“How come it’s so much?” Riley asked, his lower jaw jutting out in a huff.
The woman shrugged and gave no oral reply.
“Shit,” Riley said. “I ain’t got that kind of dough.”
Cummins had sized the man up when he’d slid into the back seat of the Malibu outside the lockup. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with a handsome, boyish face. His dark hair was slicked back in an oily pompadour and he looked average in build and height. What was noticeable was a bandage on his left forearm. When he’d gotten into the car and Smith had made the introductions, he’d asked how Riley’s arm was doing.
“It’s getting better,” Riley said, peeling back the bandage to reveal a large swollen and vividly discolored area on the outer aspect of his forearm. “Being in there with all them fucking niggers and Mexicans didn’t help none.”
His voice had a similar-sounding twang as Smith’s—another good old boy.
“You get in any fights with ’em?” Smith asked.
“Had to flatten a few of them before they left me alone,” Riley said.
Smith grunted an approval. “I had to do the same. Me and Jack here got into it in the bullpen right before our bond hearings. Handed a bunch of those assholes their heads and knocked one shine’s ass up around his fucking neck.”
Riley smiled and gave a nod of acknowledgment to Cummins.
As Cummins remembered it, it had been Smith who’d done most, if not all, of the fighting but he said nothing. Let Riley think it had gone down that way. Building a reputation, even an exaggerated one, couldn’t hurt with a pair of morons like these two. He did wonder why Smith had attributed any of the action to him, though.
Stealing a look at the infection site on Riley’s arm, Cummins was able to discern that the discoloration was partially due to a tattoo. Despite the swelling, he was able to discern that it was the same type that decorated Smith’s left forearm: a triangle framed in red and blue with a circle of stars inside.
Riley carefully replaced the bandage and said they needed to get moving.
“I’m supposed to pick my kid up from my ex’s by noon,” he said. “And we got that other thing to plan out, too.”
Smith slammed the Malibu into gear and they took off, leaving Cummins wondering what the “other thing” was.
Now, as the three of them stood in a huddle by the impound lot’s window, Smith and Riley continued to confer about that nebulous topic.
“We’re on a time-table as it is,” Smith said. “Maybe we should just forget about the dam car.”
“I know that,” Riley said. “But I can’t go showing up at her house in your jalopy. Her old man’s a suspicious old coot. And that’s the last thing we need when we’re about to head—”
“Shut your mouth,” Smith said. He pursed his lips as if he were contemplating something, and then turned to Cummins.
“Jack, you good for the five hundred?” he asked. “We can pay you back the day after tomorrow.”
Cummins wondered what that meant as well. He certainly had enough money to handle the fee without raiding the special money-belt account but letting Smith know how much he had probably wasn’t prudent. But then again, Smith had no doubt already seen that Cummins had a very thick wallet and possibility even knew or suspected about the stash. Besides, he couldn’t afford to offend the tough hillbilly. It was still time to keep lying low, flying under the radar, until he heard back from Fallotti or could figure out his next move.
“Yeah,” Cummins said. “I think so but it’ll pretty much drain me.”
That last part was total lie and Cummins watched Smith’s face for any signs that he suspected, but there was none.
Room temperature IQs, Cummins thought and pulled out his wallet. He opened it, withdrew five hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Smith.
Both of the hill-rats grinned and Smith slammed the currency onto the small counter by the window slot and said, “There you go, honey. And make sure you give us a receipt.”
“And make it snappy,” Riley added. “We’re in a hurry.”
The woman behind the Plexiglas seemed to move with exaggerated slowness.
“Thanks, brother,” Smith said.
Riley glanced at him with a questioning look and then to Cummins.
“I appreciate it,” he added. “And like my brother says, we’ll pay you back tomorrow.”
Cummins smiled and gave a slight nod. He felt like he’d suddenly been made an honorary member of the hillbilly brotherhood or something.
Just then, Smith’s cell phone rang and he glanced at the screen, then immediately answered it. After a few exchanged words he terminated the call and looked at Riley.
“It’s Keller,” Smith said. “He’s getting close.”
Riley nodded and then stole a quick glance at Cummins.
What the hell was this all about?
Chapter Three
McNamara Ranch
Phoenix, Arizona
By the time they got back from their little escapade at Shemp’s old office and finished dropping off the borrowed pickup truck, Wolf felt like he needed another shower. McNamara had driven his new maroon Escalade back to the ranch at record speed, complaining the whole way that he wanted to get back in time to say goodbye to his grandson.
“I sure don’t feel good about letting that shitbird take him for two weeks,” he said. “But we got no choice. That’s what the damn custody agreement says.”
Wolf wondered if that was one of the reasons Mac had been so hard on Rodney Shemp. In addition to being Kasey’s fiancé, he’d had also been her lawyer and set up the custody arrangement. Wolf wondered whether Shemp had done a good job with given the situation but that was a moot question, at this point, since Shemp was deceased.
“Maybe we can both find new lawyers,” Wolf said and left it at that.
McNamara seldom talked about his ex-son-in-law but did mention that he was ex-military, and Kasey had met him about six years ago. The marriage had been sudden and brief, leaving her with a young son and an absentee husband away on multiple deployments. Mac had reluctantly reached the end of his own military career, reaching mandatory retirement age, and settled in Arizona. He’d been shocked, but not surprised, when his divorced daughter had shown up on his doorstep with her one-year-old son and asked if they could stay with him. That was when he’d found out his ex-wife had been killed in a car crash. Wolf had never met Mac’s ex but had inferred that she liked to drink.
And he knew precious little about Charles Riley as well. The few times he’d shown up to take little Chad for a weekend outing, Wolf had taken pains to stay as far away from any interactions as possible. From a distance, Riley looked to be kind of handsome, if you liked the type, but not really outstanding in any other way. One time he’d almost ventured out to intervene when he’d heard Mac threatening to “plant” the guy in the garden. Wolf had rushed down from his garage apartment only to see a tearful Kasey holding her father back as Riley escorted an equally upset, crying Chad to a dilapidated white Dodge Caravan. Wolf remained frozen in the doorway, not knowing what to do. A subsequent angry glance from Kasey convinced him to back off and he didn’t mention the incident after that. The relationship between him and Kasey had always been tenuous at best, although things seemed to have been improving a bit recently, the unexpected death of her fiancé had cast another pall over their relationship. Not only was he still inadvertently cast as “the son her father had always wanted,” he was now the man responsible for bringing this trouble to their lives and getting Shemp killed.
Wolf knew that wasn’t entirely the case, but again, he said nothing.
He felt bad enough about sponging off his mentor for the free room and board, even though he was now starting to hold his own with bringing in the bounties. Things had slowed recently, with the national health concerns, but now were slowly starting to return to normal. And with the money he was scheduled to make for this upcoming MMA fight, he felt confident his purs
e would put Trackdown, Inc. securely in the black and give him enough money left over to perhaps buy himself a car or maybe a motorcycle. He’d already been able to invest in a used laptop.
McNamara was in the driveway now playing catch with his grandson. Chad was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and gym shoes. His little suitcase sat next to the front door.
Wolf watched them toss the ball back and forth, appreciating the broad grin on both of their faces. Then his eyes caught sight of movement over at the junction of the highway and the macadamized roadway that led to the ranch. Two vehicles had pulled off onto the road, a green Dodge Caravan and a black Chevy Malibu.
Wolf couldn’t see the number of occupants but he was sure the Dodge Caravan most likely contained more than one person. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he couldn’t shake that unmistakable feeling that something bad was about to happen.
He hoped he was wrong but decided to stay close just in case Mac ended up needing him.
This could be trouble coming, he thought.
Cummins had been watching in horror as the Dodge Caravan slowed and made the left turn onto the roadway that led to, of all places, McNamara’s ranch house.
Christ, this was the same place he’d narrowly escaped from a little over a week ago … The site of the aborted attempt to get Wolf and McNamara to surrender that damn bandito and that had turned into an unmitigated disaster. This meant that going back into the lion’s den again and that meant flirting with danger. If Wolf was there, McNamara too, and either one of them saw him, it would be all over. They were most likely armed. Plus, even though he was out on bond, he was still facing charges in court. An incident could get him rearrested. But it was significantly more dangerous than that. Wolf wouldn’t stop until he got the answers he wanted and Cummins doubted either Smith or Riley would be able to stop him. Well, maybe Smith might stand a bit of a chance.
No, probably better than that, he thought. But Wolf was like an indomitable force.
He scanned the wide driveway between the ranch house and the big garage and saw three figures standing there.
One of them was a small child but the other two were full-grown men, and one of them looked like Wolf.
Oh, God, no, he thought.
“Hey,” he said. “Stop the car and pull over, will ya?”
Smith, who was driving, looked over at him. “What’s the matter?”
“I gotta puke,” Cummins said.
He was in the front passenger seat and pulled up on the door-handle.
Riley had requested that Cherrie ride with him until he picked up the kid so it would “look better.” He’d said that his ex-father-in-law was a real tough bastard and reiterated that any problems, at this point, were the last thing they needed.
“Not with the op coming up,” Riley added.
Cummins once again wondered what these two hillbillies were referring to with all these cryptic comments.
But now he had more pressing issues to worry about.
“Stop it, would ya,” he yelled as he felt the rise of bile from his stomach.
Smith pulled off to the side of the road and jerked the Malibu to an abrupt halt.
Cummins unfastened his seatbelt and leaned his upper body to the side as the flood of bile and vomit burst forth.
He remained hunched over for several seconds, continuing to retch.
“That’s a real nasty habit you got there,” Smith said. “But leastways you didn’t get none in my car.”
He chuckled.
“It ain’t a habit,” Cummins said. “I told you, it’s a medical condition.”
“If you say so.” Smith’s tone was still full of mirth.
Yeah, go ahead and laugh, asshole, Cummins thought, then realized the sudden dyspepsia attack had been a godsend. If they hadn’t stopped, Smith would have no doubt pulled into McNamara’s driveway leaving them in the full view of Wolf.
Disaster averted, he thought. At least for the moment.
“You done?” Smith asked, his foot still on the brake.
Cummins thought for a moment before answering, and then said, “Maybe, but stay here, will you? I don’t want to get too close to anybody.”
The black Malibu was still stopped about a hundred yards away on the access road. The Dodge Caravan continued to pull into the driveway and Wolf recognized Kasey’s ex-husband behind the wheel. Mac and his grandson stopped their game of catch and the little boy smiled.
Looks like he’s glad to see his dad, Wolf thought, wishing there was a better lot for the kid.
Every boy deserves a father, he thought, thinking back to his own childhood.
A blonde woman sat in the front passenger seat, a cigarette dangling from her mouth.
“Oh, Jesus, will you look at that,” McNamara said walking with his grandson in tow, to Wolf’s side.
The woman took an extended drag on the cigarette as she opened the car door and slipped out. She exhaled a plume of smoke and Wolf caught a whiff of it. She appeared to be in her late twenties with blonde hair that came straight out of a bottle. Her figure wasn’t half bad and she was dressed to show it off.
Riley descended from the driver’s side and strolled over at a slow pace. He was dressed in a dirty white T-shirt, a pair of cut off orange shorts, and army combat boots. There was a bandage around his left forearm, some yellowish discoloration working its way through the white cross-weaving. His eyes darted from Mac to Wolf to his son and his mouth remained in a perpetual sneer.
Finally, he moved his head ever-so-slightly and muttered, “Jim, how you doing?”
McNamara returned the nod but remained silent, his hand still on his grandson’s shoulder. The boy apparently knew what was coming and was a bit subdued.
No one spoke for several seconds and then the woman smiled and bent over, giving both Wolf and McNamara a view of her well-stuffed brassiere as the loose-fitting tank top spilled open.
“Is this your son, Charlie?” she asked, clapping her hands together like she was summoning a dog. “Ain’t he a little darling?”
“I hope you ain’t planning on smoking around my grandson,” McNamara said still keeping a firm grip on the boy.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sugarplum,” the woman said and tossed the cigarette away. It landed about ten feet away, still smoldering.
“Where’s Kasey?” Riley asked.
“I’m right here,” Kasey said from the door of the ranch house. She walked toward them briskly holding a flip-phone. Wolf noticed she had on a light blue blouse, jeans, and sandals, her usual attire for her morning college class.
Going to her son, she knelt beside him and hugged him close, whispering something, then giving him a kiss on the cheek. As she stood, she turned and looked directly at the woman and then to Riley.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“Her name’s Cherrie,” Riley said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“That’s Cherrie with an I E,” the woman said.
Kasey frowned. “It’s my business who my son’s spending time with.”
“He’s spending time with me. I’m his father.”
“And I’ve got custody,” Kasey shot back.
“For now.”
That seemed to hit Kasey like a slap in the face and she recoiled. “What’s that supposed to mean?’
“You just wait and see,” Riley said.
McNamara stepped forward and thrust his finger toward Riley’s face. “And you better watch your mouth talking to my daughter like that.”
Riley looked ready to yell something back when the woman named Cherrie smirked and said, “Listen, honey, I grew up in a household with six brothers and I was the oldest, so I know a thing or two about taking care of little boys.” She turned to Riley and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning close. “Just calm down, sugar and remember what we got going, okay?”
This seemed to mollify him slightly.
Wolf felt awkward just watching the situation unfold and felt very sorry for Ch
ad.
“Come here, little man,” Riley said, holding his hands out. “You ready to spend some time with your daddy?”
The boy looked up at his mother who walked forward with him. His face was a mixture of trepidation and uncertainty.
This is doubly bad, Wolf thought, both for Chad and for Kasey.
He knew that Shemp had been working on limiting the custody visits to supervised sessions only but with his untimely demise, it was anyone’s guess how long a change in the agreement would take now.
Kasey held up the phone and showed it to Riley.
“I want this to go with him,” she said. “My numbers are programmed into it and I expect him to call me every night. Understood?”
“Is that an honest to goodness flip-phone?” Cherrie asked. “Shit, I ain’t seen one of them in a month of Sundays.”
Kasey pursed her lips into a frown as she turned toward the woman, then bent over and tucked the flip-phone into Chad’s pants pocket. “Honey, this is a phone you can use to call mommy any time. And I want you to call me every night, okay?”
Chad nodded.
Kasey stood and glared at her ex.
“Anything else?” Riley asked with a condescending lilt to his voice.
“Like I said.” McNamara took a step forward. “You watch your mouth.”
“Or what, old man?’ Riley took a step back and half-cocked his right arm.
Wolf stepped forward between the two men and stared into Riley’s eyes, giving him one of the “Don’t fuck with us” looks that he’d mastered in the prison yard. No words were spoken between them and none was necessary. Riley’s lips compressed inward and then his teeth emerged in a mocking smile.
Devil's Brigade (Trackdown Book 3) Page 5