Dog

by Carolina Mac

  Bluebelle followed behind Red, then alerted and went her own way across the field. Travis jogged along behind trying not to slow her down. About a hundred feet into the field, Bluebelle stopped and laid down. Travis dropped to his knees and searched through the grass and weeds all around the dog.

  “Find something?” asked Farrell. He told Red to sit, then he helped Travis look through the grass.

  “Got it,” said Travis. “Burner.”

  Farrell grinned. “Maybe it’s got DNA on the outside and some dynamite numbers on the inside.”

  “We haven’t been that lucky so far.”

  Abandoned Trailer Park. East of Austin.

  BART WATCHED the kids getting ready to move. They had their belongings in plastic bags and cardboard boxes, not much of anything. They were travelling light. A beige colored van, with a young kid at the wheel, appeared out of nowhere to pick them up.

  “He had a kid steal a van,” Bart mumbled to himself. He wrote down the tag number, pulled out his phone and texted the number to the black-haired Ranger.

  Bart put his truck in gear and got ready to follow the van to the new location.

  BLAINE HEARD his phone signal a text and he glanced at the screen. He always laid it face up on the passenger seat, so he could see who was calling or texting while he was driving. Farrell did it and Blaine had picked up the habit. He needed a Bluetooth. He’d get one today.

  Numbers—all he could see on the screen were numbers. He pulled over to the side of the road and picked up his cell. “It’s a tag. Somebody’s trying to help me.”

  He pressed the Agency number. “Lil, I just got a tip and it’s a tag number. Run it for me and call me right back.” He spewed the number.

  “Doing it, boss.”

  She called. “Stolen van. Tan in color.”

  “Issue a BOLO on it with a warning. If it’s Basil or fucking Kyle, do not approach.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Who sent the text? Whoever it is, is watching Bernard. Shit. Blaine did a star sixty-nine on the number and let it ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Who’s that?” The voice was gravelly. Sounded like Herman Fogarty’s helper. “Is that you, Bart?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “If you’re watching them, Bart. Tell me where you are and let me help you.”

  “They’re on the move. Gotta go.”

  “Fuck that,” hollered Blaine.

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE sat down in the office with Dougie after the company left and took a bite out of a pecan tart. “All done. Want a coffee now?”

  Dougie nodded. “I could use one after all that fuckin talking that I did. Can’t remember when I ever had so much to say. My throat’s dry as a parched frog.”

  “Want a tart? I made them.”

  Dougie smiled. “Sure, let me try one.”

  “Guess I owe you fifty,” said Annie, “Didn’t see the Cat putting any moves on you.”

  Dougie grinned. “Nope. I owe you. After you went to say goodbye to the cowboy and his baby, she hovered over me for a minute and said she was glad I was changing sides. Then she winked at me. I almost laughed out loud when she did it. Fuck, it was funny.”

  “I’m glad something about today was funny for you.”

  “Another thing was funny,” said the Dog.

  “What?”

  “I challenged your ex on the ‘wife’ thing and he didn’t like it one bit.” Dougie grinned. “Thought for a second he was gonna haul off and waste me. Told me he still thought of you as his wife because he hoped you’d get back together.”

  “How often have I heard that song?”

  “What I want to know is this? Is that what’s on your mind too—getting back with the cowboy? If it is, I’m out of here.”

  “Nope, there’s only one thing on my mind, and we can talk about it in detail as soon as you move into my room.”

  Downtown Austin.

  BLAINE called Farrell’s cell. “Where are you?”

  “Took a burner phone to the lab that Trav and I found in the field near the convenience store with the dogs. Bluebelle found it.”

  “Fantastic. Hope they get something from it.”

  “Me too,” said Farrell. “Now I’m at the forensic’s garage seeing what they pulled off the truck in the ditch.”

  “One of the mom’s called. Her kid stole a phone. He’s shot and bleeding and Teckford won’t let him get help. Her boy said other kids are shot too.”

  “We can patrol the properties again,” said Farrell. “the woods are thick. Don’t mean we’re gonna find them.”

  “Send the map to my phone and I’ll help y’all.”

  “I’ll separate from Travis and send him searching with Fletch.”

  “Do it now and keep your eye out for a stolen tan van.” He gave his brother the tag.

  “They get a new ride?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Bart saw it. He’s out there somewhere helping us.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” said Farrell. “That’s what we need. A dead Bart.”

  “Fuck that,” said Blaine.

  Forensics Garage. Headquarters. Austin.

  FARRELL sent the map to Blaine’s cell, then explained the situation to Travis and Fletcher. “You two go together, I’ll fly solo, and Blacky is out there too. See anything at any of the properties and we all converge. Be on the lookout for kids on foot. Some might be wounded. The one that called his mother is full of buckshot and he’s on the run trying to get loose from the boss.”

  “Got it,” said Travis. “We’re gone.”

  “That Basil guy won’t let them run off willingly, will he?” asked Fletch as he jumped in the shotgun seat.

  “Don’t think so,” said Travis, “He’ll kill them first to teach loyalty to the others.”

  “Hard lesson,” said Fletcher.

  BLAINE HEADED EAST towards Elgin, his cell on the passenger seat. It signaled a text. “Dead kid in the ditch on county road fourteen, near the quarter line.”

  Blaine pounded the steering wheel. “Fuck that.”

  He grabbed the phone and relayed the message to Farrell and Travis.

  Travis called right back. “Want us there, boss?”

  “We better search the whole area in case he ran with more kids.”

  “Teckford might have dumped him already dead,” said Travis.

  “That too.”

  County Road Fourteen. Near Elgin.

  THEY CONVERGED on the dead kid, half hidden by the long brown grass in the ditch. Blaine called it in.

  Blaine looked around at the open fields fenced for cattle or horses. Ranchland, no houses in sight. “Is this near one of the properties?” he asked Farrell.

  “Yep, there’s one not a quarter mile from here.”

  “Go start a thorough search of that property and I’ll wait for the ME.”

  While Blaine waited, he called Bart’s number. “I have a dead kid lying in the ditch beside me, Bart. Tell me where the gang is and tell me now.”

  “I want to tell you, Ranger, honest I do, but I’ve temporarily lost them. I’ll get back to you.”

  BART ENDED the call to the ranger and turned where he’d seen the van turn off the road a minute before. He didn’t recognize the property. Looked like a farm. It didn’t belong to Mrs. Balstadt.

  County Road Fourteen. Near Elgin.

  DAYLIGHT had dwindled into twilight and the air had cooled considerably by the time the Medical Examiner and the crime scene unit arrived on the sideline where Blaine stood watch over the dead boy.

  Doctor Mort Simon knelt down and examined the body while his assistant, Ted, held the light. Mort shook his head. “This was a preventable death, Blacky. Jesus, you’ve got to catch the asshole recruiting these kids.”

  “Any ID on the boy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “He might be the Betteridge boy,” said Blaine, “but I’d hate to go t
o his mother until I’m sure.”

  Mort glanced at his watch. “I should have him in a drawer by ten if she wants to view the body. Or you could wait until morning.”

  “It won’t be easier in the morning, but I’ll wait.”

  The Fairfax Inn. New Orleans.

  MISTY returned to her hotel after a busy day of visiting friends and acquaintances around the city that she missed so terribly. Why had she let Brad talk her into moving to Texas and marrying him. It was the worst move she ever made. Why hadn’t the cards told her not to do it? Was that the only time the Tarot hadn’t shown her the right path?

  She constantly asked herself that question. Why, when she had so much insight and intuition, would she make a life-altering blunder like that. She had to be sure Blaine was the right choice. Always too busy, he had little time for her or anything but his work, but she loved him with all her heart in spite of his obsession with violent crime.

  She crossed the lobby to the stairs and felt the presence of someone behind her. She turned her head. No one was there.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friday the Thirteenth.

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  DOUGIE WOKE lost in the king-size bed in Annie’s huge master suite. The room was so long he could barely see the fireplace at the other end in the lounge area. He smiled thinking about the woman he loved—the first and only woman he’d ever loved—and it was a warm feeling. He could start a new life with Annie. He was sure of it now. He’d love her and protect her and be the best bodyguard she’d ever had.

  Declan tapped twice on the door and entered the suite to get Dougie out of bed and to the bathroom.

  “Appreciate you, Dec,” said Dougie, “but I’ll be fuckin glad when I don’t have to depend on anybody but myself.”

  “Hey, I get paid every week. Let me do something to earn my keep.”

  “Does it get boring when you don’t have a patient?” asked the Dog.

  Dec shrugged as he put the crutches in place and headed the Dog in the right direction. “I love the ranch, and my job, and I’d never leave the boss. She’s been too good to me.”

  “Why would the big cowboy, Jesse, divorce her and leave? I don’t get it.”

  “Race—it was all about Race. Once Race was in the mix, and so tight he was with wee Jacks, the marriage went to hell in a hand basket.”

  Race always got what he wanted. He took it.

  “I never knew Race had a cat,” said Dougie.

  Morgue at Headquarters. Austin.

  BLAINE arranged to meet Mrs. Betteridge at the morgue at nine. She wanted to get the job done before she went to work, but Blaine figured if the kid did belong to her she wouldn’t be going to work anyway. Sometimes people made so little sense, he couldn’t figure what they were using for a fuckin brain.

  He parked his truck out front and he and Farrell went inside, Farrell carrying the cardboard coffee tray. “I’ll hunker down and drink caffeine with the Chief until y’all are done downstairs. Come get me.”

  “Yep, shouldn’t be too long.”

  Mrs. Betteridge, a small woman close to forty with short brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses, was seated in the waiting area to the right of the lobby. She jumped to her feet when she saw Blaine. Her glasses were Coke-bottle thick and her right eye twitched every few seconds. Blaine tried his best not to stare.

  “Ranger Blackmore why wasn’t I called the second you found my son?”

  “The victim has no identification, Mrs. Betteridge. We can’t guess who he belongs to. That’s not how things work.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m upset by all the waiting and not knowing where he was the last couple of days.”

  Blaine snapped at her without meaning to. “You must have been missing him a lot longer than that, Mrs. Betteridge. He’s been skipping school and hanging out with the East End gang for a while.”

  She hung her head and said nothing more.

  Farrell slipped into the Chief’s office and Blaine continued along the corridor and down the stairs with Mrs. Betteridge. On the lower level of the building, the morgue was at the end of a chilly hallway. The end opposite the holding cells.

  Blaine opened the door and ushered her in. Mort Simon wasn’t on duty, so Doctor Wells greeted them and led them to the storage area to view the young John Doe.

  “Ready, Mrs. Betteridge?”

  The woman inhaled a big breath. “I guess I’m ready.”

  Doctor Wells pulled open the drawer and displayed the teenage body, pale and slightly grayish in color or lack of it.

  Elizabeth Betteridge screamed, “No, Elliott, no. You can’t be dead.” She fell to her knees and sobbed.

  FARRELL drank coffee and chatted with the Chief while he waited for Blacky to do the deed. He filled the Chief in on Bart texting the tag number of the van, and then giving Blacky a heads-up on the dead kid.

  “If he’s serious about helping, why doesn’t he give up the location and let us bring them all in?”

  “Last Blacky heard, Bart said he lost sight of them.”

  “In a way, I hope that isn’t true,” said the Chief.

  The door opened, and Blaine appeared, looking stressed. Identifications and notifications were hard on everybody. “It’s him. His name is Elliott Betteridge. I sent the mother home.”

  “I think we should have another meeting with the remaining parents, and I’m using the term parents loosely,” said the Chief. “We need to tune them up and put more pressure on them. How could they know nothing about where their own children are?”

  “Out of the five on the list, we’ll tell them one is in custody charged with murder and one is dead,” said Farrell. “Maybe that will show them the direction this mess is heading.”

  “Make a point and make them face facts,” said the Chief, “Parenting is about responsibility, and this lot has fallen short of the mark—way short.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to call them in again,” said Blacky. “Another kid might have a stolen phone from the convenience store and could have used it already. Without the parents cooperating with us, we’d never know if their kid told them where the gang was.”

  “What about Mary?” asked Farrell. “She should be writing a blow by blow—like one of those serial things. That would make the citizens aware and put them on the lookout.”

  “Have her meet us at the house in an hour. I want to talk to Mrs. Costello, the convenience store lady, at Saint Michael’s first.”

  Saint Michael’s Hospital. Austin.

  MRS. COSTELLO lay flat on her back with her eyes closed, a white blanket pulled up to her chin. Mr. Costello sat in a chair next to the bed gazing at his wife’s pale face.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” said Blaine. “I was wondering if your wife was well enough to give me a statement and possibly a description of the boys that attacked her?”

  “I think she is. She was awake for awhile and she managed to eat a little from her breakfast tray.”

  Mrs. Costello opened her eyes. She smiled at her husband, then looked past him at Blaine.

  Blaine took a step closer. “I’m Ranger Blackmore, Mrs. Costello. Would you be able to answer a few questions for me?”

  She nodded. “I think so. Heaven knows, I’ve thought about nothing else. Going over and over it in my mind to see what I remembered, but it happened so fast.”

  “The boy that stabbed you. What did he look like?”

  “Sandy hair, a little long. Young. Very young. He looked like a high school boy. He had one of those black shirts on with a picture on the front.”

  “A concert shirt?”

  “Could have been. I’m sorry. Some of it’s a blur, and I think during parts of it I had my eyes shut.”

  “Did you notice the knife?” asked Blaine.

  Mrs. Costello paused to think about it. “The knife was close to me and I did see it.” She closed her eyes while she tried to remember. “I didn’t see all of the handle because his hand covered most of it, but the blade seemed cur
ved a bit.”

  Survival knife? Seal knife? Tanto?

  “Did your lab get anything from the cameras?” asked Mr. Costello.

  “They’re still working on it,” said Blaine, “but I’m hopeful they’ll get something.”

  “I hope you catch them before they hurt somebody else,” said Mrs. Costello.

  Blaine nodded. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Costello. I’ll be in touch.”

  Mr. Costello walked Blaine into the corridor. “You catch those little bastards, Ranger. I’m counting on you.”

  New Orleans.

  MISTY STROLLED down the street in the New Orleans’ sunshine feeling better than she’d felt in months. She walked to Jackson Square and made the rounds talking to all the people she knew and to some she didn’t.

  She stopped in front of Princess Zara’s tent and went inside. Misty had studied under the Princess and continue with mentoring even after she move to Texas.

  The voluptuous black woman with bright green eyes and glittering silver eye shadow glanced up from her cards and her face split into a brilliant smile. “Mystere, my darling one. Come give me a hug.”

  Misty hugged Zara then took the chair in front of her table. “I’ve come to ask about the man I’m seeing.”

  Zara smiled. “Is he special?”

  Misty nodded her head and her blonde curls bounced around her shoulders. “Very.”

  Zara pulled out her cards and began. “Let’s see.”

  After Misty shuffled, Zara laid out the spread and studied the placement of the cards. “Oh, he’s young and unsettled. Full of violence and anger from unresolved issues in his past.”

  Misty stared with her eyes wide.

  “There are other issues too. I see them, but the words cannot leave my lips.”

  “What other issues? Like another woman?”

  Zara shrugged her huge shoulders. “Not a lover, but another fills his heart.”

  Misty nodded. “He’s close to his adopted mother.”

  Zara moved the cards around and shook her head. “This issue will never be resolved. You must wait.”