Least Wanted (Sam McRae Mystery 2)

Narsh made a choking noise. Little D withdrew his hand. Narsh inhaled sharply, then coughed, rubbing the sore spot.

I took another tack. “Do you know where Fisher was last Wednesday night?” I asked.

“No,” Narsh croaked, still coughing. Little D pocketed the bullets after he’d emptied the clip.

“Where were you last Wednesday night?”

“Here, probably.”

“Probably?” I was tired of this verbal dance. “C’mon, it was only last week. I’m sure you can remember back that far.”

Little D gave Narsh a warning glare. Narsh, still rubbing his neck, said, “I was here, okay? Damn.”

Assuming that was true and someone saw him here, Narsh had an alibi for Shanae’s murder. But Fisher was still a suspect. I glanced at Little D to see if he had anything to say. He gestured for me to continue.

“Do you know Shanae Jackson?” I asked.

“She the mother of Rodney’s chile, right? I seen her.” Narsh’s expression told me this wasn’t a good thing.

“Did you see Rodney and Shanae argue any time recently?”

“She come by the shop and made a lotta noise, yeah. She do that now and then. Pain-in-the-ass bitch.”

“You won’t have to worry about her anymore. She was beaten to death.”

His eyes widened. “You don’t say?” He paused before speaking again. “With that mouth on her, can’t say I’m surprised.”

I wondered what it was he had chosen not to say. “She was murdered last Wednesday night. Do you know where Fisher was that night?”

He shook his head. “You po-lice or what?”

“Let’s just say I’m an interested party. And it’s really interesting that Shanae was murdered after the two of them argued so much. And no one can account for where Fisher was that night.”

“That don’t mean he killed her.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t make it any less interesting. Did they argue about money? Because Shanae thought Fisher owed her child support.”

“I dunno. I just handle his business.”

“His money laundering business?”

“I just make deliveries for the man.”

“Do you know who this is?” I pointed to the ITN entry.

Narsh looked and shook his head.

“You must know who you’re delivering to,” I said. “Who is this?”

Narsh shrugged.

Little D put his hand on Narsh’s arm. “Answer the question.”

Narsh glared at Little D, who returned an unblinking gaze. “And why the fuck should I?”

“Cause if you don’t, I’m gonna drag you outta this booth and kick your sorry black ass.” Little D paused for effect. “Then, I’ma go to Rodney Fisher and tell him you sold us this information”—he pointed to the copy of the ledger—“and you’ll be outta work and your name’ll be dirt on the street. You be lucky to get a job at Church’s Chicken as a gotdamn counter boy.”

Narsh’s mouth opened a fraction. His eyes were heavy-lidded and wary. “And if I talk, what’s to stop you from doin’ that anyway?”