Page 66 of Dirty Daria

Also, I want to make sure she doesn’t go after Tremblay; I don’t want to have to add Daria into the mix of things I’m watching out for as far as making sure she doesn’t get arrested. Plus, we still need Tremblay in case he can lead us to any other information about the leaders of the trafficking ring. Our hope being that between Tremblay and this other guy he named, Nick Moony, the two of them working together can produce something that will provide us with the next step. We got the warrant to bring Moony in earlier today, but he wasn’t at his house when we got there. I’ve got guys watching the place now for when Moony returns.

My phone buzzes from inside my pocket, I grab it and answer without looking to see who it is, sticking my finger in my opposite ear to try and hear better.

“Murphy,” I answer.

“Murph?”

“Chief?” I step back into the narrow hall near Daria’s office so I can hear better.

“Yeah, listen find Roberts and get over to Tremblay’s place. The wife just got home, found him dead. Nine-millimeter between the eyes and his tongue cut out.”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah. And since your partner can’t be bothered to answer his phone, he okay? He looked like hell today.”

“He’s good. I think it’s just hitting him a little hard. Tremblay being his childhood friend and all. Give him a day to bounce back.”

“Okay, if you say so. Let me know what you find at the scene.”

“Will do.”

I throw a twenty on the bar for my two “chocolate milks” and send Daria a quick text as I’m heading out the back door.

ME: Something came up. Work. Sorry. Call you later. Love you.

I start calling Reed from my truck as I’m heading to his house. Not surprisingly, he doesn’t answer. I can only hope that he’s home. The chief didn’t sound very happy about him right now, and if Reed keeps this up, I won’t be able to cover for him much longer.

When Reed doesn’t answer his door, I let myself in. His car is in the driveway, so I’m assuming he’s here. I have a key to his place for emergency purposes, just like he has one to mine. We both know only to use them in dire situations. To me, this falls under that category.

“Reed?”

I’m greeted with silence in return. I head through the entryway toward the living room.

Nothing.

Kitchen?

Clear.

Backyard?

Empty.

Master bedroom?

Bingo.

Reed is star-fished on his bed, fast asleep. Or passed the fuck out. I’m not sure which yet.

“Reed!” I slap his face a few times as he slowly comes to.

“What the fuck, man?”

“We gotta go. Something has happened in the case.”

“Go without me.”

“I can’t. Wake up.” I drag him off his bed by his hand and he falls to his knees on the floor.