“They finally brought in some new dudes who knew bombs,” he says, bringing up his cigarette for another puff. “So I got kicked to the curb. Until, that is, they needed some people to go after that girl. I didn’t know who she was, or why they wanted her, but I figured it was all part of the plan.”

He takes a long drag on his cigarette, then tosses it over the bridge into the murky canal below. I bite my lip in frustration. He’s clearly just a tiny cog in a terrible machine. He doesn’t know shit. He’s not just a dumb racist. He’s a pawn.

“So what happens now?” he asks. “Do I get to go home?”

I have to laugh at this man’s stupidity. I’m about to answer in the negative when I see something off in the distance that instantly shatters my laughing mood.

CHAPTER 64

In the distance, a flurry of red and blue lights churns up the starless sky.

Shit. A caravan of cops. Speeding our way fast.

So much for taking things slow with Angus.

“You need to tell me more,” I insist. “Details about the attack. Specifics. And you need to tell me now.”

“It’s like I said, man. I already told you everything I—”

“Bullshit!” I yell. “How many floats and tractors are they using? What part of the city are they hitting? Which parade? When?”

He chews on his lip. For a second I get the feeling he’s having a change of heart and wants to help me out. Maybe I’m just asking the wrong questions.

“Give me some names, then,” I say, nearly pleading. “Let’s start there. Who else was part of the team?”

“The Aryan Brothers came from other chapters. From all different parts of the state. I only knew ’em by their war names.”

“You said there were other people, too. What about them?”

He hocks a wad of saliva over the railing into the inky canal below.

“You mean the Mexicans and A-rabs? No idea. I don’t talk to animals. There was even a goddamn Russian if you can believe it. And they even got these smarty scientist types—smarter than you, cop, you can be sure.”

Fury overtakes me. I reach down and grab this asshole by his sweaty, bloodstained tank top, tug at him hard.

“Here’s the deal, shithead,” I growl. “At a minimum, you’re looking at aggravated assault and conspiracy to commit terrorism. That’s thirty-five to life, no parole. See those cops heading this way? They’re not coming to help you. But maybe I can—if you help me. I know some good lawyers in this city. And some flexible judges. Get what I’m saying? So unless you want to die inside a supermax, I’m the only hope you’ve got.”

Apparently, my words finally get through to him.

“Holy Cross,” Angus mutters.