The Final Twist by Jeffery Deaver (free ebooks romance novels txt) 📕

some connection with a crew here. You get us his real name and who he runs with, there’s a thousand in it for you. So, he wear your colors?”

The six men looked at the picture again, then regarded one another.

The leader said, “Not one of us. Never seen him.”

The others agreed. Shaw believed they were telling the truth. There had not been a single flash of recognition in any eye.

Russell put his phone away.

The Bayneck in the flannel shirt—a twitchy man—said, “I think our looking was worth something.” It was he who’d placed his hand on his thigh earlier, and the fingers now moved closer to where his weapon would rest.

For a very long moment not a soul moved.

Then the biggest of the bikers said, “Naw, forget it. Too early for that kind of shit. And I ain’t finished but one beer yet. So I’m not in any mood.”

The leader said, “All I’ll say is why weren’t you looking after your mother? Two grown men like you. Sad. Now, get on out.”

27

Now the SUV was cruising through a different part of the district.

They were on their way to the Hudson Kings’ headquarters.

They were near the waterfront and Shaw looked out on the dark water at the decommissioned Hunters Point Naval Shipyard, dominated by the massive gantry crane that bore a skeletal resemblance to the battleships whose turrets it lifted off so that the cannon could be replaced fast. A huge civilian and naval shipbuilding and repair facility for more than a hundred years, the yard was now closed and parcels were being sold off for condominiums and commercial buildings—that is, if and when the land was decontaminated. The place was a Superfund toxic waste site and much of it was still tainted, including by radioactive materials. It was from this shipyard that the USS Indianapolis sailed to the Mariana Islands, its cargo parts for Little Boy and Fat Man, the atomic bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August of 1945.

Cleanup was a big business here. Many small craft operated by a company called BayPoint Enviro-Sure Solutions were collecting drums with hazard warnings stenciled on the sides. The workers were wearing so much protective gear, they looked like astronauts laboring on the moon.

Russell turned and steered away from the water. A moment later he pointed to a storefront. “That’s it.”

There was nowhere to park nearby so he drove a block and a half farther, and pulled to the curb. The brothers climbed out and started to walk toward the storefront.

A trio of rats slipped from an abandoned warehouse nearby and nonchalantly vanished into a drain.

“Yo, you buying, man?”

The voice belonged to a skinny young man sitting on an unsteady chair in front of a dubious shop selling prepaid phones and minutes cards, along with vaping paraphernalia. Two figures inside were speaking into flip cells.

The brothers moved on without responding.

Some kids, from teens to mid-twenties, were clustered together on the corner between the brothers and the social club. They were smoking joints, a few cigarettes. The clothing was hoodies and T-shirts and baggy slacks. Their running shoes were nice, and the hairstyles ranged from shaved to elaborate works of art. A few wore medallions, chains and other bling. They looked over the white men walking slowly past and grew energized, whispering and snickering. They were assessing the men as easy targets: beard on one, slim build on another.

Three of the crew broke from the clutch and strode up the sidewalk, stepping in front of and stopping Shaw and his brother.

“You need directions? I give you directions. You know what I’m saying? C-note, and I give you directions.”

“You lost? They lost.”

“What you about, man?” A young man got right in Shaw’s face.

The brothers had no time for a fight.

Never resort to violence unless you have no alternative.

Ashton might have added: especially with foolish teenagers.

Two others joined the trio. The newcomers postured, gesturing broadly with bony hands. The grins were cold.

Courage in numbers isn’t courage.

“I’m talking to you an’ you ignoring me. That rude.”

“Is Kevin Miller around?” Russell asked.

They fell silent.

Shaw said, “It’s all good. We’ve got money for him.”

The skinniest of them—a boy of about fifteen or sixteen—said, “I’ll take it to him. Save you the trouble, you know what I’m saying?”

It was then someone else joined the clutch. A tall, lanky man in his mid-thirties. His face was wrinkled and he bore tats in the shape of teardrops near his eyes. They could signify either a long prison term or that he’d committed murder.

The boys glanced at him with a measure of respect.

“Yo, Kevin!”

“What up, Kevin?”

Signs were flashed, fists bumped.

So this was Tom Pepper’s O.G.—original gangster—one who had earned his colors years ago and managed to survive life on the street.

“My man.”

“Dog.”

Both Shaw and Russell looked at him, holding his gaze steadily. Neither of the brothers said anything. Eyes still on the interlopers, Kevin said to the crew, “Right. Everybody, move off.”

“But . . .” one protested.

A brief glance was all it took. The kids cast murderous looks toward Shaw and Russell but headed down the sidewalk.

“You wanted me, you got me.” Kevin swiveled back, smooth, looking them over. “You L.E.?”

“We’re not law.”

A squinting assessment. “No. You don’t smell law. How’d you get my name?”

“Tom Pepper vouched.”

Kevin nodded. The teardrop beneath his eye was inked well. A bit of skin showed through the black and gave the image three dimensions.

Russell displayed Blond’s doctored picture. “We’re trying to find this man. He’s got a connection with a crew here, Hunters Point, Bayview.”

“That hair, it ain’t normal.”

Blond’s complexion had grown lighter in death but the hairdo remained as brightly jaundiced as ever.

“I’ve got a thousand, if you help us out.”

“Why here? He’s white.”

Shaw asked, “Don’t you do business with everybody—regardless of race, creed, et cetera.”

Kevin chuckled. “Talk to the rednecks.”

“We did. They don’t know him.”

“Lemme see that picture again.”

Russell displayed it.

The O.G. nodded with a thoughtful frown. “Sorry, brother. No idea. And I’m as