but says he’s not that kind of crook.”
“Some of the guys on the MPD may think their shit don’t stink, but I never heard of ‘em arresting a dealer who wasn’t a dealer.”
“Whether he’s a dealer or not, his mother wants me to find him,” I said.
“Are you sure you’re going to get paid for this?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m getting paid.”
“Well, I’ll make a couple of calls, see if any of my old buddies know anything that might help you.” I knew from past experience that Tommy’s old buddies weren’t just from the sheriff’s department, but were also people he knew in his current businesses.
Just then Tommy’s bodyguard walked up to the table and bent over and whispered in Tommy’s ear as he pointed over to the rope where two men stood. “Okay, tell em I’ll be with ‘em in a minute,” Tommy said.
The man straightened up, looked at me, and then walked back toward the rope.
“Tommy, I got to ask you,” I said. “Where does he keep his gun?”
“Promise not to tell?” he asked.
“Promise,” I said. “It’s just professional curiosity.”
“He keeps a small frame Glock nine millimeter in the front of his jeans. He hides the handle behind that big belt buckle and the barrel sticks straight down.”
“That sounds slow to me,” I said. “He’d have to flip the buckle back with his left hand before he could pull the pistol out with his right.”
“Believe it,” Tommy said, “it’s not slow.”
“I hope he doesn’t get in too much of a hurry. You know a Glock doesn’t have a safety, don’t you?” I asked.
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