Read Online Damned: Seven Tribesmen MC by Evelyn Glass - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Evelyn Glass
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“Howler” Halloway. After Stan suffered through a knuckle sandwich, Stella decided to take the more rambunctious of the two detainees. Steeling herself for a loud, unhappy greeting, the woman pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The man inside appeared a few years younger than Bishop. Minor scars dotted his jawline, and one particularly bad one sliced from the corner of his lip. He hunched in his chair, arms crossed, and prepared for anything. When Stella entered, his blue eyes simmered with quiet rage.
She strode further into the room, her heels clicking on the tiles. As she neared the table, she set down Halloway's file along with miscellaneous papers pertaining to the cocaine found. She glanced back up at him, deciding the best play was cutting right to the point. Halloway didn't look like a man who enjoyed beating around any metaphorical bushes. “How long have you been involved in drug running, Mr. Halloway?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he snapped instantly, and his lips twisted into a scowl.
Stella sifted through the papers, pulling out a print-out of the photos taken of the substances, “Then why were these vials found on your motorcycle?”
Halloway leaned forward, eyebrow cocked. The pictures provided also showed his unrolled bedroll with a pair of black gloves beside them. His eyebrows furrowed angrily as his gaze returned to Stella's face, “They must've been planted.”
“Right. Well, they were in your bedroll.” Stella tapped one of the images with his hunter green blanket. “So you see why I have a hard time believing that, I'm sure.”
“Not really.” The man's gaze never faltered and his tone never shuddered. He leaned back in his chair, moving his hands behind his head, “I just got back from near the New Mex border. I leave my shit on my hog when I go about my business. Plenty of time for someone to shove 'em into my bedroll.”
Stella pursed her lips, “And who would want to do that, Mr. Halloway?”
Halloway eyeballed her for a breath. He weighed his options carefully. Instead of answering, the man decided upon a segue. Leaning forward again, he tapped a finger against the pictures, “Do you got my fingerprints on that shit?”
“The results haven't come back yet,” Stella lied. The vials had been dusted, repeatedly. Nothing on them. They were clean as a whistle, probably wiped down after each touch. “Although, the gloves lead to reasonable belief that you still handled them.”
“Having gloves isn't illegal,” Halloway countered.
“Yes, when they're not wrapped up with cocaine,” Stella sighed. Forensics hadn't even found cocaine on the gloves, but they looked rather new. Possibly, bought recently. The woman flipped open Halloway's folder. Inside, a much younger Halloway leered at a camera as he got his mug shot taken. “Plus, you have past drug charges.”
The man snorted, his lips quirking into a smirk, “For weed.”
“Marijuana is still a drug, Mr. Halloway,” breathed Stella, holding tight to her professionalism as if it were a security blanket.
“It's been legalized here, sweet cheeks.”
“But it wasn't legal in Oklahoma at the time of your charge,” Stella countered, firmly.
“That's in the past, honey,” Halloway sighed, exasperated. “Weed is nothing like crack, so you're stretching to tie me to this investigation.”
Silence fell over the interrogation room. The man had a point, and Stella had to admit that. Everything was circumstantial, other than the cocaine being found inside Halloway's bedroll. And, as he said, it could have been put there by someone else. Halloway was part of a well-known motorcycle club. All it took was one rival gang member or even someone with a beef. Time to change tactics again. Stella sat down and crossed her legs. “How about you tell me why you went to Fairview?”
“The tits and ass,” grunted Halloway. Stella
The man inside appeared a few years younger than Bishop. Minor scars dotted his jawline, and one particularly bad one sliced from the corner of his lip. He hunched in his chair, arms crossed, and prepared for anything. When Stella entered, his blue eyes simmered with quiet rage.
She strode further into the room, her heels clicking on the tiles. As she neared the table, she set down Halloway's file along with miscellaneous papers pertaining to the cocaine found. She glanced back up at him, deciding the best play was cutting right to the point. Halloway didn't look like a man who enjoyed beating around any metaphorical bushes. “How long have you been involved in drug running, Mr. Halloway?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he snapped instantly, and his lips twisted into a scowl.
Stella sifted through the papers, pulling out a print-out of the photos taken of the substances, “Then why were these vials found on your motorcycle?”
Halloway leaned forward, eyebrow cocked. The pictures provided also showed his unrolled bedroll with a pair of black gloves beside them. His eyebrows furrowed angrily as his gaze returned to Stella's face, “They must've been planted.”
“Right. Well, they were in your bedroll.” Stella tapped one of the images with his hunter green blanket. “So you see why I have a hard time believing that, I'm sure.”
“Not really.” The man's gaze never faltered and his tone never shuddered. He leaned back in his chair, moving his hands behind his head, “I just got back from near the New Mex border. I leave my shit on my hog when I go about my business. Plenty of time for someone to shove 'em into my bedroll.”
Stella pursed her lips, “And who would want to do that, Mr. Halloway?”
Halloway eyeballed her for a breath. He weighed his options carefully. Instead of answering, the man decided upon a segue. Leaning forward again, he tapped a finger against the pictures, “Do you got my fingerprints on that shit?”
“The results haven't come back yet,” Stella lied. The vials had been dusted, repeatedly. Nothing on them. They were clean as a whistle, probably wiped down after each touch. “Although, the gloves lead to reasonable belief that you still handled them.”
“Having gloves isn't illegal,” Halloway countered.
“Yes, when they're not wrapped up with cocaine,” Stella sighed. Forensics hadn't even found cocaine on the gloves, but they looked rather new. Possibly, bought recently. The woman flipped open Halloway's folder. Inside, a much younger Halloway leered at a camera as he got his mug shot taken. “Plus, you have past drug charges.”
The man snorted, his lips quirking into a smirk, “For weed.”
“Marijuana is still a drug, Mr. Halloway,” breathed Stella, holding tight to her professionalism as if it were a security blanket.
“It's been legalized here, sweet cheeks.”
“But it wasn't legal in Oklahoma at the time of your charge,” Stella countered, firmly.
“That's in the past, honey,” Halloway sighed, exasperated. “Weed is nothing like crack, so you're stretching to tie me to this investigation.”
Silence fell over the interrogation room. The man had a point, and Stella had to admit that. Everything was circumstantial, other than the cocaine being found inside Halloway's bedroll. And, as he said, it could have been put there by someone else. Halloway was part of a well-known motorcycle club. All it took was one rival gang member or even someone with a beef. Time to change tactics again. Stella sat down and crossed her legs. “How about you tell me why you went to Fairview?”
“The tits and ass,” grunted Halloway. Stella
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