Retribution (The Protectors 3) - Page 62
“But not you,” Tate ventured.
Reggie shook his head. “I knew a couple guys who used to help Buck cook his stuff…I haven’t seen them since it blew.”
“Where would they have gone, Reggie?” Tate asked.
Reggie began to get more agitated as he kept checking the entrance for signs of anyone. His voice dropped to a low whisper when he said, “There’s a rumor that Buck partnered with this dealer near the border. Laredo, I think.” Reggie dropped his hands to the counter and leaned forward. “Chris,” he began, too caught up in what he was saying to remember my warning about the name. “The guy’s bad news. He’s got a whole operation going on down there. Meth, heroin, coke.”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
Reggie looked at me and shook his head violently. I grabbed him again. “What the fuck is his name?”
“Davos,” Reggie spit out. “Ricardo Davos.”
Reggie tried to tug free of my hold, but I dragged him closer and said, “I’d like nothing more than to rip your nuts from your body and feed them to you, you little prick.”
“Hawke,” Tate said softly and I glanced up to see him shaking his head slightly. I looked over my shoulder to see the guy in the cubicle was watching us now, but surprisingly, he wasn’t reaching for his phone or reacting in any kind of way.
I turned my attention back to Reggie and said, “Did you transfer the money two years ago?”
Reggie paled and then shot Tate a look before shaking head. “I…Buck told me not to. He wanted Chris to come back for it.”
I shoved Reggie away from me and he stumbled, grabbing on to the counter to keep from falling. “Get it now!” I snapped.
“Um…Chris needs to fill out a withdrawal slip,” Reggie began, but when I reached for him again, he stepped back and said, “Okay, okay” and began tapping on his keyboard. He kept shifting his eyes to Tate as he worked.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Reggie mumbled. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t tell him if you tried to get the money.”
“And how the fuck did he know Chris had an account here?” I snarled, hating the way the name sounded coming from my lips, but not willing to share Tate’s new name with Reggie.
Reggie’s sallow skin flushed with color and I fought the urge to slam my fist into his face. He fumbled with the money he pulled from a drawer and started counting. It took several minutes for him to shove it in an envelope and slide it across the counter towards Tate.
“I’m sorry,” Reggie whispered when Tate closed his hand over the envelope. But the second Reggie tried to touch Tate’s hand, I grabbed his bony fingers and crushed them between my own. Reggie cried out in pain, but I stopped just short of actually breaking any bones.
“What are you sorry for, you little fuck? Selling him out for a lousy score two years ago or knowing you’d do it again in a heartbeat if you could?” I snapped. “Let’s go,” I said to Tate as I slammed Reggie’s hand down on the counter and put my own on Tate’s arm to steer him towards the door.
I was pleased when Tate didn’t glance over his shoulder at Reggie, but as soon as we got outside, Tate froze and I realized why a second later when I saw a police officer walking slowly towards us. I guessed the man to be in his late fifties. His brown sheriff’s uniform was tight across his heavyset frame and he was wearing a white cowboy hat. He was resting one hand on his holstered gun and the other hand was holding what looked like a check.
“Christopher Buckley,” the Sheriff murmured as he came to a stop in front of us, his dark eyes looking Tate over quickly before settling on me. I didn’t miss the way his fingers reflexively closed around his gun and I was innately pleased to know he instinctively knew I was a potential threat. Even with my gun stashed under the front seat of my truck, I could still take this man down in seconds. And I would have enjoyed doing it considering what he’d done to Tate years ago.
“What brings you back to town?” the sheriff asked, his eyes remaining on me.
“That an official business question?” I asked before Tate could answer.
The sheriff didn’t respond, but I could see the tension in his jaw as he chewed whatever he had in his mouth. Chewing tobacco as far as I could tell from the smell.
“Chris, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” the guy asked smoothly as his eyes finally shifted to Tate who’d gone very quiet. We were standing close enough that I could feel a slight tremor in his body. I reached down to curl my fingers around his hand and gave him a gentle squeeze. He clamped down on my hand with a brutally tight hold and his palm was cold and clammy against mine.
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