Wicked Break

Fifty-one

Carter and I were standing in the driveway when Wellton walked out of Mike Berkley’s house.

Wellton looked at me. “You alright?”

I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Tell it to me again,” Wellton said.

“I came up here because Berkley called me and said he had some things to tell me about Peter and Linc Pluto,” I said. “It was a setup. Carter got here at the very end.”

Wellton stared at me, his eyes frozen with intensity.

“I took Mike first,” I continued. “Mo was next. Lonnie and I were struggling with the knife he brought at me. He wouldn’t drop it. I had no choice.”

Wellton looked me up and down. “He cut you?”

“I’m cut everywhere. Probably.”

Two EMTs rolled a gurney out of the house, a sheet covering whoever’s body was underneath.

Wellton caught my eyes again. “So you held off the knife with one hand and choked him with the other?”

I held his gaze. “He wouldn’t drop the knife. I had no choice.” I motioned in Carter’s direction. “Carter will tell you the same thing.”

“I’ll bet he will,” he said.

“Famazio might be able to link Berkley and National Nation,” I said. “I don’t know.”

Wellton remained silent. He didn’t move. Just stared right through me.

I didn’t care.

“I could give a shit that they’re dead,” he finally said. “Just taking up my air while they were alive, as far as I’m concerned. So fuck ’em.” He paused, chewing on his lip for a moment. “And I’ll write it up just like you said. You had no choice. Because I got nothing else.”

“I had no choice,” I said.

Wellton shoved his hands in his pockets. “But maybe someday you can explain to me exactly what that means to you.”

He turned and walked back into the house.