Читать книгу Gods & Gangsters - Соломон - Страница 11

“He fell?” O’Brien echoed with a disbelieving smirk on his face. It was the smirk you’d paint on if you’d just been told a stupid joke or read a lame meme on Facebook. It wasn’t the face you made when you heard some nigga had become pizza on a project pavement. Or, looking at Spagoli and O’Brien, perhaps it was.

“He fell,” he repeated with a shrug, then lit a cigarette.

“Bullshit,” O’Brien spat. “You killed your own cousin because he knew about the murder in Goldsboro. Admit it!” The detective banged the table to hammer home his point, but it didn’t startle him. All O’Brien got out of him was a shrug. “Yo, if you believed that, I’d be under arrest. Like I said earlier, my fuckin’ ribs is killin’ me. I need a fuckin’ doctor!”

“You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?! Running all over the world with that nigger rap shit. Well let me tell you, I’m not fooled! You’re not a rap group, you’re a fuckin’ drug-dealing hit squad!” Spagoli bellowed in his face as he pulled out a stack of glossies, slapping each photo on the table one by one. “Cincinnati! Houston! Miami! Hawaii!”

Each picture showed a different dead body, headless or grotesquely disfigured. Spagoli and O’Brien had thrown out the nice and nasty cop interrogation handbook. This was all nasty. They paced the room in front of him, like tigers in a too small cage at the zoo.

“You better hope – no, you better PRAY that none of these murders can be traced back to those stolen guns, because if they are, I’m going to squeeze you until you squeal like a bitch,” Spagoli threatened.

He just laughed at Spagoli’s see-through tactics. “The last time you heard a bitch scream was when she caught you trying on her underwear.”

Spagoli seethed. “You’re just a piece of shit. We’re gonna take you down so hard we’ll be able to roll you up, put you in a tube and post you to Riker’s Island.”