Justice Lost (Darren Street #3)(13)

“You lied to me, you son of a bitch,” I said. “You said you didn’t know him.”

“I’ve known him since high school,” Morris said. “We were on the debate team together. We actually got laid for the first time on the same night in the same house by the Williams twins. We’re old friends, Darren, but it doesn’t matter.”

Morris was trying to look tough. He took a long sip from the glass in his hand and said, “You wouldn’t have a criminal case whether I knew him or whether he was a complete stranger. Give it up, Darren. Take my advice and go find a malpractice lawyer. He pays a bunch for malpractice insurance. Run it up his ass.”

“What were the two of you talking about? Why did you meet him here today? Was I the subject of the conversation?”

“Your name came up.”

“In what context?”

“In the context of he needs to hire some protection, some security. I think you’re capable of some pretty terrible things.”

“And he isn’t? He’s responsible for two killings, and those are just the ones I know about.”

“He didn’t kill anyone.”

Just then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to face two very large men in tight black pants and jackets, wearing white button-down shirts.

“Is this gentleman bothering you?” one of them said to Morris. The man’s head was shaved, and he had green eyes. The other one had a buzz cut and brown eyes. The bald guy had tattoos on both of his hands. Fraturra was hanging back about ten feet behind them. I noticed the people close to us go quiet.

“Yes,” Morris said. “As a matter of fact, he is.”

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave,” the bald guy said.

I’d been in dozens of fights in prison. I’d fought inmates, cellmates, and guards. I’d fought big guys and small, quick guys. I’d fought grapplers and strikers. I’d taken punches and kicks and been choked out and even stabbed. There was probably nothing at that point I hadn’t seen as far as hand-to-hand combat. I figured I could kick the bald guy in the groin and punch the other dude in the throat before they knew what happened, but then I’d just wind up in jail for a day or two and have to go through the system after the cops found me and charged me with assault.

“Why?” I said to Mount Baldy. “What have I done?”

“Dr. Fraturra is one of our best customers, and he says you’ve been harassing him. The gentleman right there, as I’m sure you know, is the district attorney. If they say you have to go, then you have to go.”

I took a swig of my beer and set it on the bar.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll walk out, but if you so much as lay a finger on me, both of you muscle heads will be eating through a tube for a while.”

“Ah,” Buzz Cut said. “Are we a badass?”

“Touch me and you’ll find out real quick.”

“Great to see you again, Stephen,” I said to Morris, and I started walking toward the entrance. Baldy and Buzz Cut parted like a gate and let me walk past, but they followed close behind. As I passed Fraturra, I winked at him.

“Be seeing you soon, Doc,” I said, and I walked out of the bar.

I got into my car, looked toward the mist-covered Smoky Mountains in the distance, and headed for Gatlinburg.





CHAPTER 8

“You never call,” Luanne “Granny” Tipton said when she opened the door and saw me standing on her front porch.

Granny and two of her grandsons lived atop a mountain on two hundred acres about thirty minutes outside of Gatlinburg. I’d driven along the steadily climbing mountain road among lengthening shadows, negotiating sharp turns and switchbacks, until the asphalt ended and turned to gravel. A chat driveway eventually led to the Tipton compound. I’d climbed out of my car and walked up onto her front porch and knocked on the door.

Granny was in her early seventies, lean and still ramrod straight. Her hair was fine and white, and her eyes a deep brown. She smiled warmly at me. I don’t know what it was about Granny, but we connected at a deep level. She was always glad to see me, and the feeling was mutual.

“I apologize,” I said. “Do you have some time for an old friend?”

“Always,” she said. “I was about to go for my evening stroll. Care to join me?”

“That would be nice.”

“Let me get a shawl,” she said. “I know it’s warm, but these old bones start to chill.”

It was a little after eight o’clock, and the sun was dropping steadily toward the rounded humps to the west. I stood on the porch while she retrieved a white shawl and came back out. We walked down the steps, crossed the driveway, and began to follow a path that skirted a creek and a tree line. It led back toward the road, away from her house and the two large, beautiful log cabins on either side. The cabins belonged to her grandsons, Eugene and Ronnie.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while, Darren,” she said as we walked slowly along the path. “How have you been?”

“I have another favor to ask,” I said quietly. My hands were folded behind my back, and I was looking at the ground.

“So you haven’t been doing well,” she said. “What kind of favor?”

“Very similar to two I’ve asked in the past.”