The DEA had dumped us out in the middle of nowhere, so I had to use my phone’s GPS to get us back.

Halfway home, Sid called.

“Uhhhh, everything alright?” he asked.

“We’re good,” I said, even though I knew I sounded stuffed-up from crying.

“You, uh, got any new friends there with you?”

“Ha. NO.”

I told him about the meeting with Fordham, though I left out the part about Jack paying off the cops. I just… I couldn’t get into it right now.

“Hey, you pulled it off,”  Sid said admiringly. “Nice job, kid.”

“Thanks.”

“If I’d’a had to put money on it, I wouldn’t’a bet on you.”

“Thanks,” I repeated, my tone decidedly less cheerful this time around.

“Anyway, we need to talk.”

Sid told me he was at a rest area off of exit 39. After we hung up, I plugged it into the GPS. Turns out it was only three miles away.

I pulled off the highway and drove slowly into the rest area, looking for the picnic area Sid had mentioned. There were plenty of tourists stopping off to use the restrooms.

Beneath the shade of a palm tree, an old guy in a golf shirt sat by himself on a concrete bench.

I parked my car. Jack roared in next to me.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he cut his engine.

“We’re meeting Sid,” I said tersely, not wanting to talk to Jack any more than necessary.

We walked over in silence and sat across from my boss.

The first thing he said was, “You look awful pissy for two people who got laid last night. What, are you both bad in the sack?”

Jack looked at me in shock, like What the fuck are you talking to him about THAT for?

“I didn’t tell him,” I said defensively.

“You didn’t have to, I’m a goddamn detective,” Sid said. “And even if I wasn’t, I ain’t stupid.”

“Why are we here?” Jack asked impatiently.

“While you two were bonin’, I was workin’. Guess you could say I got lucky, too – just not with a broad. No, that sounds gay. Never mind.”

“Cut to the chase, Sid,” I snapped.

“Jesus. Maybe you oughta invest in a vibrator if he’s not gettin’ the job done.”

“SID – ”

“Alright, alright. Lou’s got a meth operation goin’.”

I glanced at Jack. He looked stunned, so I knew it wasn’t a put-on.

“What?! You’re sure?!”

“Ninety-nine percent. Got all the signs – old ranch out in the middle a’ nowhere. Big-ass barn that’s about to fall down, but it’s got a couple of brand-new ventilation shafts comin’ out of the roof, and some shiny steel tanks out back. Unless they got a helluva lotta fartin’ cows in there, I figure it’s meth.”

“How the fuck did he put that together in two weeks?” Jack fumed.

“I don’t think this was a two-week job, Junior. Looked to me like it’s been set up for a while.”

“Shit,” Jack muttered.

He was probably feeling sick and infuriated as he realized how Lou had been playing him for months.

Good.

Fucker.

“How’d you find out?” I asked Sid.

“Trailed everybody’s favorite strip-club owner to the place last night. Buncha ugly fuckers went along with him. I cut the lights and took some photos.”

Sid pulled out an iPad. On the screen were shots in different shades of green: night vision. There was Lou, clear as day but green as grass. He was talking to some young, nerdy guy dressed in a Hazmat suit.

“You recognize the kid?” Sid asked.

Jack swiped through the photos one by one. “No… never seen him before in my life. But that’s Eyeball, Wild Bill, and Cowboy.”

“What’s with you bikers and the dumbass names, huh?” Sid asked.

Jack just glared at him.

“I’m serious,” Sid continued. “You got a regular name. So does Lou. Why do all your other fuckups got names like Avocado Head and Beaver Ass?”

“Now’s really not the time for the comedy act, Lou,” I said.

“What the fuck is with you two?” Sid asked in exasperation.

I gave him a grim, totally insincere smile. “I just found out that Jack paid the Richards police department not to solve Ali’s murder.”

“Jesus Christ, it wasn’t like that,” Jack protested.

“What was it like, huh?” I snarled, turning on him. “You wanna explain exactly how the fuck it actually was?”

“Hey, you two wanna hold it down?” Sid asked. “You wanna play Jerry Springer show, take it indoors. Not out here with the civilians.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?!”

“I heard, I heard,” Sid said.

“…and?!”

“And it sounds like he’s not gettin’ any tonight.”

My mouth dropped open in shock – until the anger took over. “You fucking asshole – ”

Sid turned to Jack. “Did you kill her cousin?”

“No,” Jack said vehemently.

“Did you hire somebody else to kill her?”

“NO.”

“Do you know who killed her?”

“No.”

“So why’d you pay off the cops?”

I broke into the conversation. “Because she was working for the DEA, and Jack was afraid he was going to get framed for the murder, so he paid the cops to make it go away.”

“That true, Easy Rider?”

“It’s a little less black and white than that – ”

“FUCK YOU,” I hissed loudly under my breath.

Jack sighed. “…but… yeah. That’s basically it.”

Sid shrugged and looked at me. “Okay, that’s pretty goddamn bad, but what’d you expect? You knew he was a scumbag when you jumped into bed with him.”

It took me a second to process the outrageousness of that statement.

“…what?!”

“He’s a fuckin’ biker gang asshole. What’d you think, he was a boy scout before you met him?” Sid flung out an arm at Jack. “Look at him! All those tattoos! Jesus, he’s got ‘scumbag’ written all over him.”

“You have tattoos, Sid,” I seethed.

“I got one tattoo, kid, and it’s the right kind of tattoo,” Sid said, flexing the arm with his SEMPER FI ink.

Jack stared at Sid and shook his head. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“The asshole you’re payin’ Friend Prices for, bud, and don’t you forget it. Now – since I’m sensing you two don’t wanna dick around anymore – literally – ”

“SID – ”

“ – you wanna see if this new info’ll get the DEA off your jocks, or what?”

I looked at Jack.

He shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”