Chapter 42 Darby
DARBY
“I’ll find Rees.”
I grit my teeth as Jagg’s words echoed in my head.
No, Detective Max Jagger, I’ll find Rees.
While Jagg had been busy doing what he did best—playing knight in shining armor with Sunny, Miss Harper, my ass—he should have been tracking down the lead I uncovered earlier in the day while doing the long list of to-do’s he’d given me.
One of the many leads the perfect, infallible Detective Jagger had missed.
That’s right, me, the rookie, the nobody, the loser, the pissant, had spent the morning casing a trailer park on the outskirts of town where it was rumored that Kenzo Rees was temporarily living.
I’d gotten the information by spending the afternoon the day before getting an oil change—that I didn’t need—at an off-the-books garage run by former inmates.
Thought it was a good bet. Gave it a shot.
I’d worn my most wrinkled Grateful Dead shirt, holey jeans and flip flops, and offered them fifty bucks for service.
Once my truck was in the bay, I slipped on my headphones to make them think I was lost in my music, but instead, I listened to the chatter while they worked.
I caught bits and pieces, including Sunny’s name—no Miss Harper there, trust me—Griggs’ name, and finally, “trailer number eight-forty-three.”
Bingo. A lead. One that Jagg should have hunted down.
You see, while brute strength and intimidation might be Jagg’s asset, mine was that I went unnoticed. I was just a regular, boring, normal nerd who could sneak through the shadows without so much of a glance.
As I’d already proven in spades.
Jagg was slipping.
And I was going to be there to pick up the pieces… and his badge.