Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Harry got close and Riggs shook off his thoughts to focus on him.
“I’m gonna tell you something that’s only for you to know. My team knows, but if you get a shot to have a chat with Bubbles, with or without me, I want you to bear it in mind.”
“So I can tell you what he says,” Riggs filled in what he left out.
“You don’t want this shit sorted?”
“I know he’s a fuckup, but Bubbles is a friend,” Riggs replied.
“A friend, who Nadia is lucky she didn’t come home earlier and catch this—”
“I wasn’t finished,” Riggs gritted, ticked that Harry interrupted him, and not about to think of Nadia coming home when whoever broke in was there.
Harry jerked up his chin.
“He’s obviously gotten mixed up in some serious shit, Harry,” Riggs reminded him. “And I’m pissed as all hell at him right now, but I haven’t forgotten he got the shit knocked out of him a couple of days ago, so bad they had to induce a coma.”
“And you’re worried about him.”
“Well…yeah,” Riggs said sarcastically.
“So me finding the person who did it to him would be good.”
“Yeah again. And no shade on the job you do, but first, you gotta take your time with it and be thorough. Second, you got rules you gotta adhere to, which is why your job takes so much time. Third, like I told you, Nadia and me already drank the other bottle, and they might have gone through her recycling and seen it, or they might still be searching for it. So last, I got my kid and Nadia at my house, and Nadia is already more mixed up in this shit than I want her to be. I want it nowhere near my son. In short, I want this done, and done fast, without anyone else I care about getting beat to hell or freaked the fuck out.”
“I hear you, so can I say what I have to say?” Harry asked quietly.
This time, Riggs jerked up his chin.
“There’s been a string of robberies through Chelan and Fret counties,” Harry told him. “And one of them, the victim reported a case of wine, valued at five thousand dollars, was stolen.”
Riggs blew out a breath.
And then he asked, “You got more?”
“Only that this is very organized. And we’ve had eyes on Bubbles for a while, because this isn’t the first time he’s fenced stolen goods for one of his less law-abiding buds.”
Yeah.
Damn.
Bubbles was a fucking doofus.
“However,” Harry carried on, “you don’t beat the shit out of your fence unless he’s done you dirty. So there’s a lot of scenarios that could be at play here. Either he was supposed to hold onto that wine for some reason, and they were pissed he sold a couple of bottles to you. Or he wasn’t supposed to have that wine, maybe he stole it from the people who stole it, or he was holding it for people who went up against the big man, and now all their asses are swung out there. Or there’s something more here I’m not seeing, because it makes a big statement to beat the crap out of a guy to grab some wine and then go out of your way to break into someone’s house to regain possession of a single bottle of it.”
“Right.”
“We need Bubbles to talk because the unknown has a way of escalating, Riggs. And a man beaten nearly to death is already farther than I want this to escalate. That means he’ll have security, so he’ll be good. It also means we’ll get the word out we recovered that last bottle, and it was not only spent, but it’s now in the possession of law enforcement.”
“Obliged.”
“But when you talk to him, if I’m there, or I’m not, I need you to get him talking about whatever he’s messed up in before things escalate. I want a pin in this, Riggs, and I need your help to do that.”
“I can’t shake him conscious, Harry. My hands are as tied as yours. But if what you’re not saying is that you think I’ll back some fool play of Bubbles’s, or close ranks to protect a gang of thugs who violate people’s homes because I don’t want people to think I’m a rat, then you can fuck off.”
“You’re not your dad, Riggs. I know that. Everyone does.”
“Then I’m not sure what your fuckin’ problem is.”
“My problem is,” he stabbed a finger toward Bubbles’s room. “I got a man beat to shit. I got some idiots messing with one of my citizens, trying to convince her she’s being haunted. That citizen also happens to be worth half a billion dollars. And that fact is really not hard to come by. And I got an organized and efficient crew of burglars, who so far have hit over eleven homes and businesses and stolen over a million dollars’ worth of property and might cotton on I got a vodka heiress on my patch. And topping that, I might be reopening a fifteen-year-old murder that has kept Misted Pines in its thrall since it happened, and I already know what I’m gonna see when I open that file. Confession or not, it’ll be shoddy police work that’s gonna remind my county that the man who had my office before me was a piece of shit. And if it’s found out the Whitaker murders weren’t investigated correctly and the wrong man went away for that crime, people are gonna wonder what other files need to be reopened. Which will mean I’ll be the ringleader of a shitshow. I’ve already had that job once when I took over for him, and I don’t want it back. This all on the heels of six murders that caught national attention. So right now, I got some footprints, tire prints, and an unconscious man going for me. Which isn’t fucking much. So, when it comes to you, all I’m doing is asking a friend to help.”