The Vow (Black Arrowhead #1) - Dannika Dark Page 0,93
been Crow asking for them. Lakota remembered how his cigarette had a distinct butt with a recessed filter and a symbol stamped on the paper. But fifty dollars a pack? Where does a man like Crow swing that kind of money?
“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked.
Gus pointed, and Lakota quickly made his way to the back hall.
When he closed the door, he turned the water on high. Vampires often tuned out amplified sounds for peace and quiet. They could mute a loud motor but still hear the driver’s heartbeat. Gus didn’t seem like the kind of guy who eavesdropped on people using the toilet, but Lakota turned down the volume on his phone just in case.
“I don’t know this number, so it better be good,” the person on the other end of the line growled.
“Reno, it’s Lakota.”
After a brief silence, he said, “Hold on for a minute.” Lakota guessed Reno was heading somewhere private. “What can I help you with, brother?”
He knew that Lakota was a bounty hunter. In small circles, that kind of thing got around, and Reno had a lot of connections.
“I’m working on a case,” Lakota began. “It’s a mess, and I need to smoke out the killer before the wrong man is convicted.”
“You got any leads?” he asked in his usual gravelly tone.
“I’m not sure. A man named Crow.”
“Crow,” Reno repeated. “Albert Crow?”
“I don’t know his first name.”
“Black hair, a Shifter, alcoholic, a mole on his thumb, wears these shitty-ass blue boots that no man in—”
“That’s him. What can you tell me?”
“Dangerous. You’ve got to watch out for guys like him. Not too smart, but he’ll do anything for money. He’s a crafty dirtbag who has the power of persuasion—a real influential guy.”
“How do you mean?”
“I ain’t gonna church it up for you. Crow is one motherfucker I’ve never been able to pin anything on. He’s slick and covers his tracks. He talks people into things—puts ideas in their head. He knows how to stir up gossip and divert attention away from himself. Where the hell are you? I wouldn’t mind coming in and getting a piece of that action.”
“I can’t say. What kind of crimes are we talking about?”
“You name it, brother. He’s done it.”
“Murder?”
“Affirmative. But watch yourself. He once managed to convince the higher authority that the bounty hunter chasing him was responsible. Guess where that bounty hunter is now? Crow watches people—he pays attention. He plants evidence and finds out what people’s biggest fears are.”
“But you said he’s not smart.”
“He’s smart in some ways and dumb in others. He’s never been the ringleader—just the guy hired to do a job. Crow doesn’t know how to hold on to money. He does all that work and winds up spending it all. Every time one of our guys has caught up with him, he’s spent all his pay. Wastes it on expensive shit like caviar, Breed drugs, and just about anything that can be consumed but not kept.”
“Not kept. You mean cars, televisions… stuff like that?”
“Exactly. He lives a disposable life. That also makes it harder to connect him to criminal activities if he doesn’t have something to show for it. Sometimes he gambles it away at the casinos. He’s got an addictive personality—sex, drugs, alcohol, food. Are you sure you don’t need backup?”
“No time. It’s a small town, and they don’t roll out the red carpet for newcomers. It took me three months to settle in.” Lakota glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was still in tousled clumps from the bath he’d had with Melody.
“Did any of that help?” Reno asked.
“You bet. But if what you say about Crow is true, that means someone’s paying him to kill people. Unless he’s gone off the rails.” Lakota turned in a circle, his eyes fixed on the dirt between the yellow tiles. “Thanks, man.”
“If you need anything else, brother, I’m a call away.” Reno hung up.
Lakota used his foot to flush the toilet.
Without knowing how much Crow earned for his jobs, Lakota couldn’t tell exactly how rich a man had to be to pay him off. Who out here has that kind of money? The tribes, for one. Shikoba’s people made a lot from his business, but Lakota wasn’t sure where it all went. Most of the locals were destitute and working odd jobs. Some owned their own businesses, like the gas station, the bar, the restaurant, or the antique store up the road. Times were tough, so they would serve and