“Hey Margot, it’s me, Mal.”
It took Margot a second to figure out who Mal was. Even though it hadn’t been more than a few hours since they met, it had been an eventful couple of hours. She was about to ask how he got her number, but then she remembered she’d texted him the information on Ms. Oliver’s sons.
“Hey, Mal what’s up?”
“Two things. I got an I.D. on the kid with his brains on the wall.”
“Steve Oliver?”
“No. It wasn’t the younger brother either. It was one of our finer citizens, dude named Robert Ballard. Does that sound familiar?”
“I can’t say it does.”
“How about Boogie Bullfrog?”
“Is that someone’s actual name?”
“Nah, just a street name, but it sounds a lot cooler than Robert Bullard, which is why everybody called either Boogie or Bullfrog.”
Margot pulled up to Ms. Oliver’s house. As far as she could tell from the outside, it was just like every other house on the block. Something must have been going on; otherwise, she wouldn’t have called.
“Hey, Mal, can I call you back?”
“I didn’t get to the second thing?”
“Can you do it in thirty seconds or less? I’ve got a thing going.”
“Work?”
“Kind of.”
“Do you need help?”
Margot considered it for a moment and then said, “Ms. Oliver’s ex-husband is back.”
“Okay, I take it that’s bad news.”
“She thinks so.”
“I have the address. It’s not far from my place. I can be there in ten if you want some backup.”
“This is kind of extracurricular.”
“I love extracurricular.”
“I don’t know if I can wait for you. I should be in there already.”
“Fair, but I’m coming anyway.”
“Suit yourself.”
Margot clipped the holster for her standard-issue Glock 19 to her belt and put the gun inside. She hung the lanyard with her badge around her neck and left the car.
She paused by the door and listened. It wasn’t long before she heard Mr. Oliver.
“Look, if you’re not going to open the door, at least tell me where they are.”
Margot didn’t hear Ms. Oliver’s reply but judging by the way he yelled back, “Bullshit,” it wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
Margot checked the door and found it was locked.
Mr. Oliver continued to yell. “I will kick in this fucking door! We both know the little pansies wouldn’t be staying out all night on their own, so tell me where they are.”
Margot knocked on the door, putting some force into it.
“Go away, I’m busy,” Mr. Oliver yelled back.
Margot knocked again.
“What part of ‘I’m busy’ did you miss?”
Margot knocked again.
“If I have to come over there, you’re going to regret it.”
Margot knocked again.
The door flew open and a squat fireplug of a man stared at Margot with hate in his eyes. “Do I know you?”
“Is your wife home?” Margot asked.
“How is that your business?”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
He saw the badge and took a step back. “You’re the cop, from the other night.”
“That’s right and if your wife is home, you are currently in violation of a restraining order. If she’s not, then you’re trespassing. Either way, you need to take your act on the road.”
“How can I be trespassing? This is my house.”
“Since you never got around to paying any rent, your name isn’t on the lease.”
He looked for a second like he was going to leave but then his brow furrowed and instead of walking away, he said, “How come you ain’t wearing a uniform?”
“It’s casual Friday.”
“Really? You guys have that? Wait, it’s not even Friday.”
“I’m asking you nicely to leave, Mr. Oliver. I think we’d all be happier if we didn’t let things get past the asking nicely stage.”
“You would anyway. Where’s the big white boy who was with you last time?”
“Do you really want to go to jail?”
“No little bitch is taking me to jail. You want to come back with some real cops then we’ll talk.”
Oliver went to shut the door, but Margot kicked it open before he could get it latched.
He took one step back and then held his ground. “So, you want to tussle? I’m actually in the mood to do some tussling.”
“So am I, but I think I’ll just shoot you instead,” Margot said as she drew her gun.
Oliver took another step back and raised his hands as if they could somehow stop a bullet.
When she didn’t fire, he smiled, “Shit, you’re bluffing.”
“You sure?”
“Even if you’re not, you ever heard about the twenty-foot rule? Hell, we ain’t but ten feet apart.”
“That’s a load of bullshit. Cops who like shooting dumbshits like you made it up so they could kill more jackasses. I could drop you if you were two feet away.”
“I doubt it.”
“You want to try me?”
Unfortunately for Margot, he seemed to be seriously considering it.
“You should at least make it fair and back up the whole twenty feet,” a familiar voice said from behind Mr. Oliver.
He turned his head slightly to see Mal standing in his living room.
“How’d you get in here?”
“Some asshole kicked in the back door,” Mal said as he drew a chrome Colt Python .357 from behind his back.
“She wouldn’t let me in so I did what I had to do,” Oliver said, as if they cared why he’d kicked in the back door.
“Do you think you’re twenty feet away from me?” Mal asked him.
Mr. Oliver wasn’t sure how to answer.
“You can walk away or leave in a bag,” Mal told him. “Either way, you’re leaving.”
Again Mr. Oliver looked like he was going to leave, but then he held his ground saying, “Either you idiots know who Harry Lee is?”
“What does that have to do with me shooting you in the face?” Mal asked as he thumbed back the hammer on the Python.
“I’m working for him.”
“He hire you to go beat on your wife?” Margot asked.
“I’m not beating on my wife?”
“She just locked herself in the bathroom for fun?”
“Okay, we’ve had some issues. It happens, but that’s not why I’m here. If that’s what you’re worried about, I’m not going to hit
