“But he didn’t,” Cherry said.

“Naw, which I thought was kind of interesting. Anyway, he as much as said that he was packing it in, taking Edgars with him. Said it wasn’t just the others getting offed. He was broke. Couldn’t make his bills, no money in the kitty. But he said to me, if I ever saw Candy, I was to let him know. Like, if she came to work for me, or I just saw her around. He said I owed him that, for letting me take over his share of the market. And that if I saw her, he’d see that I got a little reward on top of that.”

“Really,” I said.

“I think he put the word out to the rest of my guys, and others that he knew, like regular customers at the Kickstart. Said no matter where he ended up, they could reach him through his mom, leave a message with her.”

“Where is she?”

“In town here. Getting kind of on, I suspect. Don’t see her out and about. Not what you’d call very motherish.”

“So did you ever see her? Candy?”

Wingstaff shook his head. “Never did. Never really cared. Got my own problems to take care of.”

“Why do you think he was wanting to find her so bad?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Didn’t ask, wasn’t my problem. But you know, you had the sense that maybe she was something of a liability.”

“A liability?” I said.

“Someone who could tell people things,” Wingstaff said. “Sometimes you don’t want people telling other people things.” He gave Cherry a wink. “Ain’t that so, Mike?”

“Certainly is, Bruce,” Cherry said.

A whistle blew. The soccer game was over.

“That’s about all the time I have, gents,” Wingstaff said.

“You come out for your boy’s games a lot?” I asked.

“Never miss a one,” he said. “You have to get the kids involved in things, you know, or they’ve got too much time on their hands, get themselves into trouble.” He nodded and headed down toward the base of the bleachers.

“You think he’s ever killed anybody?” I said quietly to Cherry.

“You mean this week?” the detective replied.

We worked our way down to the field, saw young Blake Wingstaff run over to see his father. His face was muddy from when he’d fallen on the ball.

“We got killed,” the boy said, his face awash with shame. His father, the biker boss, smiled and knelt down and gave his son a friendly rub on the head. You could almost feel him aching to hug the boy, but he didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his teammates.

“You done good,” he told him. “I saw that goal you made.”

“I fell down,” Blake said.

“We all fall down,” Wingstaff said. “Then we get up, and we keep on playing.”

CHAPTER 22

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