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Found lipstick on your collar. We need to talk.
Translation: You’re in some deep shit now, son.
I take a cab to the South End Truck Lot. The moment I step out, the air shifts and an icy breeze strikes my face. Fresh clouds fill the sky above me. Another storm tonight. Another storm tomorrow, too.
I feel the eyes on me before I even step into the office hub. The place isn’t populated with other drivers like usual. They’ve all gone home. Probably sensed the same darkness I feel as I walk inside.
Lots more suits stand around. Their voices go quiet the moment they see me. I expect one of them to be Doogan like always, but then I remember what happened to him. They probably already know and — given the cryptic texts — Daniel already knows they arrested me for his murder.
I beeline through the sitting area and into the hallway toward Daniel’s office.
“Milo,” he says as soon as we make eye contact. “Sit down.”
Two men stand in the doorway. They part ways to let me in and I lower down into the chair in front of Daniel’s desk.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“What’s up?” he repeats, glancing at the men behind me. “He asks me what’s up. You got arrested today, kid. That’s what’s up.”
“It was just a big misunderstanding,” I say.
“Lucky break, eh?”
“Not really. I didn’t do what they accused me of.”
Daniel looks up and waves his thick arm, making the other man quickly disperse. They close the door behind them, once again leaving me alone with the big boss. I’m really not a fan of this new trend. I just make tacos, dammit.
“Doogan…” Daniel says, blowing out a line of bright gray smoke. “He was with us for a long time.”
I shrug. “Seemed like a decent guy.”
“He was a fucking prick.” He stamps his cigarette out. “I want to know everything you know.”
“About what?”
“My sources tell me that our man Doogan was a lying, scheming cop,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’ve been able to keep a lid on that for now, but you’re not leaving that chair until you tell me everything you know.”
I turn up my hands. “They told me I killed a cop.”
“So, you did kill him?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t. They thought I did.”
“Why?”
“Because they found evidence at the crime scene that tied me to it. I had an alibi. I was in my truck and park security footage proved it.”
He scratches his chin. “What kind of evidence?”
“Fingerprints. My hot sauce. They even found the fucking murder weapon hidden in my truck.”
Daniel slams his hand down. “Those motherfuckers.”
I sigh, glancing at the clock. “What motherfuckers?”
“The McGregors,” he growls, his face recoiling.
“You think they set me up?”
