hour later, the phone on the corner of his desk jangled. He ignored it until someone yelled his name.
“Hey, Martinez. Phone. Dude wants to talk to you.”
Jesse waved his thanks and grabbed the phone, still working the keyboard with one hand.
“Martinez here.”
Five minutes later, he stared at his scribbled notes. It wasn’t the chicken-scratch mess that had the coffee churning in his stomach. His informant had confirmed the rumors. Dave Larson wasn’t just dabbling in organized crime. He was playing with the big boys. Chinatown-based mafia Du Bing Li big. It seemed Dave had finally scored the underworld connections he’d sought through the most unlikely source. His porn addiction.
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