Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (types of ebook readers txt) 📕

him that you are prepared to cooperate but you want a deal, in writing. Now, assuming that he agrees, how long do you think it’s going to take to draft it and have it sent from Denver?”

“Man…”

He was looking distressed. I pushed. “But Sly, you and me both know that even that is unrealistic. Ask yourself, if you were the DA, what would your first question be if I made that call?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared into space. So I answered for him.

“He’s going to ask me, ‘What about the other two?’ Let’s get even more real, Sly. What do you think is the first thing I am going to do when I have hung up on the DA? I am going to go straight to Greg and say, ‘Guess what, Greg, Sly just offered the DA a deal. He sells you down the river in exchange for life. But he wants it in writing. You want to talk to me while we wait for the DA to make up his mind and draft the document?’ And then there’s Coy…”

“OK, man!”

“I’ll give you my word, and I will tell the DA that I have given you my word. And right now, Sly, that is the best damned offer you are likely to get.”

“OK! OK!”

“Who killed Kathleen Olvera?”

He did a weird thing, swinging his head from side to side, like he was grooving to music. He spread his hands and made a high-pitched squeaking noise in his throat which eventually turned into, “Man! I don’t know what you want me to tell you!”

I stood, pushing the chair back noisily. “See you at the trial, Sly.”

“Wait a minute!”

“Stop wasting my time.”

He lifted a hand. “OK! I told you I am going to cooperate. Just give me a minute.”

“Minutes are what you have very few of, Sly. You better start talking or I am walking out of that door and you will not see me again until I testify against you.”

“Boy, you’re a hard son of a bitch!”

“Who killed Kathleen Olvera?”

He spread his hands and appealed to the ceiling. “It was El Coyote, man. But if he don’t get the death penalty, he is gonna cut my throat. You have to give me protection, you understand? You tellin’ me you gonna spare me the death sentence, but if he don’t go down, that is a death sentence!”

I sat down again. “I understand. I will make the DA understand that too. Talk.”

“It was like you said. Pat was sellin’ for us down in the Bronx. But she was broke all the time, you know? She’s a dope head, never got her shit together. She used to hang with Greg and he was always givin’ her money.” He laughed. “Man, she’d do anythin’—and I do mean anythin’ for fifty bucks. So we said to her, she could take the shit, sell it, then give us our cut of the money. That way she could get on her feet. We was helpin’ her. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, you’re regular philanthropists.”

He wheezed a laugh. “No man, I never had no interest in stamps. It worked, for a while, know what I’m sayin’? I can’t remember how many times, but it was a few. She took the stuff, sold it, kept her share and brought us our dough.” He creased up his face, like it distressed him. “But she weren’t savin’ it. She was spendin’ everythin’ she made on shit, coke and meth and bad stuff. It was Greg asked us to help her, ’cause he liked her. But I told him it weren’t gonna work. You can’t rely on a dope head like that. It ain’t never gonna pay off. But he said them girls was like family to him. So we had to help her.”

“So what happened?”

“What was always gonna happen, man. She calls and talks to Greg. She sold the shit, five K—it was a lot of cash, man—and she blew it all on coke. I was real mad. Greg says he’s gonna make good on the bread and we won’t be out’a pocket. But I told him we ain’t gonna use her no more. We don’t need that kind of problem. He says OK, but Coyote ain’t happy.” He shook his head again. “Greg, he’s a cowboy, me, I’m cool. If I have my money, I’m happy. But Coyote, he’s a hard son of a bitch, and where he comes from, man, reputation is everything. He’s sayin’ this bitch has pissed on his reputation and he has got to cut her.”

“OK, so how do we get from there to Kathleen?”

“Get me a cigarette, man. I’m stressed. I’m shakin’, man. You fucked me up.”

I stuck my head out the door and got a cigarette from one of the deputies. I lit it and handed it to Sly. His hand was trembling as he smoked.

“It was like you said. Greg must have warned her that Coyote was after her blood, ’cause instead of comin’ up to the Shack, she sends her sister to talk to us, plead for mercy, kind’a thing. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“How’d she get to the Shack from Boulder?”

He shrugged. “How should I know? I guess Greg picked her up.”

“How did Coy kill her?”

“Don’t call him ‘Coy’, man. He ain’t coy. That really offends and disrespects the man. His name is El Coyote. Don’t you know that?”

“Fuck him. How did he kill her?”

“I wasn’t there. I don’t like violence. I’m a man of peace. And in any case, I can’t see. I know he took her out in the woods, and there I guess he stuck her with a knife and cut off her head. That’s his style. It’s his thing, man.”

“It’s his thing?”

He grinned. “Yeah man. He told me, in Mexico, when they see a body