Page 58 of Fire Fight
“Do you recognize this woman?”
Chris’s expression never changed as he studied the photo. There was no spark of recognition, no fear that he’d been caught. Obviously, he had no idea who she was.
Unfortunately, he was already too stupid to play dumb.
Lane seemed to agree but continued to press anyway.
“What about the following evening, the night of prom?”
“Working.”
“At the school.”
“I am a janitor there, so yes, at the school. Cleaning up after all those little brats.”
“Why would you be workingduringthe dance?” I asked, chiming into the conversation for the first time. “Isn’t that something you’d do the morning after?”
“Well, I uhh…” he sputtered dumbly, eyes darting everywhere but at me and Lane.
Huh, I thought, considering the abrupt change in demeanor.Maybe not as stupid as I thought.
“I uhh wasn’t working, exactly,” he continued, brushing his hand through the air and giving me and my brother a cocky little smirk like,you know how it is. “I forgot something in the office, so I swung by to get it.”
“What exactly did you forget?” Lane asked.
“Uhh…my lighter.”
Lane and I shared a look, both of us then sweeping the room, noting the multiple lighters strewn across multiple surfaces near half-smoked packs of cigarettes.
“You wanna try that again?”
As though his legs had given out, Chris collapsed into the armchair behind him, which creaked loud enough I was certain it’d fall apart right under him. Resting his elbows on his knees, he scrubbed a hand over the top of his shiny head. “Look, man. I didn’t hurt no one. Sometimes, I go to the school when there are dances. You know, relive my glory days.”
A disgusted sound came from deep in my throat at the same time my brother made a similar one.
“We’ve had numerous reports about you over the years, Mr. Taal. You creep the young girls out. And I’ve heard severalrumors that you deal to those kids too. That’s what you were really doing there that night, isn’t it? Dealing.”
Chris exploded out of his chair so fast, I barely saw him move. Next thing I knew, he was damn near nose to nose with the sheriff—or as close as he could be given Lane had a good five inches on him. Normally, the sight would make me laugh. This guy was a fucking loser, the scum on the bottom of society’s shoe. My brother was a highly decorated police officer and the youngest sheriff this county had ever seen, not to mention twice as wide as Chris, his biceps as big around as the dealer’s head.
Under normal circumstances, it would be no contest.
But apparently, Chris didn’t like being called a creep, because he held a shiny silver knife to the underside of my brother’s jaw, a crazed look in his eyes as he silently dared Lane to make a move.
In the end, I was the one who moved first, not even thinking as I threw myself at Chris and tackled him to the ground, flipping him face first into his rank ass carpet and driving my knee into the center of his back to keep him pinned.
By the time I’d collected his wrists and brought them together, Lane was holding his cuffs out to me, which I slapped on Chris and hauled him to his feet.
“I didn’t do nothin’, man! What the fuck!” he shouted as we marched him outside.
“You threatened a police officer with a knife, you dumb fuck,” Lane said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe the audacity of this guy. “With a witness.”
“Police brutality!” Chris shouted as I practically carried him across the lawn, his body going limp as he tried to halt our progress. “This is police brutality! Help!”
I snorted. He wouldn’t find any assistance in this neighborhood.
“I’ll remind you once again, Chris,” I said as I stuffed him in the backseat of Lane’s cruiser and bent close. “I’m not a fucking cop.”
Chris continued to scream obscenities—at me, at Lane, at the goddamn government, at anything he could think of—once I slammed the door in his face.
