Sandra Brown - Ricochet

“I think you did, Gordie,” Duncan countered smoothly.

“No,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “Not me. Un-unh.”

He squirmed in his chair. He wiped his damp palms on the thighs of his grimy blue jeans. He blinked hard as though clearing his vision.

Duncan let him stew for a moment, then said, “Tell me about Savich.”

“He’s a tough customer. So I hear. I only know him by reputation.”

“You work for him. You cook and sell meth for him.”

“I peddle some dope now and then, yeah. I don’t know where it comes from.”

“It comes from Savich.”

“Naw, naw, he’s a mechanic, ain’t he? Makes machines or something?”

“You think I’m queer, Gordie?” Duncan asked angrily.

“Huh? No!”

“Is that what you think?”

“No, I-”

“Then stop jerking me around. You’re not clever enough to outsmart me. You’re one of Savich’s most reliable mules. We’ve got schoolkids who testified at your last trial, Gordie, remember? They said under oath that they go to you for a sure score.”

“I admitted to dealing every now and then. Didn’t I?” He turned to DeeDee, frantically seeking her backing. “Didn’t you hear me just admit that?”

“You’re far too humble, Gordie,” Duncan said. “Savich depends on you to make addicts, future customers, out of children. You’ve introduced them to meth. You’ve got them raiding their folks’ medicine cabinets for boxes of Sudafed. You’re an asset to Savich’s operation.”

The little man swallowed hard. “Far as I know, his operation is that machine shop.”

“Are you afraid that if you talk about him to us, you’ll wind up like Freddy Morris did?”

“What I heard? I heard…I heard Freddy bought it over some woman. A guy, I don’t know who, did Freddy on account of he was banging his old lady. That’s the story I got.”

Duncan spoke softly, but with menace. “You’re jerking me around again.”

“I ain’t gonna say nothing about Savich,” the convict cried out, his voice tearing. He tapped the tabletop with a dirty, chipped fingernail. “You’ll never get me to say anything, neither. Not now, not ever.”

He appealed to DeeDee, whining, “Where’s the confession? Those first cops that arrested me? They said it would take a while to draw up the paperwork. Left me waiting here, and in come those narcs, harassing me. Now y’all. Just let me sign a confession saying I went at that guy last night with a broken beer bottle. Lock me up. I’m ready to take my punishment.”

“We could make a deal-” DeeDee began.

“No deal,” he said with a stubborn shake of his head.

“We could make this assault with a deadly weapon charge disappear like that.” Duncan snapped his fingers an inch away from Gordie’s flat nose. “Or we could lay several others on you. We might even ratchet this charge up to attempted murder. You’d do more time.”

“Fine. You do that, Hatcher,” he said, calling Duncan ’s bluff. “I’d rather go to jail than…Nothing,” he finished in a mumble.

“Than wind up like Freddy Morris?” DeeDee asked.

But even her seeming gentleness didn’t make a dent. She and Duncan continued with him for another half hour. He would not incriminate Savich. “Not even for spittin’ on the sidewalk,” he avowed.

They left him alone, not showing their weariness until they were out of the room. DeeDee slumped against the wall. “I’ve never had to try so hard to be nice. I wanted to wring it out of the little jerk.”

“You were convincing. Even I thought you were turning soft.” Duncan was teasing, and she knew it, but neither was in the mood for levity.

“Y’all did the best you could,” said one of the narcotics officers gazing morosely at the video monitor, where Gordie could be seen gnawing at a bleeding cuticle. “Can’t say as I blame him. Freddy Morris had his tongue cut out. Savich got to Chet Rollins in prison. Somebody crammed a bar of soap down his gullet. He died slow. And that Andre…what was his last name?”

“Bonnet,” Duncan supplied.

“No sooner had the DEA struck a deal with him to testify against Savich than his house blows up, his mother, his girlfriend, and her two kids in there with him.”

“Savich got a hung jury and that screwup ADA ruined us for a retrial,” Duncan said. “He got away with killing five people. The baby was three months old.”

“We thought we had Morris locked down tight,” the narc said, taking out his frustration on his chewing gum. “That Savich is one smart sumbitch.”

“He’s not that smart,” Duncan growled. “We’ll get him.”

“Doesn’t look like we’re going to get him with Gordie Ballew’s help,” the second narc said.

“Even if he made a deal with us, Gordie isn’t a good candidate.” They all looked to Duncan to elaborate on his statement. “First off, he’s scared shitless of Savich. He’d give himself away before you could set up the sting. Secondly, he’s resigned to spending most of his life behind bars.

“In fact, I think he wants to. Why would he risk dying violently by ratting out Savich, when he can be guaranteed three squares a day and a home where everybody else is just as bad off as he is? For someone as pathetic as Gordie, that’s about the best deal available.”

They all muttered agreement of sorts. Duncan and DeeDee left the others to wrap up getting Gordon Ballew’s confession to the assault charge.

“Who do we know I could get to sweep my house for electronic bugs?”

By tacit agreement, Duncan and DeeDee had regrouped in his office. She was opening a can of Diet Coke when he asked his surprise question, nearly causing her to spill the drink.

“You think your house is bugged?”

He told her about his overnight guest.

She listened, her mouth slack with disbelief. “Duncan, you stupid-”

“I know, I know.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I was an idiot. I confess. But it happened. Now I’ve got to do some damage control.”

“She could have killed you.”

“Savich is saving that particular honor for himself. This was just another taunt, his way of letting me know how vulnerable I am.”

“Was she worth it?”

“I don’t even remember,” he admitted. “I didn’t know anything until you called and woke me up. When she dropped that bombshell, I bounded out of bed and chased her downstairs. She struck off down the sidewalk at a run. I would’ve gone after her, but realized I was bare-assed, unarmed, and that possibly that was the plan. Savich could be waiting out there in the bushes, ready to pop me the minute I appeared. So I went back in, got my weapon, and searched the house, thinking he might be inside. He wasn’t, of course. Far as I can tell, nothing was disturbed.”

“Except her side of the bed.”

“You couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Did she take anything?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t notice anything missing. But while I was asleep she might have planted some kind of surveillance equipment in my house. I want it checked as soon as possible.”

Within half an hour, they’d run down a surveillance expert who sometimes did contract work for the department. He promised to do the sweep later that morning. Duncan gave him the location of his hidden key as well as the code of his alarm system, which he’d changed before leaving the house.

As he concluded the call, DeeDee stacked her hands atop the mass of steel wool that passed for hair, and sighed with resignation. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Send me to my room?”

“Did you at least use a condom?”

“I did.”

“Well, that’s something. And you’re being conscientious about setting your house alarm. That’s good. But from now on, get references before you take a woman to bed, okay? If Savich is-”