Chapter 14
All American Autobody had a couple of beat-up looking cars in the parking lot, and several more behind a four-foot chain link fence. James shut off the engine and reached for the door handle.
“Do we have a plan?” I asked.
“Nope. We’ll just wing it and see how it goes.”
“Okay.”
He gave me a questioning look.
“You gave me full leeway with my contacts,” I said. “I’ll do the same with yours.”
He gave me a slight smile, then opened the door.
When we walked through the entrance, a twenty-something guy greeted us from behind the counter. “Hey, guys. You got an appointment?”
“We need to talk to Miguel,” James said in an ominous tone.
The employee’s eyes widened, and he glanced between James and me. “What about?”
“That’s between me and Miguel.”
The guy swallowed and took a step back. “I’ll see if he’s here yet.”
James shot a glance at me, and I got the message loud and clear.
With a nod, I walked out of the front door and around the side of the building, skirting the six-foot chain-link fence that circled the back.
There was a solid chance Miguel would run.
I didn’t know what Miguel looked like, but I suspected it wouldn’t be hard to figure out—he’d be the guy running.
Sure enough, about ten seconds later, the back door burst open and a middle-aged man with dark hair ran out, heading for a vintage baby blue Mustang convertible.
“Going somewhere, Miguel?” I called over to him.
He stopped in his tracks and spun to face me through the fence, about thirty feet away. Shock covered his face. “You’re still workin’ with him?”
He’d heard of me? Maybe he did know something about Knox.
“Haven’t you heard?” I asked good-naturedly. “Women are just as capable as men.”
He ran for his car and started to open the door when James rounded the corner of the building with purposeful strides.
“He’s running,” I said dryly.
“Is that so?” James asked as he smoothly drew his gun from beneath his jacket and faced the fence. He held the gun at his side, pointed at the ground, but the threat was clear.
Miguel froze. “You’re gonna shoot me, Malcolm?” he cried out in disbelief.
“Not you,” James said. “But I was thinking of havin’ a little target practice with your car.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Miguel cried out.
James shrugged.
Miguel stood next to his open car door, presumably weighing his options.
“We only want to talk,” I said, hoping I wasn’t encroaching on James’s plan.
Miguel’s face reddened and his voice shook with anger. “The last time Malcolm just wanted to talk, I walked away with a broken nose.”
“That’s not true,” James said conversationally. “I’ve seen you at least twice since then, and we both know you had it comin’.”
“What if I guarantee you won’t have any broken bones?” I said.
Miguel kept his gaze on James. “There’s a whole lot he can do without breakin’ bones.”
I tossed James an expectant look.
He ignored me, keeping his focus on Miguel. “As long as you cooperate, there won’t be any need to touch you.”
“That’s the problem,” Miguel said, still hovering next to the open car door. “Your definition of cooperation and mine are usually different.”
“Is that your decision?” James said, lifting the gun at his side. “We’ve escalated to the point where I convince you to cooperate by shooting at your pride and joy? Because we both know you’re gonna talk to me. It’s just a matter of how much damage I cause before it happens.”
Miguel’s face scrunched with rage before he slammed the car door. “Fuck you, Malcolm.”
James waved to the padlocked fence. “How about you open the gate?”
“I don’t have the key,” Miguel said, still standing next to the car as though he still might change his mind.
“Then how were you plannin’ on leavin’?” James asked. “Plowing through the fence?”
Miguel scowled at the proof that he hadn’t thought his getaway plan through. “Go around the front. We’ll talk in the waiting room.”
“Your office seems more suitable,” James said.
Miguel took several slow steps toward the fence. “I don’t know shit, Malcolm.”
“You don’t even know what I want to talk about,” James said smoothly.
“Whatever it is, I don’t know.”
“I’ll guess we’ll see if that’s true.” James grabbed the gate and rattled it, making the padlock clang against the metal. “Now open the gate, because there’s no way in hell I’m walking around front to play this game again.”
Miguel walked over, holding the set of keys in his hand. Obviously, he’d been prepared to leave in a hurry. He reached for the padlock and inserted a key, his hands shaking slightly, then took off the padlock. He gave James an expectant look.
“You gonna invite us in?” James asked, nodding to the latch holding the gate closed.
“For fuck’s sake,” Miguel grumbled, then lifted the latch and pulled the gate open.
He cringed as James strode through, as though he expected to be physically assaulted, but James just said, “Lead the way.”
Miguel shot me a look, obviously curious about my involvement. I suspected James had worked solo since his release from prison, and Miguel had made it clear it was out of the ordinary for a woman to be accompanying him.
After Miguel closed the gate—not locking the padlock—he stomped toward the back door, leaving us to follow.
Inside, three cars were in all three bays, in various states of bodywork.
James had shoved his gun back into its holster, but his persona still reeked of intimidation.
Two of the workers sent us nervous glances, but the third kept his face buried under the hood of the car he was working on. I suspected it was purposeful.
Miguel opened another door, and we followed him down a short hall into a small office.
An industrial metal desk was pushed against the wall to the left, with an office chair shoved underneath.
A cheap metal bookshelf lined the back wall, perpendicular to the desk, full of what looked to be schematic manuals for cars and trucks.
A metal chair with a cracked vinyl seat sat next to the end of the desk.
“Have a seat, Mig.” James motioned to the desk chair. He nodded for me to take the other one.
I sat, but Miguel was more hesitant to move.
“This is just a chat,” James said in an amicable tone. “It can be as friendly or unfriendly as you like.”
It was already off to a rocky start, but no doubt it could get a hell of a lot worse.
Miguel pulled out the desk chair, his hands shaking even more, and took a seat, casting a glance at me. “I heard you wore all black.”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion. Did he know who I was? And while my clothing choice ran on the dull side, I’d worn a lot of gray and navy.
“We’re not here to discuss her wardrobe choices,” James barked.
Miguel started to say something, then stopped, his whole body shaking now.
“Mig, why’re you so nervous to see me?” James asked, leaning his shoulder against the wall in a relaxed pose.
“The last time I saw you—”
“The last time I saw you, we parted on friendly terms,” he said. “So try again.”
Miguel swallowed. “Word on the street is you’re a dead man walkin’. I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.” He hesitated. “Or let people think we’re workin’ together.”
James’s eyebrows lifted in a barely perceptible movement, as though he was only slightly interested in this information. “You don’t say. Who made the threat?”
Miguel inhaled sharply. “Dunno.”
James tilted his head. “I call bullshit. Try again.” His tone was deceptively friendly, making his order more ominous. “I mean, if you don’t want anyone to think we’re workin’ together, you’d definitely know who you’re hopin’ to keep the information from.”
Miguel shook his head, looking like he was about to be sick, but kept silent.
James’s eyes stayed trained on the man in the chair. “Try again.” His voice took on an authoritative tone.
“I don’t know!” Miguel shouted, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.
James crossed his arms over his chest. “Then how do you know there’s a hit out on me?”
“Rumors.”
“And where did you hear these rumors?”
Miguel swallowed hard. “I don’t wanna get anyone in trouble.”
James stared him down. “If the person who told you didn’t put the hit on me, then neither of you have anything worry about. At least not from me.”
Miguel’s gaze shifted to me.
“She’s not a threat either,” James said. “Unless you become a threat to either of us.”
Miguel gave me a questioning look, but I didn’t react, unsure if I was the good guy or bad guy in this scenario.
“Don’t make me ask again,” James said in a low growl.
Miguel jumped. “I heard it from Stewie a couple of days ago.”
“The Stewie who used to work for you? How’d he find out?”
He took a deep breath. “He’s working for Dave Birch at his shop now. Birch Autobody.”
I’d heard rumors that Birch Autobody was also a suspected chop shop, but I’d never had any contact with the place.
“And Stewie just called to tell you?” James asked. “Like a hot piece of gossip?”
Miguel’s face paled. “No, Dave hosts a weekly poker game. He and Stewie both knew about it, but I don’t know any details.”
“You’re tellin me that Dave Birch and Stewie Crimshaw told you there’s a hit on my head, and you weren’t the least bit curious about who’d taken it out or why? No questions asked? They just dropped the info, and you played your hand as if they’d told you the weather forecast.”
Miguel swallowed.
“Okay,” James said with a heavy sigh, pushing away from the wall. “Let’s try again.”
Miguel shot me a pleading look.
I lifted a brow and said firmly. “I didn’t tell you who ordered it, so don’t look at me.”
Miguel’s chest rose and fell.
James took a step closer to him. “Remember the part where you cooperate and I don’t touch you? This is an example of not cooperating.”
“This is gonna blow back on me,” Miguel spat out. “And I don’t want any part of it. I’m legit now, Malcolm.”
“If you’re legit, then the guy who ordered the hit won’t suspect the information came from you, now will he?” James asked.
“You’re not gonna tell him?”