even, he figured.
Whitt stirred in his sleep and Tox glanced at him. It had been sunrise by the time he’d got his partner down from the twitching, nodding, buzzing state he’d found him in. Half of it was the Dexies, and half of it was probably having come within a whisker of his own execution. Tox had taken his emergency pack of naloxone from the Monaro, listening silently to Whitt’s ramblings about the Reskit woman and her connection to Regan Banks. He’d shot Whitt up with the Narcan, the way he had on many occasions when friends from the darker corners of his life had needed it. Then he’d leaned, smoking, in the doorway of the motel bathroom and listened to Whitt explain all that he could about Reskit. How he had been completely duped into thinking she was a cop. How he’d fallen off the wagon. How stupid he felt about it. All while Whitt knelt at the toilet, vomiting between streams of words. When Whitt looked like he was slowing down, Tox had dragged him to the bed, dumped him on the coverlet, and sat down to think.
He’d known a few women like Reskit in his time. The cruelest and meanest pimps were the ones who had the most girls fluttering around them, trying to be the one he really loved and trusted, the one who understood him. Tox had been running an informant named Jasmine back in the 1990s who let her street daddy push her around, and she’d turned up to a meeting once with her own front tooth mounted on a big gold chain around her neck like she was proud he’d smacked it out of her. Tox had put the guy’s hand in a sandwich press and there had been no more tooth necklaces after that, but for every Jasmine he tried to look out for, there were ten he never heard about.
Murder trials were filled with these violence-attracted girls. Rows of pretty young things in the front row of the gallery making eyes at the perp, trying to pass handwritten letters to the defense team. Tox didn’t get it.
Didn’t matter. He didn’t need to get it. He just needed to make it right when he saw it, catch the pigs and put them out to slaughter.
That’s what he was going to do now.
Chapter 82
TOX EXHALED CIGARETTE smoke, leaned over, and picked up Whitt’s phone from beside the bed.
“Whitt?” Pops said.
“Guess again,” Tox said.
“Is that you, Tox?” Chief Morris said after a shocked pause.
“None other.”
“Well, for fuck’s sake,” Pops said. It sounded like he was driving. Tox could hear a blinker clicking. “I wish someone would tell me what is going on.”
“I left the hospital.”
“Yes, that’s one thing that I do know,” Pops said. “You gave my guy a concussion.”
“He was in a hospital. Good place if you’re gonna get one.”
“What are you doing on Whitt’s phone?”
“Nobody paid my phone bill while I was down for the count.”
“Where’s Whitt?”
“He’s sick.” Tox glanced at the sleeping detective. “Cold. Headache. I dunno. Could be Spanish flu.”
“It didn’t sound like a fucking cold when I spoke to him,” Pops said.
“Your hearing goes when you get old.”
“Tox,” Pops said, “I need you to take Whitt back to Sydney.”
“No deal,” Tox said. “Once he’s had his beauty sleep, we’re getting on the road. You just gotta tell us where we’re heading. Whitt told me you might have dug up something on Banks.”
“You’re not heading anywhere,” Pops said. “Deputy Commissioner Woods has deliberately denied me access to the Banks file and tried to convince me there wasn’t anything in it that might be a significant location to Banks. Well, that’s not true. Yes, I’ve found details about his childhood another way. And yes, I believe I know where he’s going. If Woods ever sees sense, he’s probably going to set up a trap for Regan and Harry at that location.”
“Sounds plausible.” Tox stubbed his cigarette out on the edge of the bed and flicked the butt into the corner of the room.
“Harry wanted to know, and I’m not telling her because Woods is convinced she’s dangerous. He’ll approve his officers for use of all necessary force. I know he will. She’ll get herself killed on this stupid revenge mission.”
“Wouldn’t be a bad way to go,” Tox mused. “You don’t want to tell her, fine. Tell us. We’ll keep your secret.”
“Yeah, bullshit,” Pops said. “Take Whitt back to Sydney right now and report to the hospital. That’s a direct order.”
“Didn’t I