“Take him into the vault,” Marty ordered. “Tie him up.” Terco and Matisse dragged Tequila off. “Let me interrogate him, Marty,” Slake smiled. “I’ll get him to sing like Domingo.” Marty furrowed his brow. He didn’t like the fact that Tequila had been so insistent on his innocence. Sure, all guilty men were liars. But Tequila either lied better than most, or else he was telling the truth. And if he was telling the truth, Marty was going to kill an irreplaceable employee. What he needed was more proof before he started the interrogation. Once the torture began, it didn’t matter if Tequila were guilty or not. Marty would have to waste him. If he didn’t, Tequila surely would return the favor. “I’ll do the interrogation. You go check his apartment, see if you can find the money.” “How about his car?” “Yeah. Car too. And Terco, go check Tequila’s alibi. The liquor store thing and that bar he mentioned, the Blues Note.” They scurried off and another troubling thought occurred to Marty.
