The Gentlemen's Hour by Don Winslow Read Free Book Online Page B

thinks.
    You’ll do the right thing.
    She reaches over to his plate, tears off a piece of tortilla, and says mildly, “There’s a slight problem.”
    Actually, six slight problems.
    Five eyewitnesses.
    And Corey’s confession.

19
    Since starting to date Pete, Boone has gained an appreciation of British understatement.
    If she says she’s “a bit peckish,” it means she’s starving; if she’s “a tad annoyed,” she’s really approaching near homicidal rage; and little Corey’s having “a slight problem” means he’s totally screwed.
    Calling Corey’s confession “a slight problem” is like tagging a tsunami “a little wave,” Boone thinks as he looks over the file. It could sweep Corey off the beach and carry him all the way to San Quentin, never to be seen again.
    Here’s what stupid Corey wrote:
    â€œWe were outside the bar waiting because we were pissed that they threw us out of there earlier. So I saw the guy coming out of the bar and decided to mess him up. I walked up to him and hit him with a Superman Punch.”
    A “Superman Punch”? Boone asks himself. What the hell is a “Superman Punch”?
    â€œI saw his lights go out before he hit the ground. Other than that, I have nothing to say.”
    â€œOther than that”? Boone wonders. Other than that , you moronic dweeb? Other than admitting to premeditation, then the premeditated act? Yeah. Other than that, good time to clam up, dim bulb. Efficient writing style, though—life without parole in five crisp sentences. Hemingway couldn’t have done it better.
    Three of the witness statements are from his little friends.
    Corey’s Rockpile crewmates threw him under the bus.
    Typical of gangs, Boone thinks. It’s all “brothers forever” until they start doing the hard math of murder one vs. accessory to manslaughter vs. witness with immunity; then the brotherhood goes Cain and Abel.
    Of course, the police were shaping the case that way from moment one. They had two other eyewitnesses who would testify to Corey throwing the fatal punch, so the cops went to work on the potential codefendants, making sure they had Corey sewn up tight in the net.
    Technically, they could book all four for murder—doubtless that was their opening gambit—but in practice they could never make anything but an accessory charge stick so they put a bright light over the “Exit” door for three of them to find their way.
    Trevor’s statement is priceless.
    â€œWe were hanging in the alley when we saw this guy come down the street. Corey said, ‘Check it out—I’m going to mess with him. I’m going to fuck him up.’ I tried to restrane him . . .”
    â€œTried to restrane him,” Boone thinks. Three years on the SDPD, Boone recognizes “copspeak” when he hears it.
    Trevor was coached.
    They just couldn’t coach him to spell.
    A nice touch of authenticity, though.
    And the “I’m going to fuck him up” is really bad news.
    â€œÂ . . . but Corey shook me off, walked up, and hit the guy with a Superman Punch.”
    This Superman Punch, Boone thinks, seems to be like a thing , whatever it is.
    â€œThen I heard this really bad ‘crack’ sound when Mr. Kuhio’s head hit. I knew it was real bad then. I said to Corey, ‘What did you do, dude? What did you do?’
    â€œI know we should have called 911 and stayed, but we got freeked out and scared and so we got back in the car and drove away. I was crying. Corey was yelling, ‘I got him! I got the motherfucker. Did you see me get him?’ ”
    Yup, Trevor has the shovel out and he’s digging like mad. With a helping hand from the investigating officer.
    Boone could practically hear the detective in the interview room with dumb-ass Trevor: This might be your last chance to help yourself, guy. The