Dog

by Carolina Mac

  Brady jerked on the cuffs and tried to keep control. A couple of tears got away from him and he sniffled. “I ain’t getting the needle.”

  “Okay,” said Jesse, “If the needle isn’t in your future, we have to talk about the only option you have open. Let’s talk about a way around the needle.”

  FARRELL watched Jesse through the one-way glass and marveled at the boss’s technique and his patience. Jesse had worked the kid around and any minute the kid was going to give up names of the kids who were with him and they’d have something to work with.

  He went down to the lab to see if Sue had matched Brady Wiggins to prints in the flea market office. Obviously the kid had left prints the way he reacted when Jesse spelled it out.

  “Hey Sue, got anything for me?” asked Farrell.

  Shit, I said that wrong. She’s hot for me.

  “What were you thinking, Farrell?” she asked in a whisper.

  Sue was tall with short dark hair. Pretty in a way, but not his type. Too thin and athletic looking for him. He’d never seen her without a white lab coat. That might make a difference, but he doubted it.

  “I was thinking prints.” He took a step away from her. “Did you match the kid upstairs? Brady Wiggins?”

  “Yep, sure did. He was there in the office with the others.”

  “None of the others in the system?”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  “Jesse is getting names right now. We’ll bring them in and ten-card them, then see who did the deed.”

  “Ranger Quantrall is a great interrogator,” said Sue. “The Chief told me.”

  “He’s the best,” said Farrell. He ran back upstairs and called Blacky. “We’re breaking here, boss.”

  “Tell me,” said Blacky.

  JESSE came out of the interrogation room with five more names. He sent Brady Wiggins back to holding with orders for him to be secured in a cell alone, then he tapped on the door of Chief Calhoun’s office.

  “I saw part of the interview,” said the Chief, “he’s not more than a boy.”

  “Old enough to pull the trigger, Chief,” said Jesse. “Here’s the names of the five that were with him. I need warrants for Blacky and the boys to bring them in and print them—then we’ll have something solid.”

  The Chief glanced at the names. “I’ll put Ruskin on the warrants.”

  BLAINE ended his call to Farrell and called the rest of the crew to meet at DPS. As soon as the warrants were ready, they’d surround Basil Bernard’s trailer and try to pick up the kids Brady Wiggins named. Better yet, if they wouldn’t give their names, he’d bring them all in and print the whole fuckin herd of them. He ended the call and Vargas was on the line from Vegas.

  “Detective Vargas, how goes life in Sin City?”

  “Jeeze, Blacky, it’s worse every fuckin day.”

  “No hell here either. Crime is crime and there’s no shortage.”

  “Just a quick call to give you some information. Rumor has it that the B team is actively searching for the runaway Dog.”

  “Didn’t take long. Any chance you can put out the word that he’s dead?”

  “Can try to sell it, but I don’t know if the boys are buying. No matter, I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Thanks, man. Appreciate the warning.”

  Shady Acres Estates. East Austin.

  BART PARKED his old green Dodge down an unused road allowance that butted up against Shady Acres Estates. He’d followed the ganger kids here twice before when he’d chased them out of the barn. Fuckin little thieves. And now they’d graduated from thieves to murderers.

  With his shotgun pointing at the ground, Bart climbed the fence that separated the two properties, then disappeared into the thick bush that covered most of the trailer park land.

  The river had no name, and it wasn’t a river—only a creek—wider in the spring and almost dry at summer’s end, but it was shady. Thick with trees on both sides. Old Mrs. Balstadt got that part right.

  Bart jumped the creek at a narrow point and quietly trudged through the woods towards the portion of the hundred acres where the trailers sat. Too early in the season for bugs, but a green Kingfisher flew low towards the water and startled him. He picked a spot at the edge of the bush where he could see the rusty tin can the vermin lived in, and he waited.

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  CHIEF CALHOUN’S small office was about to burst at the seams when Blaine arrived. All his crew were crammed in the ten by ten space drinking coffee with the Chief, anxiously waiting Blaine’s arrival.

  “Here are the warrants, son. Go get ‘em. I’ve got Perkins making some adjustments downstairs in holding, for the influx.”

  Blaine smiled and took the warrants from the Chief. “Hope we don’t disappoint Ranger Perkins.”

  “You won’t.”

  Shady River Estates. East Austin.

  THE ABANDONNED trailer park was deserted when Blaine and the team arrived with their small army. Blaine parked his big diesel up tight to the steps of the trailer Kyle Teckford/Basil Bernard was inhabiting.

  “Do a thorough search,” hollered Blaine, waving them inside. “Travis take the lead. Take Fletch and Hammer with you. To Farrell: “Take the junkers and search all the other units.”

  He called Lil: “Everything you can find on Kyle Teckford, alias Basil Bernard. Go back till the day the fucker was born.”

  “I’m writing it down, boss.”

  “Also, find out who owns Shady River Estates. It’s a trailer park—abandoned, but somebody owns the land.”

  “Okay.”

  “Any other trailer parks around the city not in use any longer, I need locations. Don’t know if there are any, but we need to find out.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you.”

  “And Lil, Misty’s a little down. Try to cheer her up.”

  “She went home to see customers, boss, about an hour ago.”

  “Okay. Never mind, I’ll talk to her later.”

  Two hours later after a thorough search of all the vacant trailers they had nothing, and Blaine was beyond frustrated. “Leave the first surveillance team here. They might be back and maybe not.” He threw his hands up. “Who the hell knows?”

  “Hope I didn’t waste my tag,” said Travis.

  “Me too,” said Blaine. “Is it in a good spot? The fuckers will sweep.”

  “They won’t find it.”

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE helped Rosie clear up the kitchen after breakfast and together they planned the menus for the rest of the week. It took organization, planning and a lot of groceries to feed all the cowboys that worked at Coulter-Ross. She sat at the granite island to write a shopping list and Blaine’s name came up on her cell. She smiled and picked it up. “Hey, baby, how are you?”

  “Busy on a case, but I’m okay.”

  “You sound stressed.”

  “A little, I’ve got a lot going on. Detective Vargas called from Vegas this morning, and I’m passing on a message.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s happening in Vegas?”

  “Word is the B team is actively searching for the Dog.”

  “Okay, good to know. Should I inform Dougie or not? What’s your opinion?”

  “How much do you trust him, Mom?”

  “Umm… not a lot.”

  “Might be better if he knows. Keep his guard up.”

  “Thanks, honey. Will I see you soon?”

  “Let’s have dinner this week. I need to take Misty out more than I’m doing. I have no time.”

  “I’ll make dinner here and y’all come over.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

  Annie pressed end and hurried to the bedroom wing to see if the Dog was sleeping. She tapped on his door and peeked in.

  “Come in. You don’t have to knock, baby.” He sat in the chair in the corner with his guitar across his lap.

  “Hey, you’re playing.”

  “Tuning, that’s all I’m doing. Ha
ven’t played in a long while.” He set the instrument on the floor beside the chair. “The expression on your face is telling me you’re worried about something. Spill it.”

  “Blaine had a call this morning from the gang squad in Vegas.”

  “Yeah, they can’t find me?” Dougie chuckled.

  “They aren’t the only ones who can’t find you,” said Annie. “Rumor out there says the B team is searching for the Dog.”

  “Fuck.”

  Why doesn’t he sound worried?

  Annie made the bed and fluffed up the pillows before she sat on the side and faced Dougie. “Who would be the new leader with Bentley and Rice dead?”

  Dougie studied her face. “How do you know they’re both dead?”

  “I know they are.”

  Dougie nodded. “When all the shooting was going on, you popped them.”

  Annie shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Jesus, girl, you are something.”

  “Who would the new top three be, sugar pop?”

  “Somebody needs this information?” asked Dougie.

  Annie shook her head. “Nope. Just wondering.”

  “Let’s see who would be up next with me out of the way and those two dead… I guess number one would be Wino Urquhart, Fox Ewing would be VP, and that stupid asshole, Dick Iacomo would be third.”

  “Sounds like an interesting group.” Annie leaned over and kissed him.

  “When’s your husband coming to interrogate me?”

  “Haven’t heard. You in a rush to unload?”

  Dougie laughed. “My new life here is at a slower pace. I don’t do fuck all and nothing in a hurry.”

  “Once you’re up and running, I’ll make sure you’ve got lots to do—day and night.”

  “Come sit in my lap.” Dougie reached for her hand.

  “I can’t. I’ll hurt your leg.”

  “What else will you do to me besides hurt my leg?”

  The Capital Grille. Austin.

  BLAINE was late getting to the restaurant, still pissed that Basil Bernard had taken off with all the kids and stashed them somewhere. Now he didn’t even have a clue where to look. Austin was a big city.

  He stood at the hostess station glancing around the large dining area looking for long red hair and a designer suit.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Blackmore. You alone?”

  “I’m meeting the Governor for lunch, but I don’t see her.”

  “I didn’t seat her myself. Let me take a quick walk around.”

  “Thanks, Kim.”

  She returned shaking her head. “Nope, not here yet.”

  “Okay, I’ll take a table and wait. I thought I was late.” He followed Kim to a table, sat down and ordered a beer. A second later, Lily called. “What do you have for me, Lil?”

  “The Bernard/Teckford guy is a psycho, boss. Thirty years old. Tons of arrests. He’s a two-time loser. When you get him this time, he’s a goner.”

  “Good to hear. What else?”

  “Year in the State Hospital. Schizophrenic. The voices tell him what to do. Jumped off the Capitol Bridge not once, but twice and didn’t finish the job.”

  “Why’d they let him out?”

  “New medication. He’s supposed to be cured.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Hope I never meet him,” said Lil. “Moving on to the trailer park, Shady River Estates is owned by a Mrs. Balstadt. Want to write down her address?”

  “Nope. Phone Farrell and send him to interview her.”

  “Okay,” said Lil, “and as far as other abandoned parks, I’m still working on finding them.”

  “Thanks, Lil. Talk to you in an hour.” Blaine saw Cat come in and waved her over.

  She leaned down and kissed his cheek before she sat down. “I’m late, and I know you’re the one pressed for time. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I made calls while I waited. It’s been a shit day, getting worse by the fuckin minute.”

  She opened the menu. “Maybe food will help.”

  He picked up his Corona. “Beer will definitely help.”

  “Did you write down what you want me to say about cracking down on the gangs?”

  “Uh huh. I scribbled it while I had a sec. I’m thinking of getting one of those things where you talk, and it all gets down while you drive.”

  “That would be helpful and save time.”

  “You should get it too.”

  Cat smiled. “Okay, I’ll think about it.” She sipped her water. “Anything new on Mr. Fogarty’s murder?”

  “Can’t talk about it. I’m not in a good place.”

  Cat smiled. “Okay. I’m talking to the media at three. Sally has set something up with a couple of the stations and I’ll do the interview in my office.”

  “Once you spill it, the other stations will pick it up,” said Blaine. “We’ve got to stop these kids from dumping school and going rogue, that’s all there is to it. There has to be a way to show them it’s a dead end and not a path to follow.”

  “I agree. A huge blitz or something.”

  “Appeal to the parents and the schools to come forward if they’re aware of kids that need help or counselling.”

  Cat nodded. “I’ve written an outline.” She reached into her briefcase and handed it to Blaine.

  He read it in seconds and nodded at a few good points. “Teachers must notice when a kid is missing from class all the time—if they’re not fuckin blind. Do they phone the parents? What’s the next step they should take? Is there something in place, or do they wing it?”

  “I don’t know if they follow some kind of procedure,” said Cat, “but I do know there are truancy laws based on how many days a student has missed.”

  “Do they take the parents to court?”

  Cat nodded. “Sometimes, if the situation isn’t rectified.”

  The waiter came and took their order. They both decided on the lunch special, the ribeye steak sandwich. Cat chose a salad and Blaine opted for fries and he ordered another Corona. “Want a glass of wine?”

  “No thanks, I’ll have ice water with my food and a green tea later.”

  Blaine raised a black brow, then winked at her.

  Mrs. Balstadt’s Ranch. Outside of Smithville.

  FARRELL got the call in his truck from Lily and headed to the address she’d given him for Mrs. Balstadt. Lil had phoned ahead, and the lady knew he was coming.

  She lived on a ranch close to Smithville and Farrell had no trouble finding the place. Nicely painted fences and a well-kept one-storey ranch house at the end of a treed lane.

  He parked his truck near a wishing well filled with flowers and knocked on the blue door. A gray-haired lady in her sixties or early seventies opened the door and smiled at him. “You must be Ranger Donovan. Come in. I’ve made fresh coffee for our little chat.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Balstadt, I could use a coffee. I had to skip lunch.”

  “Oh, no, you haven’t eaten, dear. How about a nice slice of lemon pie?”

  Farrell grinned and nodded his head. “That might fill the gap, Mrs. Balstadt. I appreciate it.” He sat down at the table and she put pie with thick merengue and a mug of coffee in front of him. His day was taking an upturn. Pie always cheered him. Lemon and pecan—top two.

  “I came to ask you about Shady River Estates, ma’am. You still own the property?”

  “I do own it, but I haven’t thought a lot about it lately. Nobody lives in those trailers anymore and they haven’t for years. Is the city concerned? Should I have the old trailers removed and taken to the dump or something?”

  “I think you should. They’re attracting a bad crowd of squatters. A gang has moved in and taken over the property.”

  “No.” Mrs. Balstadt wiped her hands on her apron. “I think y’all are mistaken. I’m sure nobody lives in any of our parks anymore.” She leaned on the back of a chair. “Some of the trailers are gone, of course, the ones owned by the tenants. The only ones left are the ones my husband bou
ght and rented out.”

  Farrell finished his pie and set his fork down. “Do you have other trailer parks around Austin that aren’t in use anymore?”

  Mrs. Balstadt sat down and folded her hands together. “My husband, Fred—dead sixteen years now—he thought it would be a good passive income for us to have all these tracts of land, let people rent spots for mobile homes and we’d be all set for our retirement.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” said Farrell. He picked up the cream pitcher and poured some into his coffee.

  “When he was around, I didn’t mind it,” she said. “He did the maintenance, helped with the hookups and collected the rents. I did the bookkeeping and took phone calls. It worked reasonably well.”

  “How many parks did you have on the go?” asked Farrell.

  “At the peak of Fred’s career as a trailer landlord, we had a dozen. Besides renting the sites, he bought used trailers, fixed them up and rented them. Those are the ones that are still on the properties. After he died, I couldn’t keep going alone and I sold half of the properties.”

  “You have six properties left?”

  “I do.”

  “Any up and running?”

  “Not a one. I’m thinking of selling all the land, investing the money and taking it easy from here on out.”

  Farrell nodded. “You should do that.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Wednesday, February 10th.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  UNHAPPY that Misty hadn’t come over the night before, Blaine fidgeted and stared at his morning caffeine waiting for a reasonable hour to call her.

  What time did Misty get up? Jesus, why didn’t he know that? She slept in his bed most nights and he didn’t even notice a simple thing like that? No fuckin wonder she went home.

  “I’m a goddam idiot,” he mumbled to himself.

  “You got that right, bro.” Farrell slumped into the chair across from Blaine, his straw colored hair sticking out in six directions. “Expecting a call from the pope or the president? Tell me why you’re staring at your phone.”