Brock crouched down in front of me and captured my eyes.
“Hang tight, Mara, we’ll get them,” he said quietly. “Now I gotta get to Mitch. He’s not calling because he’s busy but he wants you to know he’s on it.”
I nodded.
Mitch was on it.
Finally, I felt a little better. Mitch would never, never let anything happen to our kids.
Brock nodded back, reached out a hand, squeezed my knee, straightened then prowled out.
Tack filled my vision.
I held my breath at the look in his eyes.
Yes, very dangerous hot guy.
“I underestimated the situation. This is my f**k up. We’ll get them, chestnut, then we’ll get them,” his gravelly voice promised.
I held his eyes and my voice vibrated when I whispered, “Yes. Please. Get them.”
I understood him.
He understood me.
He nodded.
Then he was gone.
* * * * *
Mitch
“Man, let me talk to him. You know this is not a good idea,” Hank Nightingale said from his side.
“I’m on this,” Mitch growled.
Hank looked behind him at Eddie Chavez who was following.
Eddie shook his head.
Hank muttered, “Fuck.”
Mitch ignored him and Chavez, walked direct to the interrogation room, opened the door and saw Bill Winchell sitting at the table in his orange jumpsuit. At their entry, Winchell’s head came up, his eyes narrowed on Mitch and his face twisted with hate.
Two seconds later, Bill Winchell was against the wall with Mitch’s hand wrapped around his throat.
Hank at one side, Eddie at the other, Hank murmured, “Stand down.”
“Lescheva’s got the kids,” Mitch growled in Winchell’s face and watched it pale. “He went after Mara. Pure luck he doesn’t have her too.”
He felt Winchell force a swallow under his hand.
“You talk to me now. No DA. No deal. You get nothin’ except the hope what you give us keeps those kids alive. What were you into with him and what was Pierson’s part of the play?” Mitch demanded to know.
“Mitch, man, stand down,” Hank kept at it.
Mitch pressed Winchell deeper into the wall using his hand and body to do it.
“Talk to me now,” Mitch clipped.
“He’s…” Winchell forced another swallow, “he’s…Lescheva’s got my little girl?”
“And Bud,” Mitch confirmed. “Now f**kin’ talk!” he barked.
“My boy,” Winchell whispered.
He didn’t have time for this.
His kids were…
They were…
Fuck, he didn’t have any f**king time.
Mitch got nose-to-nose with him and roared, “Talk!”
“I’ll talk, dude, I’ll talk,” Winchell forced out.
Mitch released his throat and stepped back. Eddie and Hank relaxed at his sides and Winchell put a hand to his throat and began to move forward.
Mitch put a hand to his chest and pushed him against the wall. “We’re not gettin’ comfortable, havin’ a beer and chattin’ about football. When I say talk now, I mean talk…now.”
Winchell’s eyes came to his.
Then he said, “The mattresses.”
“Got that,” Mitch clipped. “What about them?”
“They don’t sell,” Winchell explained.
“Got that too,” Mitch bit out. “Tell me somethin’ I don’t got.”
Winchell nodded.
“Mara, she told me about them. She said they don’t sell. Said they always have a supply but they sit in the warehouse for a while. When she talked about it, I thought it was the perfect place to hide stash. Pierson is a good guy, family man, family business, single store, not a chain. Gives to charity. Looks out for his employees. No one would ever think he had a boatload of illegal shit stashed in his warehouse. I owed Lescheva, he was gettin’ impatient, I knew he had problems with storage so I told him my idea. He liked it, did the recon, found Otis was a weak link. He recruited him, stayed distant, left the operation to Otis and me.”
“And what’s the stash?” Mitch asked and Winchell shook his head but answered.
“Anything he needed. H. Blow. Stolen passports. Jewels. Whatever.”
“And the over-order?” Mitch pushed.
“Lescheva got greedy,” Winchell told him. “It was working. They move a load of product in that store but not that brand of mattress. Lescheva wanted to store more stuff there, Otis ordered a shitload of mattresses to hold it. He knows his cousin thinks he’s a f**k up so he’d never cotton on. And he didn’t.”
“You remember they tossed Mara’s place?” Mitch asked and Winchell nodded. “Was it because of the mattresses?” Mitch pressed.
Winchell nodded again. “Pierson thinks Otis is a f**k up because he is. Heard word in lockdown, he lost track of some shit he was holdin’ for Lescheva, mattresses went out, so did some shit. He had to find it,” Winchell answered.
“He find it?” Mitch asked.
“Is he alive?” Winchell asked back.
“Don’t know,” Mitch replied. “We can’t find him.”
“Then no,” Winchell answered.
“Fuck,” Eddie muttered.
Mitch kept going.
“You know what he lost?”
Winchell shook his head. “Could be anything.”
Mitch stared at him.
Then he whispered, “You put her out there.”
Winchell held his eyes but his face remained pale and, even being the definition of an assclown, he couldn’t hide the remorse.
“You put her out there, using her place of work, using her boss then you kept putting her out there after she took on those kids,” Mitch continued.
Winchell said nothing.
“And you put your kids out there,” Mitch kept at it.
“Kept them fed,” Winchell whispered his weak excuse.
“No, it kept you in smack and booze and smokes, you piece of shit,” Mitch shot back. “You put them out there. All of them. You f**kin’ put them out there and now that psycho ass**le has got,” he leaned in, “my kids.”
Winchell’s eyes narrowed. “They’re mine, Lawson.”
“Wrong,” Mitch bit out then he shared, “Bud asked to take my name.” At that, Winchell’s face blanched further. “I’m marrying your cousin and we’re adopting them and both of them are taking my name. They stopped being yours at a Stop ‘n’ Go on Zuni months ago. You need to get this, Winchell, this needs to sink in so listen to me closely. They come outta this alive, they’re mine.”