Wicked Break by Jeff Shelby

said.
    â€œNo.”
    I stood up. “Cool. Then I’m getting the cops to your place in about ten minutes and I’m gonna let them know they’ll find a gun, a bunch of ecstasy, and who knows what else.”
    Donnie stomped his foot. “Fuck! Dude! Don’t you understand that they will kill me?”
    â€œI’ve already forgotten your name,” I said calmly, even though I wanted to shake him. Frat Boy was getting on my nerves. “I don’t even need an address. Just names.”
    He stared at me, a scared college kid trying to be tough, caught in a mistake that now frightened the hell out of him. He probably wouldn’t sleep for a week. “Deacon Moreno.”
    Big surprise. “Which one was he?”
    â€œHe’s the guy who sent us to Linc.”
    â€œAnd the other guy?” I asked. “The one that runs the gang?”
    He readjusted the knapsack. “Wizard Matellion.”
    â€œWizard Matellion,” I repeated.
    â€œYeah.” He yanked on the strap of the knapsack. “I’m out.” He turned and walked away.
    I looked at Dana. “That name ring a bell for you?”
    She folded her arms across her chest. “Nope.”
    I turned to Carter. “You?”
    â€œNever heard of him.” He stood up from the bench. “But I know someone who might know him and Moreno.”
    â€œWho?”
    Carter grinned at Dana, then at me. “Someone who’s not nearly as white-hot as I am.”
    That, evidently, was everyone.

Sixteen
    The three of us piled back into my Jeep and Carter pointed me in the direction of Hillcrest, one of the older, more diverse neighborhoods in San Diego. Not exactly where I’d expect to find answers to my questions, but I’d learned not to question Carter until it became absolutely necessary.
    We worked our way south from SDSU on the side streets.
    Dana leaned forward from the backseat. “Does Carter work for you?” she asked me.
    â€œSort of,” I said. “But not really.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œAsk him.”
    She turned to Carter.
    He adjusted the blue mirrored Revos on his face. “It means he’s not the boss of me.”
    â€œWho is the boss of you?” she asked, a note of mischief in her voice.
    â€œI am my own boss,” he said, turning around to talk to her. “And I’m an actor.”
    â€œNo way,” she said. “Get out.”
    We moved through the old homes in Kensington. “Yeah, dude. Get out. I’ll even slow down,” I said.
    Both of them ignored me.
    â€œWhat have you been in?” she asked, nearly swooning from the excitement of it all.
    â€œNothing yet,” he said, undeterred. “I’m just getting into the business. I’m gonna play a thug.”
    â€œHard to believe,” I said, turning us onto University Avenue.
    â€œCan I come watch?” she asked, leaning forward just a little farther so she could place her hand on his arm. “Visit you on the set?”
    His giant smile looked clownlike beneath the sunglasses. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    Dana returned the smile and leaned back.
    I nearly gagged. “Where am I going, superstar?”
    â€œTurn right on Fifth. Corvette Diner’s on the west side.”
    I moved the Jeep over into the turn lane. “That’s where we’re going? The Corvette Diner?”
    â€œYep.”
    I shook my head as we passed under the arch that signaled the entrance to the Hillcrest community. A collection of bookstores, coffeehouses, and eccentric storefronts, Hillcrest was San Diego’s answer to Greenwich Village. As home prices exploded in the suburbs during the nineties, young urban professionals had sought out Hillcrest’s affordable one-story bungalows, infusing the neighborhood with new life and new money. Trendy bars and restaurants popped up and disappeared with regular irregularity.
    The one mainstay was