wouldn’t tell y’all. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

“All we want to know is the new name you gave Bobby,” said Mason. “Simple as that. You give us the name and my client here doesn’t call in the feds and bust your ass for practicing your artistic skills.”

“Somebody else gave him a new ID. Wasn’t me.”

“You sure about that, sugar?” asked Annie. “You seem familiar with Bobby’s name. And I know he can be a nice guy—a real sweetheart, in fact—but if he ever gets angry at you, your head will look like a plate of spaghetti.”

J.T. chuckled. “He’s got no beef with me. He don’t even know me, ma’am. You’re in the wrong shop.”

“Don’t think so.” Annie pulled out her phone and made a call. “Hey, sugar. This is Annie Coulter. I’ve got a business I need searched here in Nashville. How long will it take a crew to get here?”

“Okay, okay,” said J.T. “Don’t give them the address, lady. I’ll tell you what his new name is. I might even have an address for him.”

“Thank you for being helpful,” said Annie.

J.T walked over to the other side of the room and opened a huge old-fashioned safe. He stood and sorted out several file folders and brought one with him.

“This is Bobby’s file. You can write down what you need, and I’ll put it back in the safe.”

Mason nodded, took out a leather notebook and jotted down the new ID and the address.

“You call and tip Bobby off,” said Mason, “and your payback will be the feds crawling all over your ass, J.T.”

“Yeah, I know all about it.”

They left J.T. Turnbull to his own devices and in the truck, Annie asked, “Do you think J.T. will call and tell Bobby we’re coming?”

“Oh yeah. I do. You’d better sic your feds on him.”

“Yeah, I will.” Annie read Bobby’s new name and address. “We’re looking for Anthony Moldo with an address in Brentwood Estates. That’s probably not far outside of the city.”

“Huh, this might not take long at all, Annie.” Mason frowned. “I was hoping it would take a lot longer to track him down.”

Annie laughed. “No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was, girl.”

“Let’s go get him and then we’ll celebrate with a beer on Music Row,” said Annie.

Hoover Residence. Shelby.

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