Page 74 of Great White
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Lopez doesn't leavehis apartment all day, but I'm determined to confront him.
When he finally does appear, I ambush him just as he opens his truck door.
I slam it shut from behind him, and he curses.
“We need to have a little chat.”
Lopez spins with hostility in his eyes. A hatred that’s deep-rooted and bred from corruption. I recognize it all too well. I work with it; I live it. I’ve seen it every day for years.
“You better be careful who you’re manhandling,amigo.”
“Why is that?”
“A complaint won’t look good on your record,” Lopez threatens.
“Complaint about what? We’re just talking.”
Lopez doesn’t look like he wants to talk. He looks like he wants to pull out a piece and shoot me in the head.
“What exactly do you want to talk about?”
“I think you already know.”
“Your little puta en la carcel?”
Your little whore in jail?
I want to wrap my hand around his throat and squeeze for disrespecting her, but I need to keep cool. Keep my head, all while sending a message to Lopez to keep his hands off.
“I’m going to tell you this once. Stay away from Dove. If I hear even a whisper that something happens to her in there—”
“You’ll what? Beat me up?”
“I won't have to. One accusation from my office and you’ll be a bug under a microscope. IA will investigate you all the way up your ass. Wonder what they’ll think when they find out where you hang out after work?”
Lopez’s eyes darken. “You can threaten me all you want. But you can’t protect her from everyone inside.”
“I can do my damnedest. Starting with you.” I fist his white T-shirt with both hands and slam him into the truck.
“It’s a lost cause. She’s—” Lopez screams back, then clams up.
“She’s what?” I demand. He doesn't peep another word. But he doesn't have to. I see the mark on his collarbone from where I’m pulling his shirt tight. A tattoo of a cursive R with devil horns, the same one Marco was sporting on his neck.Rayas.Lopez knows his dirty little secret is out.“Did they tell you to hurt her?” He doesn’t give anything up. “Kill her?” I will beat the answers out of him if I have to.
“No matter who does it. She’s dead.”
“And you’re the man on the inside to make it happen.”
“Inside, outside. It’s Raffi’s will.”
“Not if I have a fucking thing to do about it.” I yank my gun from the back holster, and Lopez’s dark eyes widen. “On the ground, hands behind your head. Now.”
He hesitates for just a moment. His pride getting the better of him. When he finally relents and is face down on the pavement, I pull out my phone. “Taylor . . .”
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Why doesit feel like when one problem is solved, seven more arise?
