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“So who’s the big guy?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and sweat broke out on his forehead. The jiggle returned with renewed vigor. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know who the big guy is?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No clue. I ain’t never heard his name. Never saw him either. Don’t want to.”

That wasn’t surprising. Sam Phillips was a low-level dealer and a user. The head of this ring likely guarded his identity with all but his most trusted. It had been worth asking though.

Eric clicked his pen. “Who’s your supplier?”

“I can’t talk about that, man. Not for you or anybody else.”

“Come on, you’ve gotta give me something.” When Sam didn’t respond to that, he decided to try another tack. “Okay, don’t worry about that for now. I wouldn’t want to cause you trouble with these guys.”

Sam relaxed, but only a fraction. Eric needed to get him comfortable and talking again. Maybe he’d let something else slip.

“Hey, you want a drink? We’ve got water, Coke, Sprite.”

“I’d take a Coke. Those are my favorite.”

Eric leaned out the door and signaled Vernon. “Can you get him a Coke?”

The officer gave him a two-finger salute, and Eric retook his seat.

“We’ll have that to you in just a minute, all right?”

His head bobbed. “No problem. I’m a patient guy. No problem at all.”

Vernon opened the door and handed in the bottled soft drink. Eric gave Sam a moment with his distraction. The man hummed as he struggled to break the seal, then after he finally got it, he took a long drink and grinned.

“Good?”

“Perfect. You want a drink?” He tilted the bottle toward Eric.

“Nah, I’m good. You enjoy it.”

“It’s just right—bubbly and ice cold.” With hardly a breath’s pause, he launched into another topic, the words popping out like he couldn’t hold them back if he tried. “You know, you’re a nice guy. I always thought if I ever got arrested that the cops would be a bunch of mean guys with a superiority complex. You’re all right.”

Eric smiled. “Most of us aren’t so bad.”

“Good to know. I’m glad to hear that, really. Especially since I’m here in the middle of the station, surrounded by cops, you know?”

“Sure. That’s gotta be a relief.” He tilted back in his chair. “I’m curious about something though. This Marco—what’s his last name?”

“Hmm?” Sam stared at him blankly.

“Marco, the guy who laced the drugs? You know his last name?”

“Uh, maybe Stevens? Stevenson? Something like that. I don’t pay too much attention to names unless they’re weird.” He shimmied his shoulders and hummed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“So what happened to him?”

Sam took another drink of his Coke and continued humming.

Eric snapped his fingers but kept his posture relaxed. “Hey, Sam, you hear me?”

The humming stopped. “Oh, sorry. The music’s really loud in here. What’d you say?” He squinted as if focusing was a difficult task.