Smoked Out (David Wolf Book 6)

by Jeff Carson

  “All right. Go.”

  Wolf walked around the corner and immediately saw two police officers milling around on the corner a half block straight ahead. He stepped off the curb and crossed the street, keeping his hands in his jeans pockets and head down.

  In his peripheral vision he saw the two officers walk to his right down the sidewalk, toward the restaurant they’d just expeditiously ripped off and made a scene at.

  He needed to move.

  Reaching the intersection of the side street and Main, he stopped and pushed the crosswalk button, and then stood patiently.

  Up the street to his left there was a circus of law enforcement action. A whining siren approached somewhere in the distance, and there were at least five flashing squad vehicles parked in a swarm around their truck.

  A couple of officers were jogging down the sidewalk toward him, and he held his breath as they drew nearer.

  The light turned, and the little white man told him to walk, so he did.

  He stepped fast, resisting the urge to break into a run.

  Crossing onto the other side of the road, he saw that every single patron on the sidewalk was either slowing or already at a complete stop, gawking at the action.

  As Wolf swerved between gawking people, he decided to openly gawk himself. Because that would have been the normal thing to do.

  Directly across the street a growing group of law enforcement personnel from the Gunnison County Sheriff’s Department and Gunnison Police Department swarmed around their abandoned truck.

  For an instant he locked eyes with a cop, one who assessed him for a second and then slid his gaze further down the sidewalk.

  Wolf zipped up the tan sweater and caught a glimpse of Luke crossing the street.

  He smiled at the patron next to him and walked on.

  When he reached the metal gate, he found he’d been correct about the magnetic key fob, so he swiped it on the reader and the door clicked.

  The door squealed open and he walked in, and then he bent down and slid the fob up against the iron on the ground.

  Standing, he gave a cursory glance at the storage unit numbers and saw he was in the single digits. He needed to get to #62.

  Now obscured by the concrete wall of the grounds, Wolf took a deep breath and felt the tension melt a little. He walked along the wall to the next row of units and saw it started with #20. The one across from it was #22. He counted the units along one side and calculated it ended at #50. His destination was the next row.

  As he reached the next row and turned he heard the gate in the distance close. Luke was inside the grounds. She’d made it, too.

  Wolf walked.

  There was a huge diesel pickup truck parked up ahead on the left and a man leaning inside the passenger door. Another customer of the Trout Creek Storage and Moving Mini Piece of Crap Units.

  Wolf wondered how they were going to get out of here. Hopefully it didn’t come to having to steal this man’s truck, compounding the severity of their criminal spree.

  Hopefully inside their destination storage unit was so much evidence, such a glaring nullification of Wolf’s guilt, that they could simply walk across the street and hand it over to the first cop.

  Wolf had trouble believing his optimistic fantasy.

  Passing number 54, Wolf counted up two digits at a time so he could lock eyes with the unit. So he could will it to contain what he needed as he approached.

  His heart skipped when he landed on the man with the truck, who was now walking back into the open storage unit.

  Strides slowing, Wolf counted again and found he’d been right the first time.

  #62. There was no mistake.

  Walking back out into the sun, the man eyed Wolf for a second and then disappeared again.

  Wolf shoved his hands in his pockets and walked at an even pace, as if he had a destination beyond #62.

  Veering slightly to his right to give the truck a wide berth, Wolf glanced over at the darkened interior of the storage unit and was surprised to see wide eyeballs staring right at him. The white skinned man bared his teeth.

  Wolf gave a curt nod and smiled. “Morning.” Then his view was blocked out by the huge pickup, which upon second glance looked more ominous than before. It was lifted a few inches with knobbed tires, there was an extended cab with jet-black tinted windows, and the cover on the back of the truck bed had dark windows, too.

  Wolf was unarmed. This man looked certainly armed, and certainly dangerous.

  Head down, Wolf continued on past the truck and felt the man’s eyes on his back.

  “Sheriff Wolf.”

  Wolf kept walking.

  “How about this. Stop right there, Sheriff Wolf, or I’m going to shoot you in the back of the head.”

  Wolf took a deep breath and stopped. Turning around, he brought his hands up to his sides.

  The guy was outside of the storage unit now thrusting a pistol in his direction. Skin snow white in the glaring sun, the man’s blonde hair was cropped to the skull, his eyes squinted and his free hand was blocking the sun. His lips were drawn tight.

  On his arm was a tattoo—a rendition of the Pope, dressed in his Papal tiara and costume, pointing his staff as if firing a machine gun. With teeth bared and lips snarling, the holy man’s eyes were dark red and fire shot from his staff into a crowd of people, which had been expertly drawn as exploding into chunks of flesh down his forearm.

  The barrel of the man’s Beretta shook in his fist.

  “I think you’re mistaken.” Wolf cowered in fear but kept rooted to the spot. “My name’s not Wolf. I’m not a Sheriff.”

  The guy stepped all the way to Wolf and put the barrel inches from his forehead. Four months ago Wolf would have had the pistol and the guy on the ground. Today, Wolf hesitated for a split second, doubting his own speed and strength against this man who was clearly a fan of lifting weights.

  Stepping back quickly, the man smiled, revealing crooked teeth. “Not a Sheriff, huh?”

  “My name’s John. I’m just going to my storage unit, there.”

  “I know exactly who you are, Sheriff Wolf. And I’m damn glad I caught up with you. I heard you escaped.”

  A siren whooped in the distance and the man’s eyes bulged. “Wait a minute, you brought them here?” He looked over his shoulder toward the concrete wall in the distance and did a double take at the sight of the woman walking toward them.

  Lowering his pistol, the white skinned man bared his teeth. “You say a word or make a move I shoot you in front of this bitch, and then I shoot this bitch. Got that? Now lower your hands, damn it.”

  Wolf lowered his hands.

  Glancing between Wolf and the approaching woman, the man turned to the side and lowered his pistol to his thigh.

  Wolf saw it all happen: the thoughts going through the guy’s brain, and then the man’s face twitch as he recognized the woman was with Wolf.

  Wolf stepped straight into him, blocking the rising gun with his left arm while he punched as hard as he could in the man’s throat. In his peripheral vision he saw Luke spring forward, bounding at them like an Olympic sprinter.

  Momentarily stunned, the white skinned man croaked and his eyes bulged, and then he erupted into frenzied action.

  Wolf gripped the man’s gun arm with both of his hands and backed into him.

  A vicious blow slammed into the back of Wolf’s head. Tasting blood, Wolf’s vision blurred for an instant, and then there was another blow.

  Wolf kept his relentless grip, knowing that if he let up he and Luke were both dead.

  Suddenly Wolf was lifted from his feet and everything swirled, and a split second later he was on his back and staring at the gun.

  Wolf still had a hold with both hands, and the pistol was aimed at the ground a few inches to the side of Wolf’s head.

  The man’s face was shaking but otherwise completely calm looking. With sheer force the barrel of the gun twisted ten degrees, then twenty, then was pointin
g at Wolf’s left eye, the cold steel almost touching his eyeball.

  “Don’t shoot. They’ll hear you,” Wolf said. “Then they’ll come for you.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and then there was a black blur accompanied by a slap and he was toppling sideways.

  Eyes rolling into the back of his head, the man’s grip went limp on the pistol and Wolf wrenched it away.

  As the man leaned sideways, Luke’s foot slammed into his face, whiplashing his head back. Chin to the sky, he rocked back on his knees, gained momentum, and started falling forward, and then there was another thump and a black shoe connecting to the back of his head.

  The man’s face bounced on the concrete and then Luke landed on his back and gripped his bald head with both hands.

  “I think he’s out,” Wolf said.

  Luke let go of her grip and the guy’s head lulled to the side. She froze, straddling the man’s back, staring at the man’s motionless scalp as if daring him to move again.

  “Luke.”

  She looked at Wolf. Her pupils were pinpoints, her teeth bared, her chest heaving up and down.

  Wolf rolled to his hands and knees and climbed to his feet, feeling a lance of pain in his spine as he did so. With a shake of his head he was grateful there was no ringing in his ears.

  “You all right?” She asked.

  “Yeah.” Wolf sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

  Sniffing also, Luke walked to the storage unit and looked on the ground inside. “Fire.”

  There was a loud clank somewhere around the corner and then a continuous squeal. “What the hell is that?”

  “I think it’s the rolling gate. A car must be coming in.” She grabbed the unconscious man’s feet and pulled, managing only to twist him. “A little help?”

  They turned the guy over and each took a foot, and pulled him into the unit.

  The inside was hazy with smoke. The pungent scent came from a scorched pile of papers on the smooth concrete floor. In the corner stood a plastic file box with the lid propped open. Other than the two anomalies, the small space was stark empty.

  Wolf kicked the pile of blackened paper and it crumbled and fluttered airborne. In the ash and debris there were a few inches of unburned paper.

  Wolf picked out a portion the size of a dollar bill. It was blistered and curled.

  “It’s a picture,” Luke said, bending down next to him.

  Wolf blew gently on it and held it up. “Looks like weeds. Grass and wildflowers.” He dropped it and sifted through the ashes some more.

  Luke stood and went to the door. “Shit. Cops are inside. They just drove by. There’s nothing in here. We’re too late. We’ve gotta move.”

  She peered inside the truck window. “Keys are in the ignition.”

  Wolf pushed the pile with a finger. “There were pictures here. At least five of them. Manila folders.” He stood up and looked down at the unconscious man.

  “Great, whatever. Get in the truck.”

  “We have to bring this guy with us so we can question him when he wakes up.”

  “Yeah, and tie him up, and load him in the truck. All before the freaking cops drive up on us. Forget it. Get in the truck and get down. They’re looking for us, damn it.”

  “Wait.” He patted the man’s pockets.

  “I have the keys. Let’s go.”

  Wolf pulled out the man’s cell phone and then flew out the door at a full sprint. He heard the police radio echoing through the rows of storage units as he got in the truck and closed the door.

  The two tints of the rear window and topper window combined for a dark image, but he saw a Sheriff’s Department vehicle swing into view and roll toward them.

  Wolf sank to the ample passenger seat floorboards and curled into a ball.

  The police radio came closer.

  Just when Wolf was wondering if Luke had up and run, he heard the roll door of the storage unit close outside.

  The radio lowered in volume and Wolf heard a squeak of brakes and then two thumps of car doors closing.

  “Hello, ma’am.” The voice was right outside the truck.

  Wolf tried to crouch even further into his ball, but it was no use. He stared transfixed at a pair of leather gloves on the floor, and the specks of dried blood on the knuckles of the right glove. Next to the gloves was a crumpled fast food bag, stained with grease.

  “Howdy, officers. I swear I’ve paid my bill here! What? Ya’ll bustin’ me? Haha. Jus kiddin’. What can I do for ya’ll?”

  “Are you okay, ma’am?” The officer asked in a more playful than official tone.

  A pause. “Don’t I look okay?”

  “Were you just burning something?”

  “No, just putting the charcoal barbecue in. Upgraded to one of those fancy propane models.”

  There was a slight movement of the truck, a jostling back and forth, and then a slap on the sidewall of the truck bed. “Carry on, miss. Have a good day.”

  Luke opened the door and climbed in.

  Wolf did a double take and crouched his head down again.

  Her hair was a frizzed mess, hanging down to her shoulders. Her sweatshirt was tied around her waist, and Wolf could not help but notice her dark nipples, which were clearly visible underneath the thin white fabric of her tee shirt, which was smeared with dark soot.

  She twisted the key in the ignition and the truck’s big diesel engine roared to life.

  She smiled and looked in the rearview mirror, and gave a finger wave, revealing teeth smeared with soot as well.

  Add the dark streaks on her lips and cheeks, and she had knocked herself down to the lowest tax bracket in a hurry.

  “That’s a nice look on you.”

  “Shut up,” she said without moving her lips. “They’re right behind us still.” She shifted into gear and moved forward.

  Wolf kept motionless and silent and watched her drive. She slowed to a stop and the gate squealed outside.

  Her quick glance in the rearview told him the cops were still on their tail.

  “Back to Rocky Points,” Wolf said.

  “Are you sure?” she said like a ventriloquist.

  “Back to Rocky Points.”

  She exhaled, twisted the wheel, and hit the accelerator. After a few seconds she deflated in her seat. “All that for a pile of ashes?”

  Wolf kept silent.

  She rubbed her forehead.

  “Listen, we got a vehicle, and we bought us some more time.”

  “If we don’t get stopped in the next two minutes at the roadblock they’re undoubtedly setting up ahead.” She slapped the wheel. “Damn it! Who was that guy?”

  Wolf climbed up into the passenger seat and massaged the pain out of his hip flexor. “No match for you. If you’d been a second later I’d be dead.”

  She scoffed. “All that and we got nothing.”

  Leaning forward to stare at the receding turret lights in the side view mirror, Wolf pulled out the cell phone from his pocket. “We got a cell phone.”

  She leaned toward him and eyed it, then sat back hard. “Ah, this guy practically drove lying down. What the hell?”

  Wolf pushed the wake button on the phone and an image of the Pope smiting a crowd of horrified people filled the screen background.

  Chapter 19

  “No, no, no, no.” Rachette punched the wheel and the horn emitted a dog toy honk.

  With a practiced move, he downshifted, popped the clutch, and pressed the gas, and the car lurched forward and sputtered to life.

  Crisis averted.

  Something was seriously wrong with the engine of this tin can he drove, and it was time to get rid of it once and for all. He had his eye on a Ford truck parked with a for sale sign on the north end of town.

  The blue pickup looked pretty well worn down, but the price was right at two grand and having four-wheel drive in the winter and not having to deal with any more breakdowns? That was going to be worth it.

  As he pulled to
the curb in front of the coffee shop he sat idling for a few seconds, then reluctantly shut the engine off, knowing that could have been the last time in a while he’d hear the engine running.

  He got out and stepped to the curb and a flashing SBSD vehicle sped past, so fast he failed to catch a glimpse of who it was.

  “Damn,” he whispered. He was stuck on the outside of this whole thing, with no date set for getting back in.

  His life was back to wandering through town to fill his days, with coffee in the morning at The Chairlift Coffee House, lunch from a drive-thru on his kitchen table in his tiny apartment, cheap reconstituted dinners, and beers at night to forget the monotony of it all.

  And when he finally did get back in, if that day ever came, what was it going to be like? If it was without Wolf, and with dicks like Deputy Sergeant Barker, that was going to be abysmal.

  He thought of Deputy Munford’s tiny smile and knew it wouldn’t be all that bad.

  “Same as always?” the stoned-looking barista asked behind the counter.

  Rachette nodded. “Same as always.”

  Another department SUV sped past, and this time Rachette realized there must have been a development.

  Now he had a destination. He was going to go to the department and poke around for information. He could get by Tammy with a little sweet-talking.

  With a quickened stride he walked to his car and got in.

  The key turned and there was a click. The dashboard gauge needles did a spasm and then went still.

  “Ah!” He punched the wheel again. Then he pressed the horn and no sound came out.

  He twisted the key again, and nothing.

  He got out, slammed the door, and kicked it with his heel, leaving a tiny dent.

  “Ah!”

  Putting his head down, he walked away from his pile of scrap metal on wheels, vowing it would be the last time he touched it.

  Chapter 20

  Luke slapped the wheel again as they passed a strip of fast food restaurants. Her stomach churned nothing but air and her general mood was murderous-angry and getting worse because of it. “I really need that breakfast burrito right about now. I’m gonna come back here and beat Toby’s ass one day.”