Private Vegas (Private 9)

I’d made my call to DA Bobby Petino, and a deal was in the works. But if Tommy was charged with conspiracy to commit murder, it would still be Sutter’s word against Tommy’s.

And Tommy was slick.

My brother might never spend a day in prison, but for now, all I cared about was that Rick Del Rio was free.

In the courthouse, the elevator doors opened.

My guys and I got inside and Cruz held the button while Caine and I blocked the entrance until the door closed. The ride down was exhilarating because Del Rio was finally coming back to himself, blood flowing into his face, the will to live lighting up his eyes.

He hugged me. He hugged Caine. He kissed Cruz loudly on the cheek. Then he said, “I’m buying you guys dinner anywhere you like, anyplace that will take my Visa card.”

The four of us descended to the ground floor, laughing, enjoying the win for the good guys. We cut through the lobby and went out the front doors to Temple.

I said to Del Rio, “We’ll take my car.”

We never got to the parking lot. Dexter Lewis and the cop who’d been assigned to keep Del Rio under control were jogging down the courthouse steps. Lewis was calling Rick’s name.

“Del Rio. Del Rio. I have something for you.”

We stopped, turned. Lewis had a look in his face that could only be called triumphant. But what the hell could he possibly feel victorious about?

“I’m pressing charges,” he said to Rick.

Lewis was enjoying this too much. He had an ugly smile, which he had probably been told his whole life was his best feature. When Rick faced the ADA, he looked like a hurricane in a bottle. Furious. Uncontainable.

“Charges? I’m out, asshole.”

“I’m charging you with the assault and battery you committed against me. Asshole. Arrest him, Officer Brinker.”

I stood by and watched as the cuffs came out. Rick looked at me wildly. “I’ll be out in an hour, right, Jack?”

Caine said, “Don’t make a statement, Rick. Don’t say anything. We’ll meet you at Central Booking.”

My guts twisted. Not this. Not after all this.

Rick couldn’t be going back to jail.

Chapter 94

I WAS DRIVING back to the office after Cruz, Caine, and I had spent half the day at Central Booking. We were there for moral support, but we saw Del Rio for only a moment before he was taken away to be processed and then locked up pending his arraignment.

I’m a graduate of Twin Towers Correctional myself, and I can tell you that it’s worse than its reputation as an overcrowded, gang-infested sewer, a brutal, dehumanizing hellhole you couldn’t dream up if you wrote horror films for a living.

And I was more worried about Rick than before. Unlike in the Carmody case, Rick had actually assaulted an officer of the court in full view of about fifty witnesses.

It didn’t look good for Rick. Not at all.

I was on the freeway, thinking of taking Justine out to lunch, bringing her up to date on what had just happened, when my phone rang. I glanced at it out of habit, thinking whoever it was, they could wait. But I changed my mind when I saw Luke Warren’s name on the caller ID.

The captain was my connection to a couple of loathsome serial felons from a godforsaken, landlocked pile of rocks called Sumar. I had offered to help the captain for free.

I said my name, and he got right into it.

“I’m at the Armstrong Hotel, Jack, over on Brampton. There was a murder here forty-eight hours ago, but it’s not my precinct, no reason for anyone to call me. Except for something a witness said to the first cop on the scene. The witness is sketchy, but I think he can ID the Sumaris.”

“You said it’s a homicide?”

Warren said, “Could be more than one.”