Tequila Mockingbird by Rhys Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

back there. Then someone set his RV on fire—with his body still in it. It’s been a rough few months.”
    “Rough is a good word,” Duarte agreed, nibbling on his eraser again. “Even better words? Drug deal gone wrong, and the family’s drinking from the shit river because of it.”
    “Marshall—the father—was a casual pot user. Nothing harder than weed. A few hits for acid and rec stuff back in the White Rabbit days, but nothing recent.” He rattled off from what he remembered of Marshall’s rap sheet. “Ackerman’s clean. I’d know if he were on drugs, Henry. I’m kind of trained for that sort of thing.”
    “Sometimes we don’t always see what’s right in front of our faces, Morgan,” Duarte replied softly. “Or under our noses. Mind where you step. Fuck up my scene, and I won’t care who your father is. I’ll beat your ass redder than your sister’s hair.”
    “Duly noted, sir.” Connor snapped the man a quick salute, watching Duarte amble away before nudging his sister with his elbow. “He’s a good partner for you.”
    “Yeah, like I don’t know Dad had him picked out for me like some guardian angel disguised as a basset hound puppy,” Kiki snorted. “Since I’ve got you here, Con, how about if you walk me through what happened?”
    “Don’t really know a lot. I was inside. Behind the counter. Forest scalded himself, and Jules—the manager—asked if I’d go help him get something on it.”
    “I’ll get back to the manager. What did you see? Did you get a look at the shooter?” Kiki pointed out the trail of casings. “He was using something on auto—semi or full. Maybe something modified or black market.”
    “I was shoving Forest under the counter so he didn’t get his head blown off,” Con reminded her. “By the time I got up and had my weapon out, the guy was gone.”
    If Kiki’s scowl was any indication, his answer didn’t seem to satisfy her question. “Recognize the weapon? Maybe shoot something like it before?”
    “I’m a SWAT cop, Kiki. Not Eliot Spencer,” he drawled. “I can’t just pull the make and model of a gun out of my ass just because I hear it being shot. If I had to guess, I’d say AK because it was a higher tone, and the casings are bigger than you’d find in an M16. Casings will tell you at least what you could be looking at, but you just might find it’s some AR or even an AK variance. Those are harder to control too.”
    “And here you said you didn’t know shit.”
    “I couldn’t promise shit, brat,” Con replied. “AKs are harder to control on full auto, and ARs are easier to get ammo and parts for. If he was in a car and moving, it would explain why the spray is all over the place. All of this doesn’t matter to Jules or anyone else shot up by this asshole.”
    “Jules is the manager, right? I guess she knew you from before because she asked you to look after her boss. Or she just sniffed out that you were a cop from her finely tuned badge-dar?”
    “Beforehand. Remember? I did the raid on the RV. I’ve been checking up on Forest to see how he’s been doing. He kind of took a kick to the teeth that night.”
    “Were you guys friends before then?” Kiki returned to taking pictures, but Connor could tell her attention was fully on him.
    It was a skill they’d both learned from their father, Donal—a misdirection of the eyes gave a witness or suspect a false comfort, a sense of safety to spill their secrets because their interrogator didn’t seem to be listening. It took Connor about ten years to catch on to his father’s tricks, and he’d spilled many a damaging secret before he learned to keep his mouth shut when Donal looked away to do something else.
    Being a good older brother, Con’d informed the younger Morgans, but Quinn—the fucker—seemed to have caught on as soon as he was weaned but didn’t see fit to let his older brothers in on the deal until way too many punishment chores were dished out.
    Seeing Kiki