“Should be.”
Wellton exhaled and it sounded like a hiss. “Dazzle me with why you think the guns are tied to Pluto’s death.”
I laid out Linc’s involvement with both groups and what Mike Berkley and Marie Pluto told me about his involvement with National Nation.
He tapped his finger on his chin. “I hate to say it, but that makes sense. Of course, if I’d known what you knew when you knew it, I might’ve put that together, too.”
I didn’t say anything.
Wellton leaned back in his chair and brought his feet up on his desk. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. He’s a member of this group and he’s dealing guns to the bangers.”
“I don’t see anything else that fits.”
“You think either side knew what he was doing?”
I shook my head. “I don’t see how. No way skinheads would be cool doing business with a black gang, and I’m pretty sure the gang would feel the same way.”
“So he was freelancing.”
“Have to think so. I just don’t get why.”
“Pretty dangerous work,” Wellton said, rubbing his chin. “And pretty fucking stupid. Either side finds out, he’s a corpse in a hurry.”
“Maybe one side found out,” I said.
“Maybe.”
We sat there in silence.
Wellton pulled his feet off the desk. “You gonna keep chasing this kid?”
“I told the aunt I would,” I said.
“Plus you got a little score to settle,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe my ass.” He looked at me. “You know much about hate groups?”
“Not really. Just what I’ve read.”
He grabbed a Rolodex from the corner of his desk and thumbed through it. “Sick fuckers. Poorly organized, but funded enough to keep doing their thing.”
“They have big numbers here in San Diego?” I asked.
“Fair amount,” he said, flipping through his Rolodex. “Not as much as some cities, but enough to make trouble.” He copied something off the card onto a notepad, then stared at the piece of paper. “Can’t believe I’m about to ask this.”
I stayed silent, not wanting to ruin the moment.
“If you’re gonna keep looking, I could use your help.” He spoke deliberately, as if he weren’t sure of the words. He gestured at a two-foot-high stack of folders on the desk. “I’m buried here. And I got no end in sight. If you wanna share what you get, I’ll do the same.”
“You want me to get involved?” I asked.
“You already are.”
“But I have your permission to poke around and stir things up?”
“Just around this Linc kid,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Share what you find. Like, say, an apartment full of guns. You find shit like that, I wanna know.”
“You wanna deputize me, make it official? Maybe we could hug or something?”
“I am not the cure for your jungle fever.” He tore the sheet from the pad and handed it to me. “Talk to this guy.”
The name Gerald Famazio and a phone number were on the paper. “Who’s this?”
“Professor at USD. Sociology, but he specializes in hate groups. He can probably give you a few names, let you know where to find some folks.”
I nodded and stood. I folded the slip of paper and dropped it in my pocket. “Liz in her office?”
He grunted. “No clue, loverboy. Go look for yourself.” Then he grinned. “Or you want me to give her a note or something? See if she wants to meet you out behind the gym? Then I can come back and tell you and we can huddle together and figure out what to do next.” He clapped his hands together. “It’ll be fun. All sixth grade and shit.”
“When you were in sixth grade, were you big enough to sit in your own desk?” I asked. “Or did you have to sit on someone’s lap?”
“Get out,” he said, the smile disappearing from his face.
I left and walked down the hall toward Liz’s office. I heard voices coming through her doorway, hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the office.
Liz was leaning back in her chair, arms folded across her chest, laughing easily. Her hair was pulled back away from her face. Bright red blouse, silver bracelets on each wrist matching the big silver hoops in her ears.
Across the desk from her, Mike Berkley was laughing, too.
She looked up at me, surprised. “Hey.”
Mike turned toward me. He wore an expensive-looking navy suit, light blue collared shirt, and yellow tie. “Noah. What’s going on?”
Dumb fucking luck.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said, trying to keep the tension that was running up my spine out of my voice.
“You’re not,” Liz said quickly, shaking her head for emphasis. “Mike was just leaving.”
He glanced at his watch and stood up. “I was, in fact. Hey, I read about Peter Pluto in the
“Not yet,” I said. “Still working on it.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to get you involved in this crap. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m having the trust records pulled and some other paperwork put together for you,” he said. “Least I can do.”
“Great,” I said.
“Okay,” he said, then faced Liz. “I’ll call you later.”
“Fine,” Liz said, looking down at the desk.
I stepped out of the doorway.
Mike gave me a friendly punch in the arm as he passed. “I’ll call you when that stuff’s ready.”
I thought about punching him back, but was afraid I might knock him off his feet. “Yeah.”
I watched him walk down the hall, then stepped back into her office.
“He didn’t have to leave,” I said.
“Don’t,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “I don’t want to hear it.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “I didn’t realize when you said to call you, you meant call first so I wouldn’t walk in on you two.”
“Fuck you, Noah. Seriously. Fuck you.” She shook her head, frowning, then just shrugged. “John told me about last night. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you meet the aunt?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And I shared the conversation with Wellton.”
She shifted her eyes away from me, her jaw tightening.
I couldn’t help it. I had no real reason to be angry with her. Or Mike, for that matter. But I was, and I didn’t care anymore.
Her eyes came back at me. “Why are you here? Did you just stop by to be a dick?”
“No.”
She stood up. “Then why the fuck are you being one?”
