Twelve: Et tu, Rocko?

Rocky is looking at me like a scolded puppy, but he still has his .40 leveled my way. Something in those dumb, sad eyes tells me he’s going to explain himself. He doesn’t need to. If John Law was going to catch up to me at some point, I’d just assume it was Rocky. Hell, maybe he’d make detective after all.

“Sorry it’s gotta be like this, Spearsy,” he says, and I can tell I’m right. The explanation is coming. Like I said, he doesn’t need to explain why he has to do this, but I am curious as to which of my many errors has brought my best friend to my door with stainless steel jewelry for me.

“It’s OK, Rock. Better you than somebody else.”

He looks uncomfortable with that, and it’s more than just the fact he’s busting his friend.

“Yeah, well…”

“How’d you figure it out? The knife?”

He’s blushing, and that feeling I get in the pit of my stomach starts to rumble.

“You had some help, Rocky?”

He nods like he just got caught cheating in class. “Some. Rather not say who.”

“That’s fine.”

“It’s better this way, Spearsy. This is the best choice.”

“What choice is that, Rock?”

“Either I bring you in…”

“Or?”

Rocky gestures with the gun. He can’t be serious.

“Guess I’m glad I’m your friend, then.”

“Yeah…”

“Why’s the other choice the other choice, Rocky? I won’t fight you. You know that.”

I’m starting to catch on. All the little run-ins with Muerto’s crew haven’t been due to my careful planning or luck.

“Muerto.” I say it like, well, death. “He got to you?”

The gun dips a little. Rocky rubs his thick hand over his sweating and protruding brow.

“For money, Rock?” I try to say it without the disappointment I feel, but I fail.

“Some money, yeah. Not all that much, but he didn’t need to.”

“Then--?”

“He took picture of my brother’s kid, Spearsy! My little darlin’ niece. Said something real bad could happen to her if I don’t give him some info. It snowballed from there until—“

“You either put me behind bars, or kill me for them..” Rocky doesn’t know Muerto like I do now, doesn’t know that it’s a bluff, that Muerto doesn’t hurt kids. Of course, if it was my niece, I guess I’d be afraid he’d make an exception.

Rocky’s nod can’t be sadder.

“They’ll get me behind bars, Rock.”

“You’re no threat to them behind bars.”

“I’m an example waiting to be made. You, or anybody, bring me in, and I’m dead.” That guilty part of me, the greatly diminished part, is OK with this. However, the survivor part is very much not.

“So let’s get ‘em, Rock.”

“What?”

“You and me, or just me if you prefer. Let’s bring them down.”

“You can’t. They’re a whole cartel, Spearsy. Go right back into Columbia or something. They got resources bigger than some countries.”

“I know, Rock. That hasn’t stopped me so far. In fact, you’re the only thing that will stop me now, if you really want to.”

His blush is more of a flush right now. He thinks I’m challenging him. I’m not. I won’t fight Rocky, even if he’s crossed the line.

“He has you on video killing that Bulldog guy. If I don’t bring you in, some other cop will.”

“He won’t use it. If this fails, he’ll want to handle it himself. We—I—don’t have to take on the whole cartel, or even chase them back to Columbia.”

Thick brow furrows in doubt and, maybe, hope.

“We just have to make them believe that it’s too much of a pain in the ass to do business here.”

“How?”

It’s not much of an opening, but right now I’d try to ram a fire truck into a rabbit hole.

“You’re going to get the department to turn up the heat on them, and I’m going to burn them.”

“Yeah,” he says. There’s not much conviction behind it, like none. But like I said, rabbit holes... I lay out my plan. What I say in the next few minutes will either keep me free and alive, or in jail and/or dead. I plan to speak eloquently.