Page 36 of Love Me Darkly
Mateo leaned in and grinned. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you, you worthless piece of shit?”
Suede sneered but nodded that he understood, and Mateo wrenched him to his feet.
“Alpha-one report.”
Williams answered him a moment later. “All clear, Bravo-one. Hostiles neutralized. Civilians evacuated.”
“Good. Send a car to the laundromat on Lee Street. I got Tariq Hayes on ice.”
“Copy. Transport on the way.”
He paced away from Suede, who still lay where Mateo had left him, hands zip-tied behind his back. Mateo paused and doubled over, still fighting for breath. Now that the adrenaline had faded, he felt everything. He felt every one of his forty-two years.
Suede laughed again, shoulders shaking as he watched Mateo straighten and then crank his neck from side to side with a groan. “Rough night?”
Mateo scowled and fought the urge to kick Suede in his vulnerable ribs. His bodycam was still on, and he was in enough trouble with Carlisle as it was.
Still, he sneered and spat on the ground near Suede’s face. “Shut the fuck up.”
Mateo stared at the pitiful lump of shit chained to the table in front of him. The bright overhead lights and stark surroundings of the room put Suede’s rough night on full display. His white undershirt was filthy and torn at the neckline, and his gold chain, which had been broken in the struggle with Mateo was now absent. His forehead had been cleaned and bandaged, but had started bleeding again, a crimson stain showing against white gauze. A nasty road rash stood out on one cheek, red and angry. His lower lip was busted and swollen, and he’d likely bitten it when Mateo had taken him down. At close range and in this lighting, Mateo could finally make out the cursive scrawl of Suede’s neck tattoo.
Thug Life.
Donovan sat in the only other chair in the room, directly across from the pimp. Arms crossed, legs spread and slouching, he silently stared Suede down. Mateo paced behind him, hands shaking from hunger and fatigue. There hadn’t been time to get back to his hotel to shower and change clothes. There wasn’t time for coffee or breakfast. As the blistering sun had risen over New Orleans for the day, Mateo, Donovan, and Darcy had come straight to the field office. He had given Smith, Williams, and Jones strict orders to go back to the hotel and rest. He didn’t want to see them again until at least noon. This gave him and Donovan five hours to crack Suede, and Darcy the same amount of time to sift through what had been found at the NOLA house. An entire room filled with hard drives and a surveillance bay had been discovered, and Darcy had copied everything onto her own drives so she could start investigating.
“Cut the shit, Tariq,” Mateo said, hands folded behind his back as he paced, back and forth, back and forth. “You want to know what you’re looking at here? A mandatory minimum of fifteen years for trafficking. Ten more for the drug charges. Don’t even get me started on the RICO and conspiracy charges. You’ll spend the rest of your life in a cement box.”
Suede shrugged. “If I’m up on all those charges, what’s the point in talking?”
Mateo paused as if thinking that over. “You know, you have a point. We have more than enough evidence for a conviction. There’s the footage of you with Wilson and Morrison at Solstice and the wiretap recordings on which you mention ‘fifty fresh ladies new to the circuit’ as well as the NOLA house, which has your name on the lease. There are the victims we found imprisoned inside that house. There are the crates of the BAZ-024 drug we found in the basement and manifests of distribution plans and destinations. And to top it all off, you were apprehended with a .22 caliber handgun on your person while fleeing a trafficking site during a federal raid. That’s what is affectionately known in the bureau as a slam dunk. Yeah, Donovan?”
“Absolutely,” Donovan replied. “And you should know that Morrison has been apprehended in a raid on Berenger Warehouse. There is currently a warrant out for the arrest of Lieutenant Wilson, so we expect him to be brought in sometime today. What we found further solidifies your ties to Morrison and Wilson, as well as Valemont Holdings.”
Suede scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you mothafuckas already know everything.”
Mateo stopped pacing and reached for the file resting in front of Donovan. He held up the photo of the whiteboard they’d found in the basement, marked with the mysterious code. “Not everything. For instance, we don’t know who R.K. is. His initials were on this whiteboard and in the contact list on your burner phone. As a matter of fact, you’ve called and texted R.K. more in the past four months than anyone else.”
Suede suddenly sat up straight, refusing to meet Mateo’s gaze. He kept his eyes locked on the wall across the room, hands curling into fists on the table. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I don’t got shit to say to you.”
“Not even if we could guarantee a reduced sentence? Maybe even the possibility of parole?”
Suede emitted a harsh chuckle. “Fuck that. I’m dead either way.”
Donovan inclined his head. “Yeah? Why is that? Is R.K. your boss or something? I mean, it’s clear you, Wilson, and Morrison are just the middlemen. The owner of Valemont … now there’s power.”
“Is that who he is, Tariq?” Mateo prodded, leaning closer over the table. “Is R.K. the owner of Valemont?”
Suede’s lips peeled back to reveal clenched teeth, and he glared at first Donovan, then Mateo. A set of gold caps glittered on his canines. “I’m done talking. I like all my limbs attached.”
“So that’s it,” Donovan mused. “R.K. won’t be too happy when he finds out what went down at the NOLA house and Berenger last night. He’ll want someone to blame. Someone who was sloppy enough to talk business in the open at Solstice.”
“I’m safer on the inside,” Suede replied.
Mateo offered him a humorless grin. “That’s what you think. Allow me to let you in on a little secret. I have one of the best intelligence specialists in the United States digging through the financials and real estate dealings of Valemont. Now that we have the initials, it’s only a matter of time until we find out who R.K. is. A man with that kind of influence? I don’t think he’d have a difficult time reaching you on the inside.”
“I never said R.K. was the owner. You assumed that.”
“You didn’t have to say it. I know it’s him. Like I said, it’s only a matter of time until we can prove it. And you know what, Donovan?”
