The Last King of Texas (Tres Navarre #3)(29)

I looked from the photograph to the real-life Del Brandon.

You couldn't miss the contrast. Del looked like his dad after twenty years of Prozac and eclairs — a fatter, duller version of the original, the ferocious hunger in his eyes watered down to a kind of unfocused discontent.

Del sat down at his desk, which was absolutely empty — no pens, no paper, nothing. The desk of an untrustworthy man.

He spread his arms. "Well?"

Erainya patted Jem's head. "Why don't you go play with Rita, honey?" Jem ran fearlessly into the other room — a lot more fearlessly than I would have if someone suggested I play with Rita. Erainya shut the door behind him, then sat in the only free chair. I leaned against the wall by the desk. Del sat back in his chair, waiting.

"Mr. Brandon," Erainya said, "we're private investigators."

Del had been about to prop his boot up on the desk. He missed, dropped the foot to the floor, and sat up. "Come again?"

"I'm a private investigator, honey. I need some information about your brother."

Brandon's eyes got very small. "Did Arno tell you to f**k with me like this?"

"I don't know Arno."

"You said—"

"No, I didn't. You assumed."

Del opened his mouth, looking back and forth between me and Erainya. When the color came back into his face, it came a little too quick. Maybe he wasn't really planning to go for his side arm, but when his hand started slipping toward the edge of the desk both Erainya and I had the same idea. Erainya pulled her 9mm from her purse. I walked around the desk, lifted Del's hand, and removed his .38 semiauto from its holster.

Del didn't object. He took the intrusion calmly, like a man who was used to being disarmed. When he spoke again, he addressed Erainya.

"You think this is a good idea? You think you can treat me like this?"

"We don't want you getting stupid, honey. That's all."

I ejected the gun's magazine into the trash can. I checked the desk, found no other weapons, then nodded to Erainya.

She put her 9mm back in her purse.

"I yell now," Del warned, "that kid of yours will be Ernie's lunch. What are you thinking?"

"All we want is to ask a couple of questions, honey."

"You tricked me."

"I do what's easiest. Tell me about your brother."

"He's dead. What's to tell?"

"You sound real broken up about it," I noticed.

Del shrugged.

"You looked broken up this afternoon," I added, "kicking Aaron's widow and kid out of their home."

Del's eyes got even smaller. "That's where — on the porch, yeah. What the f**k is this about?"

"We're working for UTSA, Mr. Brandon," Erainya said. "The University wants to make sure their professor didn't get shot full of holes through any fault of theirs. You heard the police are holding a suspect in your brother's murder?"

"I didn't know that, you think I'd be out at night conducting business? Years I've been waiting for them to catch that f**ker. He killed my father."

"You believe Zeta Sanchez had a grudge against you?"

"Fuckin' A."

"Your brother too?"

Del's gaze slid down to his empty desktop, then back to Erainya. "Look, lady, the police already asked me all about that. I told them I don't know."

Erainya nodded sympathetically. "And the truth is?"

Del licked his lips. "You just want to know so UTSA will relax."

"That's right, honey."

"Then you'll get out of here?"

I gave him the Scout's honor.

"Just so you understand," he started, "Zeta Sanchez— Anthony — he should've been grateful to us. Nobody else would've given him the kind of chance we did."

He looked at Erainya for support.

She said, "Absolutely."

"Sanchez's folks worked for us for ages. His dad was a metal welder. His mom worked in the office." Del nodded past me, toward Rita's reception area. "I remember her pretty well. I was about fifteen when Anthony was born. Sanchez's dad died not too long after that but his mom worked here a few more years before quitting. The thing about my dad, though — once your family worked for him, he kept track of you, tried to help out any way he could. So he kept tabs on the Sanchezes. When Anthony started getting into trouble with gangs, Dad offered him a job here. Dad did that for a lot of the employees' kids."

"Heartwarming," I said.

"Everybody got a chance in Dad's business. Even Zeta Sanchez. Even my stupid f**king brother. Everybody."

From out in the office, Rita's voice exploded with laughter. Jem was singing her something.

Erainya said, "Why would Sanchez want you and your brother dead?"

"We shut the bastard down, that's why. Zeta was moving drugs through RideWorks. Using our f**king company to move he**in for his friends on the West Side. If he'd been found out, we would've been closed down. Everything my dad built, everything Aaron and I were going to inherit— gone. I got Dad to see what was going on. Aaron didn't have much to do with it, but Sanchez didn't know that. He blamed us both, told us we were just jealous he could run the company better than we could. Dad had it out with him after that — threw Sanchez out on his ass. You know what Sanchez did to retaliate."