Over the earsplitting sounds of Rage Against the Machine, I wonder if Yoder will be able to hear me.
Shockingly, he yanks the door open a second later. He’s got three pairs of glasses on his head, and I don’t even want to know why. His gaming headset dangles from one hand.
“Whatchu got for me, man?” he asks, stepping aside for me to enter next to a wobbling tower of empty pizza boxes.
When the door shuts behind me, I hold up the coffee cup.
“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. I’m already loaded up on caffeine.”
“Don’t drink this unless you want to wonder what the fuck happened to the last twelve hours of your life when you wake up.”
His eyes widen behind the pair of glasses he shoves down onto the bridge of his nose. “Someone tried to roofie you?”
“Not me. A friend.”
His mouth forms anO.“Shit. Who the fuck would be that stupid?”
I grit my teeth at the thought of what GTR might have done if Drew hadn’t called me. The rage that I turned to ice threatens to burst free in the form of a flow of fucking lava, but I hold it back.
Now isn’t the time. Proof first.
“I need you to confirm what was used in the drink. Chemical composition and everything. I want to be able to track it back to the source.”
“Ohhh ... You’re getting ready to fuck someone hard, aren’t you?”
“I’m just taking out the garbage. We don’t need any more assholes running around the city drugging women.”
Yoder takes the cup and stares down at it like it contains the secrets of the universe. “I’ll do this one for free, man. My sister got date-raped back in college. Seriously fucking uncool.”
“Not necessary. I’ll take care of you. Get it done as quick as you can, though. I need answers,” I say, catching the sound of disembodied players yelling at him through his headset.
Yoder yanks it back up to his ear. “Shit. Sorry. Gotta get back to my game. I’ll get on this as soon as it’s wrapped up. I’ll text you when it’s done.”
I know better than to expect a good-bye, because Yoder is already throwing the headset on and talking shit to someone on the other end.
I leave the musty smell of the basement apartment behind and head out to the car, only to see a black-and-white with its flashers on stopped behind the double-parked Bentley.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
As soon as I step into the street, an unmarked car pulls up behind the squad car, but I know exactly who it is. Detective Clinton Cole, a pain in Dom’s ass since the day Cole graduated from the academy.
The fact that he’s still alive continues to amaze me, because he’s offered up plenty of information to the Feds that helped them bring charges against Dom more than once. Nothing has ever stuck, but Cole hasn’t given up.
He’s looking for a promotion to detective first grade, but he won’t get it until he makes a major bust. Which, no doubt, he’s looking for the Casso family to provide. The only problem—he’s never come sniffing around me before. I’ve always skated by with my connections to Creighton Karas, but after I left Karas International, my veneer of respectability has grown thin.
Cole spots me as soon as I hit the pavement and lifts his chin in my direction. “Mr. Freeman, what brings you to Mr. Yoder’s this evening?”
“Detective Cole, what a surprise to see you here.” I don’t even bother to look at the uniformed officer standing by the Bentley, no doubt asking for Warren’s license and registration. “Something I can help you with?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, but I can read between the lines. This is no accident. “I heard there was a fancy Bentley double-parked in this neighborhood and thought I’d swing by and see what you were doing. Didn’t plan on staying long?”
Inside the car, Drew is cringing into the corner of the back seat, her hair sweeping down into her face.
“Only long enough to drop off some coffee,” I say, but Cole doesn’t buy it.
“Seems awfully nice of you, and I know you’re not that nice of a guy.”
I smile at the detective. “You know that’s not true, Cole. Even if I did leave you off my Christmas card list last year.”