Chasing China White, Allan Leverone [feel good books to read txt] 📗

at his brother’s words. Derek had always been an intelligent kid, too smart for his own good in many ways. Even now, dopesick and terrified and under the most extreme stress imaginable, his innate sense of perception was spot-on. Not for the first time, Greg thought things could have—and should have—turned out much differently for his brother than they did. A hundred-eighty degrees opposite. He should have been a scientist or a researcher or a university professor, not a homeless junkie facing an unimaginably bleak fate.

Tears were starting to form in his eyes and he realized Derek was staring at him, waiting for an answer. He didn’t know what difference the topic could possibly make at this point, with a cop dying on the dirty floor and a buttload of other cops waiting outside to send him straight to hell, but Greg supposed offering a theory couldn’t hurt the situation, either. “You said this Crowder guy is a some kind of criminal bigshot, right?”

“You have no idea.”

“Okay. Well if he wants to put you out of commission as badly as you say—”

“He demonstrated quite convincingly last night to me that he does.”

“Then the most likely scenario is that he dimed you out to the cops himself, or had one of his stooges do it. Putting the police on your trail makes it much less likely you’ll be able to skip town successfully, and it saves him the trouble of having to run you down himself.”

“But he has to know the first thing I’ll do is point the finger at him. He’s the whole reason I was in Boxford.”

“We already talked about that. You convinced me that he doesn’t care, remember? He isn’t worried about defending himself. There’s no proof he sent you there, is there? Do you have a handwritten note, signed by Crowder, telling you what to do?”

“Of course not.”

“Exactly. That’s my point. There’s nothing tying Crowder to the dead bodies besides your accusation. All he has to do is deny that and there’s nothing any prosecutor can do as long as he doesn’t deviate from his story. So he has nothing to lose and everything to gain by turning informant on you. The risk to him is nonexistent.”

Derek blinked as he considered Greg’s words. “I am so fucked,” he muttered for the third time. Or perhaps the hundredth. Greg had lost track.

“You need to think about what you’re going to say to the cops when they call back.”

“What I’m going to say?”

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing to fucking say, Greg. I’m not going to prison. It would be a death sentence. I might as well stick this gun in my mouth and pull the fucking trigger.”

“Don’t even think ab—”

“Don’t worry, Greg, I don’t have the balls for that. I’m a weak-ass junkie, remember? My point is that I can’t give myself up, and what else is there to talk about with the cops?”

“They’re going to get impatient. They know one of their own is in here, and I’m sure they’ve spoken to enough witnesses already to know he’s hurt badly.”

“What’s your point?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You need to let them come and get the injured cop. Build a little goodwill with them by allowing two guys to come in here with a stretcher and take him out to be treated.”

Derek looked at Greg like maybe he’d pulled his own ear off the side of his head and begun chewing on it. “Give up the cop? Are you outta your fucking mind? He’s the only leverage I have. He’s the only reason they haven’t come in here and filled me full of bullets already.”

Greg shrugged. “I’m still in here.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks.”

Derek kicked a chair in frustration. It skidded across the floor. “You know what I mean. If the cops know who I am, they know who you are as well. They know you’re my brother.”

“So? By now they would have talked to Brenna. She would have told them about you coming into the house and waving a knife around and forcing me to go with you. As far as they’re concerned, I’m a hostage, too, and that’s to your advantage. That’s why you can afford to give up the cop.”

“And what about as far as you’re concerned?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you feel you’re a hostage?”

“Dude, you took me out of my house at knifepoint after threatening my wife, and you’re waving that gun around in front of my face like John Dillinger. What do you think?”

“Fine. Get out,” he said. “Get up and walk out that door.”

“I’m not leaving unless you walk out with me.”

And then the phone rang again.

11

Derek jumped, exactly as he had the first time the cops called, and Greg wondered how many more phone calls it would take before the gun accidentally went off and blew him to kingdom come.

“Goddammit!” Derek screamed. “Why can’t they just leave me alone for five minutes?”

Jesus, he’s right on the edge. “They’re not going to leave you alone, Derek.” Greg spoke as calmingly as he could, which was not easy. “Not with a cop bleeding out on the floor and you pacing around with a gun in your hand. I’m surprised it took them this long to call back.”

Derek stomped to the phone and yanked it off the cradle. “What now?”

He listened for a moment and said, “Why ask me my name? You already know what it is.”

Another short delay and then he laughed. “Establish trust. That’s a good one. You’ve got fifty guys out there with guns all pointed at me, but all I have to do is tell you my name and then we’ll trust each other?”

He listened some more and then glanced over at the cop on the floor and Greg knew exactly what had transpired. The negotiator had told Derek that if he really wanted to begin building trust, he should allow the injured cop to be removed.

Greg nodded encouragingly. “Do it,” he mouthed.

“Fine,” Derek said suddenly. “Two medics and a stretcher. Unarmed. They come in, they load