Justice Lost (Darren Street #3)(23)

“Should be a good fight,” Corker said. “Who you betting on?”

“The marine,” Penn growled. Roby Penn often didn’t speak like other men. He chose to communicate more like a wild animal, in snorts and growls.

“Word is he’s tough but doesn’t have much experience,” Corker said.

“He did three tours in Afghanistan, got shot four times, took a bunch of shrapnel from an IED, and is still standing. I know Shaker’s a good fighter, but I’ll take the marine anytime. He’s like Sergeant Barnes from that movie Platoon. He ain’t meant to die.”

Corker knew the marine was Gary Brewer. He came from a wealthy family in Knoxville. His father and grandfather had both made fortunes in the insurance business.

“Didn’t the Brewer kid go to college?” Corker said.

“Graduated from Tennessee with a business degree and then enlisted in the marines,” Penn said. “Headed straight for Afghanistan.”

“Why in the hell would he do something like that?”

“Some people just feel the need to serve,” Penn said. There was an edge to his voice. “I felt that need many years ago. I wish I hadn’t done it now, for a lot of reasons. Cost me half my left bicep, then I came home to people calling me a baby killer. Come to find out the whole reason we went into Vietnam was a ruse by the government. But fuck it, don’t matter now.”

Roby cast a sideways glance at Corker.

“I guess you never got the patriotic itch, did you? Never felt the need to serve your country.”

“Never did,” Corker said, “and I ain’t the least bit ashamed. I never thought it would be a good idea to go to some foreign land and risk getting my ass shot off for a bunch of crooks in Washington.”

Corker exhaled a cloud of smoke from the cigarette he was puffing on. “I don’t see the politicians’ sons going,” he said. “And damned few of our representatives served in the military before they were elected. I always figured it’d be best for me to just stay right here and serve the people of my county.”

“That seems to be working out pretty good for you,” Penn said.

“It has since you and Clancy got me in this job,” Corker said. “Who’s Brewer fighting?”

“I told you earlier. Harley Shaker.”

“Right. The bricklayer from Newport.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve seen Shaker fight. Ain’t ever seen him lose.”

“Should be interesting,” Penn said.

“The gate looks pretty good today.”

“Be more than thirty thousand dollars. Once we figure up the vig on the bets, we should have a real good day.”

Corker heard footsteps coming up the back stairs and turned to see Stephen Morris, the district attorney, walk into the room. Morris was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt.

“And there stands the last man I expected to see here today,” Corker said. “What brings you out to our little playground?”

“Have you heard about Darren Street?” Morris said.

“The lawyer? The guy everybody thinks has killed a few folks and gotten away with it?”

“That’s him,” Morris said. “I think he just killed another one, but that’s not the big problem.”

“What is the big problem?”

“Can we have the room?” Morris said to Roby Penn.

“Fuck you. This is my place. You want privacy? Go outside.”

“How about I just have the sheriff here arrest you and send your sorry ass off to prison for running an illegal gambling operation?” Morris said.

Corker quickly stepped between the two men. He knew Roby and Morris had met, but they’d had very little contact. Morris didn’t know how truly unpredictable Roby Penn could be. He didn’t know that something as simple as the empty threat he just made could send Roby off the deep end.

“I got no intentions of arresting anyone,” Corker said. He smiled widely. “Especially my uncle Roby. He’s paid you ten times more money than the government has over the past four years. You’d be biting the hand that feeds you.”

“He ought to learn some manners,” Morris said.

“And maybe you ought to take your happy ass right back down those steps while you’re still able,” Penn said.

“Did you just threaten me? Did you just threaten the district attorney general of Knox County?”

Practically before the sheriff could blink, a nickel-plated Colt 1911 .45-caliber semiautomatic pistol appeared from nowhere and was in his uncle’s right hand. It was pointed at Morris’s forehead.

“I’m not sure,” Penn said. “Let’s ask the sheriff. Did I just threaten the district attorney general of Knox County?”

“Easy, Roby,” Corker said. “Go easy now. Me and the district attorney are going to walk down the stairs and have a little talk. When I come back, he won’t be with me.”

Penn nodded his head slowly, not taking his eyes off Morris.

“That sounds like a good idea,” he said.

“We’re going now,” Corker said as he slowly took Morris by the arm and turned away. “Why don’t you just go ahead and put that hand cannon away?”

Corker followed Morris down the steps and out a small door that led to a loading dock at the back of the warehouse. A rusted chain-link fence separated the property from a line of white oak trees a hundred feet away. Once they’d gotten outside, Morris spun. His face was pink with rage.