Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (best ereader for textbooks .TXT) 📗

the Thai restaurant.

While I waited for her to show up, I searched the internet for surveillance footage from the Save-More murders. There was none. Nor was I able to find any crime scene photos or the 911 call that Victoria had allegedly made. There were a few more articles about the murders, but I didn’t learn anything that I didn’t already know.

The web search for the Save-More murders a bust, I turned my investigation to Officer Matt Miller and his fledgling UFC career. There were several pictures of Miller with his shirt off and the guy was shredded. Not an ounce of fat on him. I watched three of his fights on my phone, cringing when he knocked out a guy with the same spinning back kick that he’d used on me.

Twenty-five minutes later, a young woman walked through the door of the coffee shop. She was clad in yoga pants, a small tank top, and now blue hair cut to her shoulders. I put her in her early twenties. She dropped a laptop bag on the chair opposite me and asked, “You want anything?”

You would never suspect she was meeting with a stranger to talk about her dead brother.

“I’m good,” I told her.

She shrugged with one shoulder, then returned a few minutes later with a tall brown drink with extra whip cream. She took a big swipe of the whip cream with her tongue, then raised her eyebrows twice.

I think she was one of those rare breeds who felt so comfortable in their own skin that you couldn’t help but admire them.

“So my brother, huh?” she said, plopping down in her seat.

I nodded.

“Out with it,” she said. “I mean, you’re handsome and all, but there’s a guy at the Walmart who I’m dying to go hang out with.”

“Is it Carl in electronics? Because I just hung out with him and let me tell you, he’s something else.”

“No, it’s Billy. He’s a checker. Works on Tuesdays.”

“You’re serious?”

She took a long sip of her drink. “Fuck yeah. I’ve been stalking him for like eight months now. I think he and his girlfriend are on the outs.” She glided her hand away from her body and added, “Time for Bree to slide in.”

I smiled. She reminded me of Lacy.

“How long was your brother a bookie for?”

“I think he started in high school. Just taking bets from his friends and stuff. Then he went to community college, here in Mexico, actually, and he started getting into it more seriously. He quit after a couple years—school, not bookmaking—then he moved back home and got a job at the lumberyard.”

“Did your parents know he was a bookie?”

“My dad was one of his best clients.” She laughed to herself, then said, “If my dad lost, he would pay up, but if he won, he wouldn’t make Will pay, he’d make him come mow the lawn or do something else.”

“To work it off?”

“Yeah.”

“He ever have any trouble with other people not paying?”

“I think most people paid. But if they didn’t, Will wasn’t the type to go breaking kneecaps. He just wouldn’t let them bet with him anymore.”

I thought about the nickname Fuzz. “What about the police? Did they know he was the town bookie?”

“Yeah, everyone knew.”

“They ever do anything about it?”

“Shit, no. Do you know how easy it is for someone to bet online these days? If you’re gonna bet, you’re gonna bet.”

“So he was never arrested?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You know if any of the cops bet with him?”

“Not sure. He didn’t talk to me much about it.”

“Were you guys close?”

She puffed out her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” I said.

She wiped away a tear and said, “He was just such a nice guy. He didn’t deserve to get murdered.”

I reached out and grabbed her hand. It wasn’t premeditated, it was just what I would have done if Lacy was sitting across from me.

Pulling back my hand, I asked, “Do you think it’s possible that your brother was the target of the murders?”

“No. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time when that wacko Lowry came in.”

“Did you know Lowry?”

“I knew of him, but I didn’t know him.”

“How old was Will?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Did he know Lowry?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So he didn’t bet with Will?”

“I think that would have come up.”

“Come up?”

“With the cops. You know, during the investigation.”

“Right. How many times did they interview you?”

“A few times.”

“The Tarrin Police Department or someone else?”

“I only talked to the locals.”

“You remember the name of the guy?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I already knew.

Matt Miller.

“He’s so hot,” she said, waving a hand at her face.

“He’s like five feet tall.”

“I like the dimple in his chin.”

“It’s called an ass chin.”

“Yeah, I like his ass chin.”

I rolled my eyes, then asked, “You talk to anybody else?”

“Yeah, there was another guy. But it was like six months later.”

“Mike Zernan?”

“Maybe.”

I described him.

“Yeah, that was him.” She sat up in her chair. “Wait, isn’t he the guy who was just murdered?”

I nodded.

“Wait, do you think his death is connected to Will’s?’

“I’m not sure.”

She took a drink, and I said, “Can you like not tell Billy the checker about this?”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

I told her.

When I was finished, she said, “I want, no, I need to play with your piglets, like ASAP.”

“I might be able to make that happen.”

She finished her drink, and I told her to follow me to my car.

“We gonna have a quickie?” she asked, giving my butt a little slap.

“What would Billy think?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I opened the passenger door and reached into the glove compartment.

“I think you should have this.” I handed her the Moleskine.

I’d spent twenty minutes copying every page of it at the OfficeMax. I didn’t need it anymore.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me. She sniffed a couple times and said, “Thank you.”

Graham, no last name, was big and red. He had a cut-off T-shirt revealing muscled biceps, one of which had a barbed wire tattoo encircling it, which he must have had done when such