Wayward Sons by Wayne Stinnett

Author:Wayne Stinnett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thriller
ISBN: 9781735623177
Publisher: Wayne Stinnett
Published: 2021-03-26T00:00:00+00:00

Blunt considered DJ’s question. One could almost see the wheels turning as the man tried to figure out why DJ wanted to know about one of his rentals. What would DJ care about a murder? Blunt didn’t know about Armstrong. DJ was tight-lipped like that; nobody knew his business unless he wanted them to know. Blunt probably couldn’t say whether or not DJ had a job or where his money came from.

“She was some corporate lady,” Blunt said.

“Corporate lady?” DJ asked. “How in the hell would you know something like that? She drop off her resume?”

“It’s an educated guess, man. Working in this business,” he motioned toward the weed in the kitchen, “I gotta be good at reading folks. You know how it is. Gotta watch for the wrong type. She carried herself real tight, nice clothes, good hair, no problem paying for something, spoke real clearly—like somebody in charge. Know what I mean?”

DJ furrowed his brow. The islands were sinking under the weight of the free, crazy sort, but plenty of business types hung around too. “Did you take her ID when you rented the boat out?”

Suddenly the jitter disappeared from Blunt’s face, replaced with a sudden confidence. Blunt understood he had something DJ wanted. Here comes the bullshit, DJ thought.

“I can show you her file, but you can’t expect me to do that just for the asking. That’s a bad trade, and like I said, I’m trying to go legit.”

DJ glanced down at his Glock. “I don’t remember this being a negotiation, man. But how about I make a counteroffer?” He raised the handgun, pointing it in Blunt’s face. “How about we don’t trade your nose for a bullet hole, and you give me that lady’s info so I can catch a murderer?”

Blunt’s eyes went wide.

“So, we got a deal?” DJ asked.

“Sure, we do. Yeah. We got a deal.”

Blunt froze in place, testing DJ, seeing if he was kidding around again.

“Now ain’t the time, friend.”

“I’ve got client privilege,” Blunt said as he stepped into the kitchen. “And by showing you this file, I’m breaking the sacred bond of trust between me and my client. You realize that, right?”

“I realize that’s a load,” DJ said, following behind Blunt. “You got rental records in the garage?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t sound too thrilled about sharing them. As Blunt hit the door out to the garage, DJ remembered there was still one thing he wanted to do.

DJ snatched up the baggie of meth lying on the counter. He tossed it into the sink, turned the faucet on full blast, and smacked the switch to the left of it.

The garbage disposal growled and gurgled, struggling to chew all the baggies for a few seconds, then hit its stride. DJ peered down the drain and didn’t see anything in the blackness. He listened for a couple seconds more, then flipped the switch off and the disposal fell silent. After he shut off the faucet, he turned to see Blunt gawking at him.

“Aw, come on, DJ!”

“That’s some nasty, nasty stuff.

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