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

“Do you have any beer?” asked the Senator. “I haven’t had a Coors beer in decades. Back in the day, my friends and I would make runs to Colorado just for a few cases. We’d fetch a pretty penny too. And please, have one with me.”

I walked over to the fridge, grabbed out a couple of cans. I looked over at the mountain who just gave me the thousand-yard stare. I decided against pushing it and handed the senator his beer.

“Ah, thank you.” He popped the top and slugged back a healthy portion. “Now that’s Colorado.” He wagged his eyebrows in appreciation.

Oh he was smooth, this one was.

“I’d like to hire you,” said the Senator.

“Really? A United States Senator wants to hire me?” I did my own gesturing taking in all his men. “A man with his own army wants to hire me? Why, what on earth for?”

The Senator chuckled and nodded his head, the white golfing visor looking very bright against his dark skin, and suddenly I was thinking maybe not Red from Shawshank…maybe God in Bruce Almighty… with a little less white in the hair.

“I’d heard you were a bit of a comic.” Then the smile left his face. “But that’s not what I’d be hiring you for. You see, I have also heard that you are the best in the field at finding people.”

“And where exactly did you hear that?” I asked, still standing, my beer unopened. The mountain was also still standing, his eyes scanning as if he was expecting Kato to spring from behind the couch.

“Do you remember a young lady named Cissy Blake?”

I did, of course. Cissy had been a stripper at Elephant Guns, a classier, for lack of a better word, strip club in a small city called Gunwood. She’d gone missing one night after a show and her sister, a friend of a friend of a friend of mine, made contact with me. The police weren’t doing much yet, what with her being a dancer and only gone for two days, but the sister was sure something very bad had happened to her. Through incredible detective work and a few giant strokes of luck, I tracked down the worm that had kidnapped her and rescued her from the dugout pit he had built to keep her in under his shed. It took me twelve hours. The nutcase that took her burst in the shed door just as I was ripping the boards from the pit to pull her out. He had a shotgun. I took it from him and broke several bones in all four of his stupid limbs with it before getting her out and calling the police. I did, however, unload the gun before handing it to Cissy while I stepped outside the shed to call the police. Funny, I didn’t remember the stock of that gun being broken like that before I handed it to her.

“Well,” continued The Almighty, “she was enrolled in a program in Chicago to help way-word girls get straight. One of the counselors there is a friend of my wife’s. She told me Cissy’s tale. Of course I’ve had you thoroughly vetted through other means as well, but I have to confess that Cissy’s story is what really convinced me to choose you.”

Imagine, being chosen by God. I thought I was beginning to understand how Jim Cary…er, I mean, Noah felt.

“And who is it you want me to find?”

He nodded toward the mountain and magically a folder appeared in Clyde’s massive mitts. He handed it to Morgan, who opened it and sifted through the contents, breathing through his nose.

“In these pages, Mr. Mason, is one of the most disturbing cases ever to cross my desk. I don’t suppose news of it made it from Chicago to Colorado. And to tell you the truth, because of the circumstances, it really didn’t make much of a stir even locally.” His jaw clenched and he breathed deeply through his nose again. “But I can tell you that it sickened me to the depths of my soul. The Chicago police have been less than sufficient in solving it. Which is why I have turned to an outsider…to you.” He pulled out a surveillance picture, grainy, black and white, of a small girl walking beside a giant in what looked like the aisle of a Walmart Store.

I squinted my eyes suspiciously at Mountain, back to the picture, then back to Mountain. “Is this you?”

The Senator shook his head, the smile back but more a grimace. Mountain just continued giving the thousand yard stare.

“This man,” continued the Senator, “is Jerome Larkin. He was a hit man for a segment of the Bloods in Chicago. Three years ago he slaughtered four human beings, including this little girl’s mother, during a robbery and kidnapped her. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since…until now. This picture was captured from a surveillance video less than a week ago from a store in Aurora, Colorado. And that little girl is Keisha James. She would be five years old now. Her aunt and uncle would very much like to have her back, safe and sound and away from the man that murdered her mother.” He looked up at me, and now he was a stern god, full of vengeance and wrath, his eyes boring into mine. “Will you help me get her back to them?”

I walked to the little desk in the corner, where I keep my laptop and opened the drawer. I took out one of my coins, stamped with my logo, the silhouette of a K9 head inside a star with the words SHEEPDOG DETECTIVE AGENCY circling the head and the line Keeping the wolves at bay and a Bible verse, across the back. I use them as business cards. I handed it to him.

“Yes, I’ll find her for you.” What else could I do? I wasn’t about to say no to God.

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Max