He wiped his hands with a cloth and flung it over his shoulder. “You found him.”
“You know a Caleb Taylor?”
The owner grunted and nodded, taking an empty glass and filling it with beer from the tap.
“Was he here the night before last?”
He handed me the glass of beer and I declined. The froth looked delicious but I was on on duty. “Yeah he was here along with the rest of the Black Widow MC. They were drinking and fucking all night.”
I smiled and laughed. He was obviously in with the motorcycle club. I grabbed the glass of beer and downed it. I was royally fucked.
I returned to the station with nothing. I could only hold Caleb for forty-eight hours and my time was running out. I had nothing to pin the murder on him and I knew that his MC was responsible. I went back to my office and pounded my head against the desk. Mendoza's card with his phone number was still sitting on the edge.
I grabbed it and dialed his number. Hopefully he had some advice on how to deal with this situation.
“Hello?” a groggy voice answered.
“Oh shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. It's Emily White.”
He cleared his throat. “Nah it's fine. What can I do for you?”
I took a deep breath and explained the whole situation—the impending MC war, the murder of Garcia, and my arrest of Caleb Taylor.
“These ain't the streets of LA, Sheriff White. You don't just go and arrest one of the Presidents. The MC's rule this town. You need to learn to work with them.”
“I refuse to believe that the police have no power in this town.”
“The MC's control public opinion. If they want the town to turn on the cops then that's what will happen. Most of the folks might be scared of the bikers but they damn sure respect them.”
My head was spinning. How could all this be true? “What am I supposed to do, Mendoza?”
“It's simple, let Caleb go and forget this business about the murder. You'll never find the evidence to take them down, they're too smart and they've been playing this game a lot longer than you.”
I thanked Mendoza for the advice and hung up. I didn't want to believe him but I knew he was right. The more I pushed the MC's the harder they'd push back. If I kept going on this warpath, I'd have too many enemies to deal with. Better to make some unholy alliances and do a little bit of good.
But I still had more than twenty-four hours to keep Caleb. Better let that arrogant bastard rot for a little while longer. His kiss still lingered on my lips. I traced my mouth with my fingertips, remembering how good it was. Caleb was such an asshole.
Chapter Thirteen
Caleb
Ronnie was beginning to drive me fucking insane. I couldn't take anymore of him preaching about mayonnaise and hot dogs. I thought giving him some liquor would relax him but it only made it worse. He kept pissing himself and the puddle of urine was leaking over into my cell. If only I could break out of here and strangle the life out of him. I'd love to see the light leave his eyes.
Officer Johnson came down and ruined my fantasy of murdering Ronnie. “Time to let you go, crazy man.” Johnson fumbled around for the keys and unlocked the cell. “Shit Ronnie, did you have to piss yourself so much.”
“What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” I asked.
Johnson led Ronnie out of the cell. “Found this guy wandering down Main Street, exposing himself to anyone who passed by. Definitely has a few screws loose. He's in the hands of the doctors at Sacks County Hospital now.”
Ronnie turned to me with horror in his eyes. “Mayonnaise...hot dogs.” And that was the last I ever saw of him. Thank fucking God.
“Hey Johnson, I need to make a phone call.”
Johnson crammed his hands into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. “Here, don't let the Sheriff see you with this.” He passed the phone through the bars.
I dialed the only number I knew by heart—the MC. A deep grunt answered the phone. Could only be Big Mike. “Hey Mike, can you get Claire for me?” Big Mike grunted again.
“Hey fella, how's it going in there?”
“Just fucking peachy, Claire.”
“Oh come on, Caleb, can't be that bad. It's not like you're in prison.”
I sat down on the bench and lifted my feet off the wet floor. “Well your not ankle-deep in piss right now.”
“What if I was cleaning the bathrooms here?”
The MC bathroom was utterly disgusting. I've seen the most terrifying shit shows ever. No way in fucking hell I'd ever clean those. “Claire, where's the lawyer?”
“Somewhere on a private island, drinking martinis. He told us not to worry. They'll have to release you tomorrow morning since they got nothing on you.”