“I will, but I’ve got one stop to make first.”

“Uh-uh, you go with us. We’ll get your car picked up later.”

“Are you nuts? Look where we’re standing! If I leave that rental here, it’ll be up on blocks and stripped clean by the time you send your guys back to get it. I’ll meet you at the district.”

Both of them looked skeptical, and, frankly, I couldn’t blame them. Even I knew I was a flight risk.

Ben pointed a warning finger at me. “Cass, no fooling around. You’d better be there.”

“I will.” I purposefully left out the word “eventually.” I would definitely make it in to ID the brothers, but first I had something to do. As I walked to the car, I kept smelling tar and rotten food and tracked the smell to the sleeves of my jacket. I quickly stripped out of it and tossed it into the trunk, lamenting the cleaning bill. Ben and Weber were still standing there when I drove away.

Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Fleet Transports, the front for Leon’s chop shop, was locked up tight when I got there around four AM. One bare lightbulb sputtered over Fleet’s front door, but it didn’t offer much in the way of light. It didn’t help that half the streetlights weren’t working. Somewhere a dog was barking itself hoarse. The metal door had a mail slot cut into it, but that wasn’t going to work for me, so I dug out my picklocks and got busy while Whip stood and watched my back. Stella Symonds had died just hours ago. She wouldn’t be able to bear witness to Spada’s depravity. It was one more thing to hate Nicholas Spada for.

“Far as I know, chop shops are a twenty-four-hour business,” Whip whispered. “Somebody called and cleared the place out.”

I fiddled with the short hook, raking it over the lock’s pins. It was slow going, and I had to work by feel alone. “Somebody from the laundromat got to a phone.”

Whip sighed. “You know I can pick that lock faster, right?”

“Not without going back to prison, you can’t.” The last pin slid up and I stood, shoving the picks into my back pocket. “There. We’re in.”