False Witness (12 page)

Crowe took a deep breath. This was the part of the job he had always hated. It didn’t come second nature to him the way it did to men like Hodge. But a man had to do what a man had to do, or so John Wayne had led people to believe. He raised the eight-ball as high as his arm would go and brought it down as hard as he could on the back of Pulaski’s hand. As he did, he bellowed:
“MUSTN’T!”
at the top of his lungs.

The ball went up again and came down with a dull
thok
.
“PLAY!”

Up and down again, another scream from Pulaski.
“WITH!”

One final time, one final crack, one final scream.
“KNIVES!”

Crowe dropped the eight-ball back on the table, where it landed with a clunk that resonated in the silence of the common room. He let go of the mangled hand. Crowe had been careful not to break any of the fragile tarsal bones – the man was no use to him one-handed – but he had inflicted plenty of pain to make up for the lack of long-term damage. Pulaski slid to the floor. Boone muttered a curse as the younger man landed on him. Crowe stomped Boone squarely in the nose with the sole of his boot, prompting a sickening shriek and a fresh gusher of blood.

Crowe was breathing more heavily than he would have liked as the adrenaline ebbed from his body. He knew Rufus Hodge would have buried the broken pool cue in Pulaski’s throat if the man had been stupid enough to come after him with a knife, but Jason Crowe wasn’t Rufus Hodge. Still, he was pretty sure he had made his point. Like any wolf pack – and that’s what the Roses were, when you stripped everything else away and looked at their core, they were a wolf pack – someone was bound to challenge the alpha male when he smelled weakness. They didn’t dare try anything while Hodge was on trial and there was a chance he might walk, but Crowe had noticed subtle cues during his eight months as the Roses’ reluctant de facto leader. They had to wait for the verdict, and that’s what they had done.

Now, the big dog had torn open the challengers, and they had rolled over and shown their bellies. Crowe understood all of this in his head, but it didn’t help quiet the cramp in his guts. Plus he was now down at least one man for the foreseeable future, and quite possibly two. Assuming they had ever truly been his in the first place. Was there more to it than just dominance? He thought back over the past eight months: had they shown any signs of conspiring against him before now? He wanted to say no, but he had been preoccupied throughout the trial. Hell, even before the whole mess with Hodge had started. Crowe had been hired for a specific task, and leading the Roses wasn’t it. He’d somehow inherited the mantle when Hodge entered lockup, but he certainly hadn’t asked for it. And now he was hauling a truckload of unanswered questions behind him, too, not to mention a new cloud of police suspicion.

This day just keeps getting longer
, he thought.

As if reading Crowe’s thoughts, Kenny Flo picked up the White Owl and waggled it at him. “Drink?” he asked. Dougie, who looked absolutely nothing like his twin brother other than his chestnut hair, was grinning crookedly at him. Crowe grabbed the bottle and took a long pull. The cheap whiskey burned like a hot coal in his mouth and belly, but it helped slow his heartbeat and clear his head. Shitbox, Spider and Smokey had resumed their game, though Crowe thought Shitbox looked decidedly green. Boone and Pulaski had mercifully passed out under the table. Digger was looking around the room as if he had just awakened from a dream.

Crowe was about to speak when he heard a slow, distinct clapping from the entryway. Startled, he looked over to see an hourglass silhouette standing in the doorway to the storefront. It was Diane Manning. The door swung shut behind her as she sauntered slowly into the room, the sultry smile on her lips standing in stark contrast to the verdict that Gregory Larocque had brought down the day before. She continued her slow ovation as she walked.

Christ
, Crowe groaned inwardly.

“That was quite a show,” she purred as she sidled up next to Crowe, ignoring the rest of the men in the room. They weren’t ignoring her. Manning’s heart-shaped rear end strained the confines of her skirt, and her breasts pressed heavily against her silk blouse, leaving gaping holes between the buttons that practically begged the Roses to peek at her considerable cleavage. They took her up on the unspoken invitation.

Crowe didn’t particularly like Diane Manning, but he couldn’t help feeling a familiar cramp in his crotch when she approached him. He had meant to meet with her tomorrow to discuss some very important issues, but here she was now. He wondered if it was deliberate.
Of course it was deliberate. Everything she does is deliberate
. Though they had worked side by side for months, the lawyer baffled him. She was as smart and as canny as they came in the courtroom, yet she seemed to get off on playing Marilyn Monroe in most other situations, using her feminine charms like some D-list fame whore looking for a sugar daddy.

Diane looked up at Crowe and placed a hand on the small of his back, inspiring a fresh tingle in his jeans. He could feel the eyes of the Roses on him. He had just established himself as leader – he wasn’t about to jeopardize that by letting the lawyer who had let Rufus Hodge go down for murder embarrass him.
Sure
, he thought.
Maybe if you tell yourself that enough times, your cock will finally get the message.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly. “We have work to do.”

She ignored him and tossed her chestnut hair. “Hello, boys,” she smiled to the room. The Roses returned the greeting, except for Shitbox, who simply blushed. Diane Manning was the only woman that Crowe had ever seen elicit a respectful response from the Wild Roses, even now, after the verdict. Most females outside of the Roses’ own stable of prostitutes were greeted with catcalls and inappropriate attempts to grab their asses. Crowe chalked it up to the aura Diane gave off – sexy but whip-smart, and not afraid to plant the heel of her fuck-me pump into an unsuspecting scrotum. Crowe wondered what the Roses would have done if she’d been a man and had walked into the clubhouse, bold as brass, after failing to live up to the promise of a not-guilty verdict for Rufus Hodge.

“We need to talk,” she said distractedly, obviously enjoying the attention from the Roses. “It’s about the appeal.”

Crowe sighed. He
did
need to talk to her, very much so, but he wasn’t about to let her know that under these circumstances. “All right, you’ve got five minutes.” He led her toward the office. “Smokey, get Pulaski and Boone to the emergency room at Foothills. Tell them it was an accident with an engine hoist. I want them back here before morning. The rest of you stick around. We have work to do, starting right now.”

Smokey Hooper bent under the pool table to pick up Crowe’s victims while Diane favored the Roses with a coquettish wave. “Bye, boys,” she cooed. They gawked at her swinging hips as she sashayed away.

Crowe pushed her into the office and slammed the door behind them. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” he hissed.

“Lighten up, Jason,” she said, dropping into one of the overstuffed chairs that sometimes served as beds after an all-nighter. She pulled out a gold case and withdrew a long, white-filtered cigarette, lighting it with a silver-plated Zippo that Crowe guessed cost more than many people made in a week. “I’m assuming that show I just walked in on means you’re officially running things now.” She drew deeply on the cigarette and blew out a long trail of smoke. “I mean, I already knew that was the case, but that display certainly solidified things, didn’t it?”

Crowe closed his eyes and sighed.
I’m in a fucking Raymond Chandler novel
. He tried to will his burgeoning erection away and failed. It was almost creepy – like getting a hard-on from looking at a swaying cobra. “How I run things is none of your concern, Diane,” he said, hoping he sounded cooler than he felt. “Get to the point. You said something about the appeal?”

“Yes,” she said, as if suddenly remembering the reason she came. She crossed her legs, sending another shiver through Crowe’s crotch. “That’s right. I withdrew the motion.”

Crowe opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He shook his head, then opened his mouth again. This time he managed to say,
“What?”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Diane, we’ve talked about this. The appeal is a no-brainer. Larocque convicted based on Alex Dunn and Richie Duff’s testimony. The only physical evidence was that single digital photo, and that’s as flimsy as a whore’s drawers. A first-year law student would know the conviction doesn’t hold water.”

Diane smiled at him, bouncing one smooth, bare knee on the other. “Tell me something I don’t know. But honey, this isn’t the law we’re dealing with here. If Rufus Hodge were a handsome high school hockey star or something like that, then sure, we’d tear the conviction apart. We’d do everything we could to make sure justice was done. But it’s not that kind of case. Hodge is a monster in the eyes of the media and the public, and make no mistake, this is the court of public opinion. Plus, let’s face it, Jason – you can’t pull off a stunt like you did yesterday and expect any sort of sympathy from anyone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. He’d already given it to Rufus Hodge that afternoon.
Christ, what a mess
.

“Don’t worry, Jason,” She soothed. “I know how good you are at your job. I’m not worried about that. But sweetie, I have to tell you, if the public had their way, Hodge would be hanging by his balls from the nearest tree. And it won’t be long before the police finger you and drag you kicking and screaming into the media spotlight.”

Crowe moved to speak, but she held up her palms to interrupt. “I have no doubt the police won’t be able to bring
you
to trial, but no appeal judge in the country would let Rufus Hodge back on the streets after he had a cop and a witness executed the day after his conviction.” She smiled. “That’s not how the game is played.”

Crowe sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was turning out to be the longest day of his life. “Look, Diane – ”

She leaned forward and cut him off by laying a perfumed finger across his lips. “Shhhh,” she whispered. “If you don’t tell me any secrets, I won’t have to tell any lies, and that’s better for all concerned. I don’t pretend to know why Hodge felt the need to kill Palliser and Duff, any more than I pretended to understand why he blew Tom Ferbey’s head off. That’s for you macho men to figure out. It’s my job to present the absolute best defense money can buy, and I believe I did that.”

Crowe fixed her with a look. “I’m pretty sure Hodge would beg to differ with you on that point. He’s alone in a shark tank right now, and he’s covered in blood. And if that doesn’t get through to that shriveled little crocodile purse you call a heart, hear this: The Roses aren’t exactly awash in money these days. If I were you, I wouldn’t cash that last check I gave you for a while yet.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just saying that, from a legal standpoint, the appeal is hopeless and your boss is going to stay behind bars. That means
you
run the show, Jason, and I have every confidence that you can turn things around. I would be very happy to stay on as your attorney.” She stood up and brazenly squeezed the front of his jeans, her hazel eyes locked on his. “It would be a win-win for both of us.”

For a brief, wild moment, Crowe savored the thrill in his nether region and considered the possibility of rebuilding the lucrative Wild Rose empire on his own.
Why not? Like she said, an appeal is hopeless. I’ve just earned the leadership and everything that comes with it. And the fringe benefits…

He shook his head hard.
No
. He wouldn’t betray Rufus Hodge, and not just out of loyalty. He owed the boss answers, but he also he wanted them himself. He grabbed Diane by the arms and gazed into her eyes. She gasped, surprised by the forcefulness of his grip as he leaned in and placed his lips next to her ear.

“It’s time for you to stop talking and start listening,” he said. “There are a lot of things you need to know.”

#

Ten minutes later, Crowe emerged from the office as a visibly shaken Diane Manning hurried out through the swinging door to the storefront and the parking lot beyond. Crowe ignored the leering grins from the Roses and gathered them in.

“I just had a very interesting conversation with Ms. Manning,” he said in his most no-nonsense tone. The smiles dried up quickly, due no doubt to the recent lesson with Boone and Pulaski. “And I’m about to have the same conversation with you. There are a lot of things you need to know, and there are a lot of things we need to do.”

He pulled out the sheets of paper he’d taken from Donald Worrell’s basement, unfolded and laid them on the coffee table where the remaining Roses could see them. One was focused on a man who looked a little like Burton Cummings. The other featured a clean-shaven and bleached-blonde Alex Dunn.

It was nine-thirty in the morning and the temperature was already well on its way to the top of the comically oversized plastic thermometer on the wall of Irma’s Kitchen, the best restaurant in Lost Lake. At least, that was the consensus of the four people who had bothered to rate the town’s eateries online. Alex had looked up that little factoid a few days before, shortly after checking in at the Bluebird Motor Inn. The reviews were bang on – the food was better than passable, and he’d been pleasantly surprised to see corned beef hash on the menu. He was even more surprised at how good the greasy mixture of potatoes, meat, onions and peppers had tasted. He’d ordered it every morning for the five days he’d been in town, and had yet to tire of it. He also had yet to meet the eponymous Irma since he’d started taking his meals at her establishment, but his waitress the last three days had been a pretty ash blonde in her late twenties who wore cut-off shorts and no makeup, so that was al1 right.