Page 75 of Tito

“Goose did,” I replied. “He had car keys, a burner phone, loose cash, and a wallet.”

“Leave all of it with me.” Following a quick study of the pool of blood, he glanced at Goose’s feet and then at mine. “I’ll need each of you to leave your boots, too.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m not leaving my—”

“You sure as fuck are,” he insisted, pointing at the bloody footprints on the outskirts of the ocean of blood. “Both of you two geniuses tracked your feet through this blood. His DNA is all over the soles of your boots. I don’t do anything half-assed. You’re leaving the boots. No loose ends. When I walk away, this didn’t happen. Not here, anyway.”

Goose handed Braxton the dead man’s possessions.

Braxton looked at the key. “Didn’t see a Benz outside. Where’s the car?”

“At the bar where these two met,” I replied. “Bart’s Lounge, over on West Covina.”

He flipped the phone open and scrolled through the menu. “No other cell phone?”

“I didn’t see one, no.”

“Where is the party responsible for this clusterfuck?”

“At Reggie’s.”

He glanced around. “She needs to stay there for about six more hours.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

He pinned me in place with a glare.

Most would describe Braxton as a nice-looking man who possessed an obvious air of confidence. At least that’s what they’d say until he glared a them. Describing his stare as intimidating was a grotesque understatement.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll make sure she stays there.”

“Both of you. Listen up,” Braxton demanded. “When you got here, he was gone. The only three people that will know otherwise are standing in this room, and that won’t change.” He glanced at Goose and then at me. “Ever. Make sure Reggie’s friend stays where she is. You two need to find something else to do until about eight, then show up like you just got done cleaning this place up. When you talk to her, downplay the condition of the scene. Explain that it wasn’t that bad. Tell her you cleaned up the mess and threw the skillet in the San Diego Bay.”

I gawked at him in disbelief.

His eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I’m just wondering what your plan is.”

His stare lingered. Upon making me feel uncomfortable for asking, he looked away. “Don’t let her return until eight o’clock,” he said dryly. He tilted his head toward the front of the house. “Leave your boots at the door.”