White Night

Chapter 14

As he stepped down out of the safety of his old truck, Michael knew it was a mistake.

Barely able to pull his jacket on this morning, it had taken him longer than it should to clean up the bloodied gauze pads and wash the rest of the blood down the drain in the bath.

He felt like he was piloting someone else's body. A ghost, weak, cold, and unable to think of anything but the wicked pain in his shoulder. His arm didn't move the same anymore and he was clumsy and thickheaded from painkillers, lack of sleep, or blood loss, it didn't matter now. It was all over if he didn't make this work.

Ten minutes, Michael, that's all you need.

Show up, so even the asshole from last night rules you out, then get back in the truck and drive out of town. Enough of a head start to make it out of New York State before being missed.

The construction site was a hive of activity. The workers were all lined up in rows in front of the construction office with men he didn't recognize talking to the guys at the front of each line. Cops?

Then he saw it. A tarp partially covering a patch of ground outside the gates, with dried blood visible at the edge.

"Mikey!" Angelo shouted, sending his heart into his throat.

His boss waved him over. Standing beside him was a woman in a suit. She was kinda hot with her fit-looking body and long brown hair pulled back. Her dark eyes were fixed on Angelo, but she was intense, professional, and definitely there on business. Another cop? Suddenly she was less attractive.

A man wandered to her side from a different part of the site. Tall with dark blond hair, he was the same height as Michael. He was obviously with the woman, a cop? A detective? The detective?

His stomach lurched as he scanned every inch of the male cop's face.

Was it him last night?

The male cop stared back, becoming more interested the longer Michael searched his face, but he couldn't stop staring at him, he had to know. There were no bruises on the cop's face, but if Michael's head had connected with the top of his head, then...

They locked eyes on each other, everyone else drifting into the background.

"Mikey, thought you were sick today?" Angelo said, breaking the stalemate.

The woman cop stared at him as well now. Warmth crept across his skin as his face started to reflect the heat of their attention.

"Yeah, I heard what happened and thought you might need some help," he said weakly. "Who was it that died?"

"John Weston, poor guy. You know him, Mikey?"

Michael shook his head. He didn't know him. Did Hansen?

"You don't look so good, Mikey," Angelo said.

"And you are?" the female detective asked.

"Michael Tanner. I'm the foreman here."

"Go home, Mikey. We shut down, anyway." Angelo smiled at him.

"We'll need to speak with him first," interrupted the intense detective.

She moved toward him. Her walk was weird, a bit stiff, like one of her shoes was too tight or something. Could she really be a cop?

"I'm Detective Connors and this is my partner Detective Ross," she said, answering his question. "Were you the last to leave last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you lock the site when you left?"

"To be honest, I can't remember. Sorry, Angelo," he lied. The sound of his truck crashing through the gates rang through his head again.

"It's no matter, Mikey. Nothing missing, police here all night," Angelo said generously.

A cop in uniform approached and whispered to Detective Connors, "We've bagged the vomit we found near the building."

Vomit?

The color drained from the male detective's face as Michael stared at him again.

He was here last night.

"No sign of the third bullet?" she asked the cop.

Michael almost barfed at the question. It was standing in front of her.

The uniformed cop shook his head.

Detective Connors turned her attention back to Michael.

"Did you see or hear anyone else here last night?" Her voice was emotionless, but her eyes were clearly searching for the right answer.

"No, it was just me."

He couldn't stop himself looking at the hole in the window, his hole, the hole that continued right through the glass and into his shoulder.

"Did you go straight home when you left?" asked Detective Connors.

"No, I was feeling rough so I drove for a short while and napped in my truck."

"Where was that?"

"Tillary or Navy Street, that area, I think."

Neither Tillary nor Navy Street was on his way home. She would figure that out, but not before he was long gone.

"What time did you go home?" she asked.

"I didn't. I live about forty-five minutes from here and didn't want to make the drive, so I stayed in a motel."

He was feeling nauseous and weak now. The continued stare of Detective Ross wasn't helping. He was the asshole from the night before, Michael was sure of it now. But even a pig couldn't shoot him right here in front of fifty witnesses, and he would never give him another chance.

"Which one?"

Shit, she was relentless.

"The Hayward."

"Okay, that's all for now, but we will have more questions so don't leave town." She waved him off and turned her attention back to Angelo. Detective Ross didn't lift his gaze from him.

He started to walk away from them all. Neither of the pigs would get their hands on Hansen's bullet; it was leaving with him.

Take a good look, you son of a bit—

His foot struck a frozen ridge of earth and the ground rushed up to meet him. Only his knee and working hand stopped him from landing facedown in the dirt.

Detective Connors spun around at the commotion but quickly lost interest as the workers whistled and cheered at him. Detective Ross smiled thinly and slowly walked in the direction of the construction office.

He was probably going to get his home address. It didn't matter.

Michael would never be there again.