“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Grissom swung his head up to see a man marching on him with an outraged look on his face.
“Get the hell off my car, asshole!”
Grissom looked away. “Piss off, son. I’m busy.”
“Get the fuck off it, man! Before you scratch the paint.”
Annoyed, Grissom slid his butt down the hood and the tabs on his jeans screeched loud as they scored down the maroon paintjob. He hopped down and advanced smartly upon the apoplectic Saab owner but the man backtracked away, cursing something about finding a cop. Grissom leaned and spat in the snow and then walked away. Even he couldn’t press his luck with so many uniforms about.
Gallagher shrugged off his coat and tossed it across the seat to Amy, then cranked the heater to full. The dog licked Lara’s palm as Amy drew the coat over her.
Amy blanched at the dried blood caked over Lara’s face. Leaning over the seat, she fished up the first aid box from the back and snapped it open. The dog, forced into the footwell, looked at Gallagher and whined.
“I’m okay, Amy” Lara protested as she waved the girl away.
“Yeah, you’re in great shape. Let me take a look.”
Lara relented, too exhausted and cold to put up a fight. Amy peeled the coat off one shoulder and looked over her wounds. Claw and teeth marks up and down her shoulders and ribs but all of it scabbed over. The worst of it was a ring of puncture marks in Lara’s neck that were still wet and leaking a thin serum.
“That looks bad,” Amy said, unraveling a roll of gauze. “Does it hurt?”
Lara’s teeth were chattering. “I’m too cold to feel anything. Can you turn the heat up?”
“It’s on all the way.” Gallagher tilted the rearview mirror so he could see her. “Let Amy wrap that up. Looks awful.”
Lara pulled the coat tighter and relented to the girl wrapping the gauze over her neck wounds. She looked back at Gallagher through the glass. “How bad did it get last night?”
Amy bit off a strip of gauze. “You don’t remember?”
“Not much. We fought. There were people on the street. Did anyone get hurt?”
“Two people. Dead,” Gallagher said. “Not by you.”
Lara shivered and clenched her teeth to stop them chattering. Amy reached over the seat to get the bundle of spare clothes and put them in the naked woman’s lap. “Here, put these on. We’ll be home soon.”
Gallagher gunned for home but kept it under the speed limit. Cutting across Ainsworth, he wheeled onto the homestretch only to hit the brakes and pull to the curb. “Shit.”
Amy collided against the seat. “What is it?”
“Company. You see it?”
Lara and Amy peered over his shoulder. Further down, a car sat parked in their driveway. Two people stood outside, looking over the wreckage of the garage door.
Amy squinted. “Who is it?”
“That’s an unmarked police vehicle,” Lara sighed. She looked at Gallagher. “Have they spotted us?”
“I don’t think so.”
Amy bit her lip. “What do we do now?”
Gallagher pulled away from the curb and swung a U-turn, parking on the opposite curb but he left the Cherokee running. “Amy, hop over the seat and take the wheel. Go wide around the block and don’t come back until you see that they’re gone.” He opened the door and got out.
Amy clambered over the front seat. “Where are you going?”
“Gonna see what they want.”
“Is that wise?” Lara leaned forward. “Let’s just keep driving.”
“They’ll sit there all day. I’ll get rid of them.” He was about to close the door when the husky leaped over and slithered out of the cab. He tried to shoo it back inside but the dog scampered ahead before turning to look back at him.
“Get out of here,” he said and closed the door. He watched his daughter take the wheel and drive away and then he walked for home with the dog heeling up smartly behind him.
“Hey partner. You should answer your phone sometime.”
Detectives Wade and Farbre stood on the front stoop as Gallagher approached home. Wade offered up a friendly smile while Charlene was all business. Gallagher had doled out the good/bad cop routine so many times before but he’d never been on the receiving end. This ought to be good. Classic approach so he came back with the same. “Is there a problem, officer?”
“You missed some real fun last night,” Wade said, keeping things breezy. “Down on Killingsworth. Shitstorm city.”
“My loss.” Gallagher looked at Charlene, found a frosty return.
“Where have you been?” Charlene said, cutting out the chitchat.
He looked at the husky with its tongue lolling. “Walking the dog.”
“Without your coat?”
“Whoops.” He looked at the detectives. “What do you guys want?”
“We need to talk, Gallagher.” Charlene maintained eye-contact, like the bad cop does. “About Lara Mendes.”
“You find her yet?”
“It’s kind of cold out here,” Wade said. “Let’s talk inside.”
“We can talk out here.”
The smile fell from Wade’s face and it was plain to see how much he hated all this. Charlene remained hard. She squared him up. “Where is she, John?”
“I have no idea.”
“Hey,” Wade cut back. “We’re not on the clock here, bud. We just came to talk before something goes wrong. Charlene saw Lara Mendes yesterday. And she was with your daughter. You’re not gonna deny that, are you?”
He looked at Wade and then to Charlene. “Every word.”
Wade sighed, hating this even more now. Charlene stepped off the pathway and nodded at the ruined garage door. The aluminum panels busted in and torn up like a bomb had hit it. “What happened to your garage?”
“Forgot to open the door before I backed out.”
The three detectives went silent in a deadlock of bullshit. The dog looked on, bored.
Charlene resumed, acid etched into her tone. “She has family, you know. A sister down in Albuquerque. Instead of keeping her all to yourself, maybe she’d like to know that her sister is alive.”
“Have you talked to her?” he spat. “Because I have. I check in with Marisol every three weeks, keep her appraised of my search for her missing sister.”
Wade winced, knowing full well that the missing homicide detective had long been given up for dead. Charlene didn’t bat an eye and told Gallagher so. “You’re digging your own grave with this, John. Bring Lara in. We can sort all of this out. I promise.”
“Thanks for stopping by.” Gallagher turned his back on them and unlocked the door. The husky rose and ran in after him and the door closed tight.
Charlene shook her head but Wade was already walking for the car, shivering the whole way. “I’m freezing. Let’s go.”
Wade started the car and cranked up the heat and pulled away. “So? What now? Talk to the Lieutenant?”
“I don’t want to do that just yet.” She looked out the window, watching the houses pass by. “I might take a page from G’s book and do something stupid.”
“I don’t even want to know.” He steered for the precinct. “How stupid are we talking about?”
“Like get my car and come back and park and watch the house. What’s that on the stupid scale? A seven?”
“Nine. At least. You might want to go home first and put on your long johns.”
Back inside the house, the dog went straight to its bowl and the phone was already ringing. Gallagher finally let himself shiver and once the first one came, he couldn’t stop. Standing in the goddamn cold being grilled by people he worked with. Fucking unbelievable.
He grabbed the receiver, guessing if it was Amy or Lara. “Where are you guys?” he said by way of hello.
“Howdy.”
A man’s voice. One he didn’t recognize.
Gallagher frowned. “Who is this?”
Gallagher let the clock run out, dead air hissing from the phone. “Who is this?”
“We need to talk, Mister Gallagher. My name’s Grissom.”
TWENTY-NINE
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“I think you know what I want.”
“Well you’re shit out of luck, sport. So why don’t you screw off back to whatever rock you crawled out from.”
Quiet. All Gallagher could hear was the man’s breath rasping down the telephone line.
“You know how this is gonna turn out, don’t you?”
“I know how it won’t. You’re going home empty-handed.”
“Stop and think about what you’re saying, Mr. Gallagher. You know what she is. You really want that? You know what will happen to your daughter. Your city.” Another raspy sigh. “Hell, you saw that mess last night. Bad business. For everybody.”
“So you want me to what? Just step away?”
“Exactly.”
“Go to hell.”
“You step away and let Lara come with me and you’re daughter will be left...untouched. Think it over. That’s the best offer you’re going to get.”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Gallagher snarled. “You threaten me. Over the phone? Why don’t you grow a pair and come talk to me. Man to man.”
“Done,” Grissom said.
Click.
More than anything, Gallagher hated being hung up on. Who doesn’t? Like a perfect slap to the face that the slappee can’t ever reply to except to stand there fuming uselessly with the dead phone in their hand. He hated it so much he almost forgot what he had done. Which was to cajole the bad guy, werewolf, killer dude into shading his doorstep.
“Shit…”
Toggling the kill button, he dialed his daughter’s cell. It rang three times before clicking over. “Amy? It’s me.”
“Thank god. I thought it might be the police calling from the house phone.”
“They’re gone. Put Lara on.”
“What’s going on? Can we come home?”
“Just put Lara on.”
A muffled sound, then Lara’s voice. “What is it, John?”
“You need to drop Amy somewhere safe. A restaurant or somewhere with a lot of people. Then haul ass back here. Grissom’s on his way.”
“What? Get out of there. Now.”
“No. This is ending right here. But the guns are still in the truck. Including the fifty with the silver.”
“What are you thinking?” Lara yelled. “Don’t go up against him. Just get out of there and wait for us.”
Gallagher gritted his teeth. Why did no one listen to him anymore? “Lara, just do it. And be quick.”
This time he hung up first. He expected it to feel satisfying but it didn’t. It was just a shitty thing to do.
Returning the handset to the wall, he ran a quick mental inventory of any weapon in the house. Every firearm he owned was in a duffel bag in the back of the Cherokee. There was a police truncheon hanging off a peg in his office.
He went to go fetch the fuckstick when the living room window exploded and a hurled brick thumped across the hardwood floor.
Amy yanked the truck to the gravel spur and watched Lara fume at the cell phone in her hand. “What’s going on?”
“Grissom’s on his way to the house. Your dad wants me to get you somewhere safe.”
Lara felt herself flung against the door as Amy spun the Cherokee in a hard u-turn. Horns blared as oncoming vehicles swerved around them. “Amy, slow down.”
Amy kicked it. “You don’t expect me to sit this out, do you?”
“No.” There was no point trying stop the girl so Lara didn’t even try. Flinging an arm across the seat, she checked the rear window. No flashing lights or sirens after Amy’s reckless u-turn. “Watch your speed. Now’s not the time to get pulled over.”
Gallagher stomped towards the front door, ready to murder the sonofabitch who smashed his window. Like his home hadn’t been wrecked enough in the last twenty-four hours. His hand reached for the knob when the whole door blasted open like a hurricane and kicked him back six feet.
That hurt. Gallagher looked up from where he’d landed. A blurry figure filled the frame of the blown door. Had to be Grissom. “Mister Gallagher,” the man said, advancing fast.
A cacophony of barking zoomed over his shoulder at the intruder. The dog went berserk and tore after the intruder, lunging for the bastard’s throat. The dog was flung back, crashing into Gallagher’s legs.
Get the nightstick. He bolted for the back hallway, bounced off a wall and rebounded into his office. Tore the black truncheon from its peg, gripping the lacquered finish. Standard issue police fuckstick. He charged back out swinging.
Grissom ducked and said something he didn’t hear. Keep talking asshole. He returned fast on the backswing and gave the stick everything he had. Bingo. It connected with the man’s ear with a satisfying crunch. The son of a bitch yowled in pain but he coiled back and fired a knuckled jab straight into Gallagher’s throat.
The pain was lethal but it was the panic of being unable to breathe that brought him to his knees. His windpipe rattled wet and sticky, slurping up air in sucking gobs. He keeled flat, cheekbone slamming the floor. The intruder came on and kicked his guts in.
Grissom squatted over him, one hand pressed to his ear and blood trickling through the fingers. “That fucking smarts.”
All Gallagher could do was listen to the wet ripple in his throat. Wait for the stars to clear from his eyes.
“I’d heard you were the tough guy,” Grissom said. He lowered his hand and looked at the blood on his fingers and returned the hand to the cauliflowered ear, as if to stop a slow leak. “But you look a bit slow to me, mister Gallagher. Old.”
Gallagher’s vision cleared but he wished it hadn’t. Grissom was abhorrent, caught in some early stage of the morphing. Eyes a pinprick of black inside glowing irises. His teeth sharp and yellowed, crusty with tartar and the stains of god only knew what. Gallagher forced his throat to work, pushing enough air back out of his lungs to utter two agonizing syllables.
“Fuck you.”
“Is that supposed to me make angry? Enrage me enough to kill you quick and easy?” Grissom sneered, lips peeled flat against those discolored wolf teeth. “Clever. But not today.
“I’m not gonna kill you, Mister Gallagher. But I will make this hurt.” Grissom snatched an ankle and dragged Gallagher down the hall into the kitchen. “We’re gonna go for a ride you and me. But first we need to leave a message for our little friend.”
Gallagher wheezed, unable to utter anything more than the sucking rattle in his pipes as he was dragged roughshod onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen.
“Ahh… I love family photos.” Grissom stopped at a wall of framed photographs hung in an artful display. Most of the snapshots were of Amy. Five years old and dressed in a dusty pink princess costume, a plastic pumpkin bucket clutched in hand. Amy at thirteen with a basketball tucked under one arm. Amy at age three, all cheeks and big eyes, nestled between her mom and himself. Smiles as big as day on everyone.
Grissom studied every photo like a patron in an art gallery then swept them all to the floor. Frames popping and glass tinkering as they broke. Grissom regarded the naked wall. “This will do,” he said.
He squatted down, hovering over Gallagher again. “What do you think? Big letters, clear message. In blood too.” He looked at his bloodied hand again but shrugged. “I got enough here to script something but I think this would really be more heartfelt if it was your blood. Lara will be able to sniff out the difference no problem.”
Grissom leaned in close with an index finger raised as if making a point. Gallagher watched the fingernail mottle dark and elongate, growing in length before his eyes.
“Hold still now, this is probably gonna hurt.”
Grissom dug the claw into Gallagher’s arm. Dark arterial blood circled his wrist and dribbled over the broken photographs of his daughter.
The CR7 cruised up 22nd and pulled over behind a green Tercel. Charlene Farbre killed the engine and leaned back against the seat. From here, she had a clear view of Gallagher’s house and any traffic coming up or down the strip. Returning to precinct earlier, she returned the unmarked car to the motor pool and got her own vehicle. It didn’t look like an unmarked cruiser so Gallagher wouldn’t notice it parked on his street.
A panel van squatted in Gallagher’s driveway. Plain white with rust buckling the wheel wells and a roof cage for lashing cargo to. Backed in with the rear hard up against the wrecked garage door, back plate hidden. It looked like your average contractor’s vehicle. She gathered up her notebook and marked the time when the headlights on the van shot on. The vehicle rumbled to life and trundled down onto the street. As it drove past her, Charlene tried to get a look at the driver but the window was too grimy to make out anything more than a silhouette.
She was mulling over following the van when another vehicle came up the opposite end of the street and wheeled into the Gallagher home. This one a Jeep Cherokee, maroon paint, maybe ten years old. The driver swung out and Charlene immediately pegged the diminutive figure as Amy Gallagher. The girl ran for the front door but Charlene focused her attention to the passenger following the girl up the steps. Not much taller, a slight build under a man’s winter coat..
Mendes. It had to be.
Charlene dialed the precinct, spoke to the desk sarge. Two patrol units in the vicinity were dispatched to her location for backup.
Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3 Page 46