“You’re not the police, and you have no authority over me.” The rich bastard jutted his chin as if he’d finally grown a spine. “So either you leave, or I’ll—”
“What?” Brody challenged. “Call the cops? Be my guest.” He held out his phone for the other man to use. “Just make sure you ask for Detective Hansen, ’cause he’s gonna want to be here when I tell him why I refused to leave.”
“Go to hell.”
Brody didn’t think about what he did next. He just fucking did it.
Pulling his concealed pistol from the shoulder holster beneath his jacket, he brought the weapon up with one hand as he fisted the shithead’s shirt with the other. Almost simultaneously, he shoved the bastard against the nearest wall.
“W-what are you…ohmygod!”
Brody kept the barrel of his Glock19 pointed smack dab in the middle of the man’s forehead. Lowering his voice to a deadly calm, his cold gaze met Yorke’s terrified stare with a promise he meant to keep.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, and then things are going to get very bad for you. Now I want that name.”
“Please. Y-you don’t understand.”
“Name.”
“Y-you have no idea what you’re asking me to—”
“Tell me the goddamn name!”Brody wasn’t just pointing his gun at Yorke’s forehead, then. He was pushing the end of the barrel against the fucker’s skull.“I will not ask again.”
Yorke’s normally polished appearance crumbled. His entire body quivered with fear beneath Brody’s bruising hold. Tears began pouring from the corners of his eyes, and unless his sense of smell was deceiving him, Brody was fairly certain the guy had just pissed his pants.
“T-Tommy.” Yorke finally gave it up. “T-Tommy Carrigan.”
“Carrigan?” Cade joined in the fun. “As in—”
“The Chicago C-Carrigans.” A jerky nod of Yorke’s head. “Y-yes.”
The Carrigan name was well-known around the city and had been for generations.
“Liam?”
“On it.” Liam used the tablet he’d brought with him to do a quick search. Seconds later, he flipped it around so Yorke could see the screen. “This him?”
Another uneven nod.
Brody spared a quick glance at the image on the small screen before returning his focus back to Yorke. “We ask this guy if he was with you at the time of the shooting, he’s gonna say yes?”
“I-If I tell him it’s okay, h-he will.”
“If you tell him…” Brody huffed out a breath. “You control what this guy does or doesn’t say?”
“With this…yes.”
“You don’t get to script your own alibi, Clay.” Jagger sighed. “That’s not exactly how this thing works.”
“I’m not scripting, I-I’m…p-protecting.”
“This ought to be good,” Jagger rolled his eyes as if he were bored.
But Brody was already asking, “Who are you protecting? Carrigan?”
“And myself.”
“From the cops?”