None of this was making sense to me. Gang members I could understand, but mercs?
“You know this guy?” I asked.
Jerome shook his head. “Nope. Never seen the man in my life.”
We made our way to where the SUV went over the cliff. I had Jerome sit again and set Max to guard him while I shimmied down to the burned, crushed up wreck. The vehicle had actually gone up in a fire ball, just like in the movies, a rarity in my experience, but most of the flames had died out. I counted five dead men inside, all toasted. Pretty horrible, but there was plenty of fire power in there too. So, bad as it was, it probably saved our lives.
I was sweating and tired when I made it back to Max and Jerome. I sat down opposite him with about twenty-five feet between us.
“You explain this to me,” I said.
“Told you before,” said Jerome. “They gonna kill Clair.”
“These aren’t Bloods.”
“Don’t matter. They workin’ for the Bloods.”
“Working for the Bloods?” I gave that some thought. Had gangs started bidding work to mercenaries? No way. But…
“Who in the Bloods wants her dead?” I asked. “I mean who put out the contract on her?”
“Don’t work like that,” said Jerome. “Not like in the movies. Not like those Italian gangster shows. Ain’t no contracts, no kisses of death, no formal stuff like that. Usually it’s a personal thing. Tre shoots Bone Bag, so his bro Smoker comes at Tre’s boys with some help… that sort of thing. Or, one of the OGs says there’s gotta be some blood on the street for something or other, either to establish turf or for a formal lesson or retaliation. That sort of thing.”
“Okay,” I said, “then which Original Gangster ordered the hit on Keisha and her mom?”
Jerome thought for a bit, then looked back at me through the dark. “Don’t know. But I could find out.”
“How?”
“I still got boys back in the hood.”
I pulled out my cell phone.
Jerome shook his head. “I’d have to go there.”
“Go where?”
“The hood. Chicago.”
“You are a wanted man,” I said. “How am I supposed to get you to Chicago?”
“You got a car,” he said.
Hmm. He had me there.
30
Sarah Gallagher stepped out of her front door, looking like Venus. She wore a simple blue dress that stopped short of her knees, so tight fitting it looked like it had been applied with a spray can. Her hair was perfect, her makeup flawless, and her high heels made her sleek calves look like a work of art. You’d think she’d been sculpted by Michelangelo himself.
I wondered if she woke up looking like that.
I said my goodbyes to Pilgrim. I didn’t plan on being gone long, but in my line of work, you never know.
Sarah hunched down and gave Pilgrim’s head a rub. He looked up at her with love and licked her fingers. They were old friends.
“How you doing, boy? How’s my big hero?” she asked, smiling into his furry face.
Pilgrim once helped save Sarah from a very bad man.
For an answer he rolled over and showed her his belly.
Sarah gave him a good scratch and looked up at me. “He’s still hurting isn’t he?”
I saw the tears start in her eyes.
“He’s lucky to be alive. Getting shot like that at his age is no small thing.” I hunkered down next to her and gave him a rub myself. “But he’s a tough old boy; aren’t you, Pilgrim?”
He growled, playful-like, and chewed on my wrist.
“Thanks, Sarah,” I said. “I know this is short notice.”
We both stood up.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “it will give me a chance to go through your things.”
“My things? What things?”
She grinned mischievously and held up the keys I had given her to my place. “How is it you like to say… things you wouldn’t know about… things you couldn’t know about…” her eyebrows drew down and her voice lowered, “…things you shouldn’t know about.”
I nodded. “Seriously, that was the worst Pee-Wee Herman impersonation I have ever heard.”
“That’s because I wasn’t impersonating Pee-Wee, I was impersonating Gil Mason impersonating Pee-Wee. A tiny taste of your own medicine.”
“Everybody’s a critic,” I said.
Sarah leaned in and gave me a little peck on the cheek. She smelled like sunshine. “You just take care of that little girl and get back here safe.”
“I will,” I said, “but all joking aside, don’t go to my place. Some very bad men might be staking it out. That’s why I brought Pilgrim here. Okay?”
Sarah knew when I was being serious. “Okay, Gil.”
We both stood up, and she took the leash and walked Pilgrim inside as I got back in the car with Ziggy, and Jerome, and Max. Ziggy sat in the back, Jerome in the front passenger side and Max in the far back cargo area. I’d removed the rubber platform, put the rear seats back in and replaced the fence between Max and them. Max tolerated Ziggy, but I wasn’t so sure he’d afford Jerome the same latitude.
“How long you two been together?” asked Jerome.
“She’s just a friend,” I said.
“Somebody better tell her that,” he said.
“Ziggy say you got that right,” said Ziggy from the back.
“You two are nutty,” I said.
“And you be blind,” said Jerome.
“Stupid too,” said Ziggy.
I backed into the street and we began the long road trip to Chicago.
Max lay in the back of the SUV, his eyes mere slits. He took in everything. Jerome sat in the front where Gil could watch him, but Max smelled the fresh blood seeping from the wounds he’d given him. The Alpha had stopped Max from killing the prey, which was his right, but Max didn’t understand it. Jerome was their enemy and Max had felt the man’s power. He was dangerous and should not be taken lightly.
The other human smelled of rot, his veins running with drugs that kept him functioning even as they killed him slowly.
Ziggy had shot up just before Gil stopped outside the rundown apartment where he was staying for the time being. The heroin mellowed him, allowing him to float along gently.
Max had no concept of heroin or why a human would take such a substance, but in the way animals think, he understood, through the incredible power of his senses, that the narcotics were eating the man alive. Everything about the man rankled him. The smell, the weakness, the strange sounds he made; grunting under his breath, soft laughter, mumbled words meant only for himself, the flitting of his eyelids and the flaring of his thin nostrils.
The Alpha seemed either unaware or uncaring of the danger that Jerome posed, sitting there so close to him. And the fence between Max and them would not allow Max to aid him if the man attacked. So he lay where he was, unmoving, seemingly asleep, but fully awake, waiting and watching.
Halfway through Kansas, I got a call from Jared. I’d phoned him after leaving Sarah’s and told him about the attack at my place and asked him to have Jeffco (The Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office) go clean up the bodies. I didn’t call them myself because I knew they’d want me to come answer a slew of questions and maybe even arrest me until they figured out what was really going on. I didn’t think little Keisha had that kind of time.
“Hey, Jared.”
“You playing games, Gil?”
“Games?”
“Jeffco rolled onto your mountain with just about everything they had available. You know what they found?”
“A bunch of dead guys, a fried SUV and another one shot to pieces?”
“Nothing,” said Jared.
“What do you mean nothing?”
“I mean absolutely nothing. No dead soldiers, no burned up cars, no blood, nothing.”
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“It is what it is,” said Jared. “Two of my buddies
from the old days were with the guys that checked it out. If they say there was nothing, then you can trust there was nothing.”
That worried me. Mercenaries were bad enough; not the kind usually associated with gangs like the Bloods, but maybe… maybe they might hire out for an important enough cause. But getting a cleanup on as big of a mess as I’d left… in that quick of a time period… was way too big for any street gang. No way. This had government written all over it, and not just a flunky either. Meaning Senator Marsh himself was involved, and that was a scary thought indeed. What would make a sitting US Senator — a possible candidate for President — get involved in something as deadly as this? And why did he want Keisha?
Scary.
On the bright side, at least Jeffco wouldn’t be sending out a BOLO for my arrest.
“So what is going on, Gil?”
“I’m not sure, Jared, I’m really not, but it’s probably best if you stay out of it from here on until I get more info. No use in both of us getting into trouble.”
And then Clyde’s giant frame and bald head flashed to mind. The senator’s personal bodyguard. Maybe more than a flunky? Him I could see doing this. But would he have the clout? And why? I called Sarah again and asked her to check out Clyde. After a few minutes of teasing, which I was grateful neither Ziggy nor Jerome, who were both sleeping, could hear, we clicked off and I was alone with my thoughts and the flat Kansas landscape.
Once the sun rose, I pulled out my cellphone and made a final call.
31
About six hundred miles outside of Illinois, my cell buzzed. It was Senator Marsh. Despite the fatigue, I smiled as I answered. I’d been expecting his call.
“I thought we had an agreement,” said the Senator. He sounded perturbed, like Morgan Freeman as crazy Joe Clark in Lean on Me, minus the baseball bat.
“Agreement? What agreement?” I asked all innocent like.
“You leaked the story to the press.”
“Did I?”
I could hear him take in a long slow breath and let it out.
“What kind of a game are you playing at, Mr. Mason?” and just like that, he transformed to Luscious Fox from Batman; the calm voice of reason.
“What kind of game are you playing at, Senator?”
“Explain.”
“Did you send men to kill me at my house?”
“What?”
“Mercenaries,” I said. “Two cars full; lots of toys. Very professional. Not the sort of boys to play with gang members. Not Bloods or Crips or even MS13. More like hired thugs from say…a government agency.”
“Mr. Mason, I don’t know what you are talking about, but I assure you I had nothing to do with sending anyone to do anything to you. I came to you to help save a little girl, which you did and for which I will be eternally grateful. Somewhere along the line, you have been turned against me. I don’t know how or why, but if you seriously believe that I would actually try and have you killed, then you know nothing about me. I abhor violence. I grew up surrounded by it. My own brother was gunned down in front of my eyes when I was thirteen years old by a boy barely in his teens. Where I grew up, the streets ran red with the blood of children. I vowed that one day I would put a stop to that violence and I have lived by that vow my entire adult life. It is my guiding principle. So whatever you may think about my politics, or even me myself, the one thing you can be certain of is that I would never condone any act of aggression against an innocent.”
Wow. This guy was good. Either he was being truthful or he deserved an Oscar. Like it or not, I believed him.
“Okay,” I said, “then someone close to you.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“No,” he said, “not possible. Maybe a former client of yours. Someone who held a grudge?”
Possible, of course. I’d made plenty of enemies; some even mercenaries.
“No,” I said, “the timing doesn’t work. I don’t believe in coincidence; at least not this coordinated. What about someone on your staff?”
I could almost hear him shake his head. “But why, Mr. Mason? You did exactly as I asked.”
“What about me finding out about you making a bid for the presidency? What if one of your loyal men thought I might spill the beans and hurt your chances?”
That pause again, but this time I could tell he was considering. He said, “Now don’t think I’m buying into this. You have given me absolutely no evidence. But some of my men have been known to be overly zealous in the past. Nothing like what you are suggesting, but enough that you have me thinking. I’ll do some checking. It would have to be someone high in my organization. Someone close.”
“Like Clyde?” I asked.
“Clyde is my most trusted friend, but as I said, Mr. Mason, I will check into it. You have my word.”
“And you, sir, have a great story about saving a little girl to help support your run for high office.”
“That’s not why I hired you.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll be watching you.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“That’s all I ask,” I said.
“Now I have to set up a press conference for some time in the next few days, thanks to your alerting them about our recovering little Keisha. In other words, another fire to put out in an already very busy schedule. If I have any further need of you, I’ll call. Understand that Mr. Mason, I’ll call you.” He hung up then.
The conversation helped to wake me up. I looked over to see Jerome staring at me. He was a mess. Blood caked his shirt and pants and he had bruises on his bruises and cuts on his cuts. He stretched his legs and I could tell the movement cost him some pain. I’d filled both him and Ziggy in on everything I knew, starting with Marsh showing up at my place and hiring me, down to him maybe running for president. Full disclosure.
“So what’s the play?” asked Jerome.
“Once we get into town, you see what you can find out. My friend Ziggy has some old contacts of his own.”
“What about you?”
“My job is to make sure Clair stays safe.”
“How you gonna do that?”
“I already started,” I said. “I called the news stations in Chicago and fed them the story about her rescue from you. I gave all the credit to the honorable Senator Marsh. They should be flooding his office with calls right about now.”
“How will that help?”
“Senator Marsh will have to put extra security on her and the press will have her picture everywhere. No one will dare to try and touch her; not the Bloods, not anyone working for Marsh, not anyone at all.”
“Maybe,” said Jerome still not sounding convinced. “At least for a while.”
“A while is what we’re working for,” I said. “Just long enough to figure out who it is that’s after her and why.”
“Don’t care about why,” said Jerome. “Just who. Then I’ll kill them.”
Couldn’t argue with that.
Ziggy yawned and stretched in the back seat. He turned his head and saw Max staring into his face from the back. He jumped.
Max didn’t.
“Ziggy says he needs to make pee,” he said.
Couldn’t argue with that either, so I pulled in at the next gas station and filled up the Escalade while Ziggy used the men’s room and Jerome got coffee for the three of us. I saw a woman give him a startled look as she passed him at the door to the station. She clutched her purse tight and hustled her kids quickly around him. Couldn’t blame her for that either, he looked a scary mess.
The day was already getting warm, even this early in the morning, and the traffic whooshed past like speeding missiles.
I opened the back hatch and let Max out. He walked over to a fire hydrant sitting in a patch of tall grass and lifted a leg.
“Cute,” I said. “A little cliché, but cute.”
Max looked up at me and kept peeing.
I saw a shadow come up behind me and turned to see a nerdy litt
le guy with thick glasses and a short sleeve shirt with an alligator embroidered on the breast pocket. He popped a chin towards Max.
“That your dog, mister?”
“Depends on who you ask,” I said.
“How’s that?”
“Well, I think of him as mine, but if you asked him, he might say it’s the other way around.”
“That’s funny,” he said not smiling at all. He pushed the center rim of his glasses up the bridge of his long skinny nose, just like the guy in the Steve Martin Movie, The Jerk. “But you should have him on a leash.”
“A leash?”
“Yes,” he said. “We have leash laws here. Also you have to clean up his mess if he poos.”
Poos.
I swiveled my head toward him.
“Excuse me, do you work here?”
“No,” he said, pushing his glasses up again. “I’m just getting gas. That’s my car over there. He pointed to a baby-blue Prius.
Figures.
“Are you a police officer or animal control?”
“No,” he said, “but I felt it my civic duty to inform you of the way we do things here, seeing that you had out-of-state plates and all.
Jerome, carrying a cardboard tray of coffee cups, suddenly towered over the man, looking down on him. I thought the civic-minded gentlemen might faint for a second.
“This dude messing with you?” he asked me, his voice sounding like grating boulders deep in the Earth’s crust.
The man with the alligator embroidery looked at Jerome, then at me, then back at Jerome. He scuttled back to his Prius like time was a-wasting, pushing his glasses with that same finger. Where was the Opti-Grab when you needed it?
Max was still peeing; it had been a long trip.
“Why you let guys like that mess with you?” asked Jerome.
“He wasn’t messing with me,” I said.
Gil Mason/Gunwood USA Box Set Page 36
