The Competition - [98]

“We can wait for a few hours to see if Evan surfaces,” I said. “But I hate-”

“Waiting,” Bailey said.

“The waste of time. It bugs me that no one’s heard from him. Besides, it’s the only thread we’ve got to pull, so let’s work it-”

“I’m on board.” She paused. “But first, I’ve got one other move. It won’t take long.”

There was no such thing as too many moves in my book. “Hit me, I’m all ears.”

63

“Unless the shooter found another connection, he’s going to need more guns,” Bailey said. “And we know he called Jax on his cell phone last time-”

“And we’ve got Jax’s cell phone,” I said. Bailey nodded. “Did you book it into evidence yet?”

“Not yet. I was thinking we might want to get a search warrant for it and try to find the call from our shooter.”

I looked at my watch. It was almost five o’clock, but if we hurried, we could just make it to the jail where Jax was being held. And I had a feeling the jail deputies would stretch visiting hours for us on this case.

“Maybe,” I said. “But it’d be faster to get Jax to give consent and help us narrow down the list of calls.”

“He won’t even say hola unless we give him a deal.”

Which neither of us wanted to do, but time was running out. Now that Logan’s death was public knowledge, the second shooter might start to feel the pressure. And if he was getting nervous that we were about to catch up with him, he’d want to stage his final coup. “What would you rather do? Deal, or be too late to stop another shooting?”

“Fine,” Bailey said. “Let’s go see our cartel thief.”

“My, my. So judgmental. You’ve got Jax’s phone?”

“In my glove box.”

It was a smooth move to keep the phone handy. Since we weren’t worried about lifting prints or DNA, it was a good idea to hang on to that phone-just in case our shooter tried to reconnect with Jax to get more weapons. We left the station and headed for the Men’s Central Jail on Bauchet Street. It’s the largest county jail in the world. And the epitome of institutional dreariness and misery. As we entered the squat concrete building, the familiar odor of disinfectant mixed with sweat, urine, and despair made my empty stomach seesaw.

Bailey and I checked our guns, passed through the metal detector, and asked for an attorney room. Unlike the usual setup, with a row of seats and a glass partition with phones, the attorney room is a windowed cube with a table and chairs. It affords sound privacy, but the air barely circulates and the glass walls are always filthy. It makes me feel like a hamster in a cage.

After ten minutes, a room opened up and the deputy escorted us inside. Not long after that, Jax, his wrists chained to his waist and his feet connected by more chain, was escorted in. We’d pulled his rap sheet the night we busted him and found only two arrests, both for possession of cocaine, but no convictions. It was a miraculously clean sheet, all things considered. His lips stretched into a wide grin when he saw us, and it wasn’t because he’d been lonely. Clean sheet or no, Jax was savvy enough to understand that when cops come to visit, it probably means a deal is in the offing.

I got right to the point. “Just so you know the lay of the land, Jax, you’re facing charges for possession and sale of illegal weapons. If you decide to help us out, we can make some of those charges disappear, but not all of them.”

Jax tried to fold his arms across his chest, but the chains wouldn’t stretch that far and his hands fell back to his lap. He leaned back in his chair and looked at us through half-closed eyes, trying to recover some cool. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

“I want probation.”

They always do. “Won’t happen, Jax. The guns you sold were just used in two shootings. Lots of people died-”

Jax gave me a hard look. “I don’t believe you.”

“You know better than that,” Bailey said. “We can’t make this shit up. Either the bullets match the guns or they don’t.” Jax set his jaw. “So you didn’t hear about it?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t hear about nothin’. I don’ live in the States.”

“Okay, well there’s no way you’re getting a straight walk,” Bailey said. “To tell you the truth, we’re going to have a hell of a time getting anyone to agree to any kind of deal for you.”

Jax looked from me to Bailey, then blew out a long breath. “Well, I ain’t talking for free.” He rolled his head from side to side, sending out a ripple of impressively loud cracks. “Got arthritis in my neck. Doc says cortisone shots might help me.” He looked from me to Bailey. “I want a prescription. Some physical therapy maybe. And you got to dump some of the charges.”

I shrugged. “We don’t ‘got to’ do anything. We’ve got you by the nuts, Jax. This is your only chance to beat any of the counts.”

Jax worked his jaw from side to side. It cracked too. The man was a mess. “Okay, I’ll deal. But you gotta move my cell. Guy I’m with is a damn junkie who don’ believe in showers. And he passed gas all night long. It’s disgusting.”

I bit down on my cheek again. “I’m pretty sure we can arrange that. Bailey?”