DROP FIFTY-TWO
Frank’s message was cryptic. ‘Come over, brng yr truck.’
Hector was ready to simply dismiss it, even block the British bastard altogether, but Pickle insisted. “You didn’t even speak to him. You just grabbed him by the throat. Just give the man a chance…” she said softly, touching his arm.
Hector pushed her hand away. “You really don’t get it, do you? If he hadn’t sold that rifle, my father would have been alive right now.”
Pickle turned pissy, her hand on her waist. “Really? Did Frank aim the rifle at your house? At this house? Did he fire the g*n? Was his finger on the trigger? Did he somehow mastermind whatever argument the gangbanger had with your father?”
“f**k off,” he spat out.
She stood firm. “No, tell me. Did he cause the argument?”
“No.”
“Did he fire the ri
