Hair of the Dog, Gordon Carroll [top 100 novels of all time TXT] 📗

I shook my head. “I can’t go into it, secret squirrel stuff, but I need to know if either of them were hurt or killed or taken into custody.”

He looked toward the motel room then back to me. “It was Blood’s all right, all sporting colors and lots of guns. But whatever they ran into took them out hard. No great big guy like you’re asking about and no little girl either. We did find a Barbie Doll on the bed.”

I let out air I hadn’t realized I was holding and felt a weight lift off my shoulders. “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks, man.”

“Can you give us a statement?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“Secret squirrel?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah.” I fished in my pocket for one of my coins and handed it to him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave out my mentioning Jared’s name to anyone else. Talk to him privately if you want, but I wouldn’t want him getting jammed by higher ups.”

He looked at the coin and grinned. “Mason,” he said, “Sheepdogs. I’ve heard of you. Used to work for the County, right?”

“Yes,” I said, “used to.”

“That 13-er killed your wife, right? Her and your little girl?”

My eyes must have turned because I saw the change in him. He went from loose professional to on guard, taking a step back and half reaching for his gun.

“Yes,” I managed.

He swallowed, straightened from the slight crouch he’d assumed, and took his hand from the butt of his gun. “This got anything to do with that?”

My head twitched to the negative.

“Okay,” he said, “okay, sorry I brought it up. I remember that whole deal too. You got a bum rap. I’d have tried to do the same thing. At least I hope I would.” He looked back at the room again. “You trying to save this little girl?”

“Yes,” I said, beginning to calm down.

He reached out and lifted the crime scene tape. “Look for yourself. I know you used to be a cop so I don’t have to tell you not to touch anything.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“CSI is on its way so look quick.”

I nodded and walked through the lot. I stopped and checked under each sheet, just to make sure. Jerome had outdone himself. My only question was whether he’d lost in the end and they’d been taken or if they made it out on their own. And then I saw it, fresh melted rubber that was smeared on the asphalt just a short distance from their room. The tires had come to a screeching halt and then burned out in a classic ‘Y’ reversal and peel out in the other direction. I looked at their first stopping point and saw a break in the buildings. I walked a short distance between the walls of the complex and saw the grass that stretched out for maybe a hundred yards. When fresh grass gets trampled and then dries, it leaves what we in the K9 biz call an alkali trail; kind of a duller green compared to the rest of the grass. Tough to spot unless you make a living spotting things like that. I saw one set of tracks, big, heavy, long stride. Was there a chance? Maybe…maybe. There was no perimeter and that would hurt, but I wasn’t that much behind the eight-ball. With the sirens swarming into the area and bad guys chasing them in a car, maybe they’d gone to ground. Or if not, then at least they would have been slowed, having to hide to stay out of sight of cops and bad guys. So yeah… yeah… maybe.

I ran for my car and Max.

18

Jerome ducked, Clair in his big arms, both hiding beside the corner of a house with thick bushes, as the car of Bloods drove slowly past. Jerome didn’t recognize any of them, he’d been out of that game for too long and old Bloods could usually be counted on one or two hands at the most. No, these were new kids, eager to make a name for themselves. Eager to be blooded.

Clair was quiet, she was getting too good at this. He didn’t want her to have to live like this, but life didn’t always give you a choice, and her staying alive was most important of all. Jerome didn’t know much, but he knew that as long as you were alive you could fix hurts, no matter how deep or how bad. He’d been cut and shot and punched and bit and kicked, and he always healed. But you did have to be alive.

After waiting to make sure a second car didn’t roll on through, a tactic he had started back when he was an assassin that had proven to be very successful in drawing out hiders, he set Clair down and they walked across the street… walked. He knew better than to run. Running draws attention. He heard another siren in the distance, but it didn’t sound like it was coming his way, so he let it go. They walked around the corner and he moved up to another set of bushes so he could hunker down and look around. Lucky for them, most people were still sleeping in at this time of a Sunday morning.

They needed a car. He scanned the streets, but people out here used their garages and the few cars that dotted the streets were way to visible out in the open sunlight. They moved on a few more blocks, taking their time, sticking to the trees and bushes as much as they could. And then, not too far away, he saw the church. It was early, but there were several cars in the parking lot, some in the front, but a few in the back too.

Jerome wasn’t much of a believer, never had been into a church in his life, and a car was a car.

I drove around the motel to the far side, away from police activity, and let Max out.