Croft sat, the picture of calm. Tom sat, kind of wishing that Dixie had run. He had a lot of pent-up energy he would have liked to expel.

“Chinese Cobras, also known as Chicos,” Croft said, and Dixie flinched.

“You don’t start out throwin’ softballs, do you, lady? I don’t have nothin’ to do with them.”

“But you have,” Tom said. “In the past?”

“In the far past,” Dixie claimed. “Way far. I got nothin’ for you guys.” She was halfway to the curtain separating the room from the hallway when Croft stopped her in her tracks.

“You are required to cooperate with law enforcement, Miss Serratt. Otherwise you’re violating your parole. We’d appreciate your help.”

Dixie turned to confront them, face hard and fists clenched harder. “Right. Like I have a fuckin’ choice.” She rolled her eyes but plopped down on a stool.

Croft pulled a photo of DJ Belmont from her pocket. It was the still Tom had printed from the office building surveillance video. “This guy. You seen him?”

Dixie snatched the photo and peered down at it. Tom could see the moment that she recognized DJ’s face. And that she briefly considered denying that recognition. “Yeah.” She returned the photo to Croft and settled herself in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

Croft just smiled, unperturbed. “When did you first see him?”

“The night I did his tat.”

Tom noted it on his tablet. “When was that, ma’am?”

“You can cut the ‘ma’am’ bullshit, buddy. You think you can butter me up?”

Tom didn’t rise to the bait. “When was that, ma’am?” he repeated.

Dixie’s shoulders slumped. “Has to have been at least five years. I don’t know his name, so don’t ask. They paid cash, so don’t ask about receipts, either.”

“Five years is a long time ago,” Croft remarked. “Was there something about him that made you recall his face after so much time?”

Dixie looked away, but not before a spark of fear flickered in her eyes.

“Did he hurt you, ma’am?” Tom asked kindly. “Or threaten you?”

“No,” Dixie said, but too quickly. “I didn’t want to do the tat. I was done with that life. But he’d been sent by his boss and he wasn’t leaving until he got one. It was some kind of initiation thing, I think.” She swallowed. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“But he forced you to,” Croft said sympathetically.

Dixie simply shook her head, making it clear she’d said all she would on the topic.

“You mentioned this man’s boss,” Tom said. “Who was he?”

Dixie paled, shaking her head harder. “Haul me in for breaking parole if you want to. I’ll be safer back in prison.”

Croft frowned, holding up DJ’s photo. “Are you afraid of this man or his boss?”

“Both.” The word was barely audible. Her skin had grown sweaty, her fear palpable. “Mostly his boss.”

“What did he do?” Tom asked.

She held out her arms wordlessly. Tattooed vines covered her skin, but there were areas where the ink hadn’t taken as well. Scars. Round, about a centimeter in diameter.