"What?"
"I said I'm sure she's gone. And I don't think these bike tramps know where she is, either. I think she ran."
"Shit. Tell me what you know."
"Well, there are five of them in the house right now, but it's the same five all day long from the bikes outside. Not like before. No shifts of men. Just the same five. I think they are all waiting for news."
Tomas thought about it a moment and decided the young Mex was probably right. "Then stick with it, and let me know if they take off as a pack. Extra grand in it for you when that happens."
"Got it. No worries. Their scouts never spotted me. I'm still clean," Juan told him.
So the little bitch rabbited. Kind of strange that she would do that while I was in jail though. Wonder what set her off? Tomas thought as he flagged down a taxi, got into the back, and then gave the driver his home address. At least that fuck-head of a lawyer finally came through with something.
He thought over what Internal Affairs Detective Nelson and his captain had to say on Tuesday. He was at least free to move around as he pleased for thirty days, but it might be time to kick loose from the department.
He had enough money to do that, and had enough solid contacts in the department to continue getting good information on dealers and buyers. He didn't actually need to have a badge of his own any longer. With Internal Affairs on the case, Mike Wilson, his partner, was bound to catch scent of something, and he would be a real hassle if he turned his attention in his direction. Might have to end that old man before he got his dandruff up.
He was old, and he believed, but the bottom line was that Mink Wilson wasn't a legend because of his stamp collection. The man was a hound who could hunt, and as dangerous a hunter as they come. It wouldn't take him long to start putting things together once he was able to catch a string and start pulling.
"Yep, might be time to retire ol' Mr. Wilson," Tomas mused as he got out of the cab and began walking up to his door.
His phone rang as he closed his door behind him.
"Hey," he said, noticing it was James Stewart calling—his real partner. "What's up?"
"Glad you are out. We've been hit. Hard."
"What? And you are just telling me this now?"
"You wanted me to tell you in the county block? Let them record it for you in case you needed notes later on?" Stewart shot back.
Tomas took a breath. "You're right. So, how bad?"
"Fred, Barney, Wilma, and Betty are all hit and cleaned out. I checked on Scooby this morning, and Bugs. They are still intact. I'm on my way to Daffy now."
"Holy fuck! That's over two million gone, my friend, just in cash. Not to mention coke and guns."
"I know. You don't think I know that? I said hit hard, right?" Stewart yelled back.
"Even with those three we will only have, what, fifty, a hundred?"
"Seventy-five, and six kilos," Stewart reported blandly.
"Well fuck me," Tomas complained. "Who did this? Any idea?"
"No. I mean, who could know?"
"Chelsea," Tomas said after a pause.
Stewart laughed. "Eight men? Eight good men? That little piece of ass is sweet but it isn't that sweet."
"Not if she had help," Tomas told him.
"Help?"
"She's been hanging with a biker club. The White Wolves up in Northside," Tomas explained.
"White Wolves? I know them. They aren't outlaw. Just a bunch of riders who have a club house." Stewart told him. "Bunch of nine-to-five doctors and lawyer types playing weekend-warrior."
"Not all of them," Tomas said. "Not by a long shot."
"But they aren't the type. Sure, they might have taken her in, and that lawyer of hers is probably a member, but to hit our stashes?"
"My gut says it's them," Tomas told him.
"Your gut just got you locked up, but you do what you want. I'm thinking one of our partners is involved. That makes much more sense to me. I just haven't figured out how yet," Stewart told him.
"Well I assure you, pard', that we will find out who it was, and do them a solid in return," Tomas growled.
"We agree on that one," Stewart said.
"I'll meet you at Daffy. We'll talk about it there," Tomas told him.
"Right. See you in about an hour then," Stewart said, and then he hung up the phone.
There was one other person Stewart didn't mention who could have pulled this off without a problem—that being Stewart himself.
Tomas tapped his finger on the dead cell phone, and thought things over. With all the shit coming down, and some of it going to stick no matter what he did, it might be time to clear the slates. Daffy was a good place to do it, too. A perfect place, in fact.