his cheek. His bottom lip had pouted out.
If he was a psychopath, he was a damn good one.
Jeffrey asked, “Where were you two days ago between the hours of five and seven in the morning?”
“Two days?” Felix pushed his hair back into place. “Shit, dude, I don’t know. Asleep in my bed?”
Lena took out her notebook and pen.
Felix looked nervous at the prospect of going on the record.
Jeffrey prompted, “You were asleep two days ago between the hours of five and seven in the morning?”
“Uh, maybe?” He looked at Lena, then Jeffrey. “I don’t know, dude. One day, I woke up in the drunk tank over in Memminger. I don’t know if that was then?”
Jeffrey watched Lena make a dash beside the note to follow up on the possible alibi.
He told Felix, “The director of campus security identified you as a known pot dealer.”
Felix didn’t offer a rebuttal.
Jeffrey asked, “You were at the college yesterday?”
“Yeah, dude.” Felix brushed back his hair again. “I was busting Beni-Hanas outside the library. The security guards, you slip them a five and they look the other way.”
Jeffrey wasn’t surprised Chuck’s men were taking bribes. He looked down at Lena’s notebook. She had made another dash to check the security footage outside the library.
He asked Felix, “Do you ever go into the woods?”
“What?” Felix looked repulsed. “No, man. You can’t skate in the woods. There’s dirt and shit.”
“Does anybody else in your family have nicknames?”
“Yeah, so?” He jerked back at the last minute, expecting another slap. “What the fuck is up with you people? I thought you were going to offer me a deal.”
“A deal for what?”
“Like, I don’t know. My supplier?”
“No deals,” Jeffrey said. “Tell me about the nicknames.”
Felix was confused enough to answer. “My gramps is called Bumpy on account of he bumped off a few guys. I got an uncle called Rip because he can rip a fart. There’s Bubba, Bubba Sausage—”
Jeffrey let him go through the list. He wasn’t surprised it was long. Men gave each other nicknames. He’d been called Slick in high school. His best friend had been called Possum.
Felix said, “My Uncle Axle’s doing a stint at Wheeler, which is kind of funny. Axle-wheels. You get it?”
Jeffrey had gathered from Frank that the Abbotts weren’t into family planning. It was possible that Felix had an uncle who was close to his own age.
He asked, “How long has Axle been inside?”
“Three months? I dunno. You guys can look it up.”
Jeffrey watched Lena make another dash to follow up.
He asked Felix, “Does Axle work on cars?”
“Sure. That’s why they call him that. Dude wasn’t born at Wheeler.”
Jeffrey thought of the Dead Blow kit, the cross-peen hammer. “Does he do bodywork, fix dents and scratches?”
“He works on anything, man. Dude’s a motorhead genius. He even knows how to fix skateboards.”
Jeffrey took a mental step back. He only had one chance with this kid. “You two must be close if he’s working on your skateboards.”
“Nah, man, Axle never did shit for me. Can’t stand my guts.”
Jeffrey had started to sweat. He could feel he was close. “Who does Axle fix skateboards for?”
“His son, only the dude isn’t really his son, like, he never adopted him, even after his mom died.” Felix shook his hair out of his eyes. He was clearly more comfortable with this line of questioning, which is exactly what Jeffrey wanted. “My cuz, he’s the one who got me into skating. I been his shadow since forever. Dude was there when I pulled off my first alley-oop.”
My cuz.
Lena had looked up from her notebook.
Felix’s eyes darted her way.
Jeffrey weighed his options. They could do a search for Felix’s uncles, find the one nicknamed Axle who was in Wheeler State Prison, then drive over there and try to sweat the information out of the con.
Or Jeffrey could join Frank on the phones and call around and see if anyone knew about the kid Axle had raised who wasn’t legally his son.
Or Jeffrey could get the answer from this punk little jackass right now.
Again, he circled around the target, asking Felix, “What’s an alley-oop?”
“Dude, it’s awesome. You spin to one side and air to the other, like a fish breaking out of the water.”
“Sounds hard.”
“Oh, no doubt. You can get a gnarly hipper.”
“What’s your cousin’s name?”
Like a switch being flipped, Felix’s demeanor changed. He was no longer in laid-back skater mode. He was a kid from a criminal family who lived in a bad part of town who knew you didn’t