Chapter 12

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Rod Peterson was wearing nothing more than a white jockstrap when I finally found my way inside the locker room to question him. His skin was a Latino-brown hue and most of it was covered in a variety of tattoos. Hand-sketched wolves, a magician, dragon, and hieroglyphics decorated his plated chest, arms, and thighs. He also overused diamonds in both ears, which shined in the locker room’s fluorescent light.

“Mr. Knight, how have you been?” he said, reaching for my right hand to shake.

I wanted to lick the center’s muscled chest to speak the truth, but I had manners and kept my composure together. I extended my right hand to the beefster’s, pumped his, and replied, “Good now that I finally caught up with you.”

He wasn’t taken aback by my comment in the slightest and said, “You want to ask me a few questions about the murder of Dossner, don’t you?”

I nodded.

He added, “Beckley told me you were playing private dick.”