By Dog Alone: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 2

by Charles Wendt

  Elizabeth came trotting down the stairs wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. Her hair was wet from the shower.

  “You’ve eaten meat before, Kate,” replied Elizabeth as she turned toward Vicky. “How about pepperoni? That new sausage they started using tastes like old hamburger meat.”

  Kate explained, “That’s only because it was hamburger night in the dining hall,” but no one was listening.

  Vicky pulled out her phone from a holder strapped just below the knee, which was convenient when riding but she had to bend over now, “How much time do we have? Should I ask for delivery?”

  Abriella raised a finger to pipe in, but no one yielded the verbal right of way.

  “Get a second one since we’ve Holly coming. According to Kate anyway,” directed Elizabeth. “Remember, Mrs. Grant wants us to be more inclusive.”

  Vicky shrugged, “Sure. Should the other be mushrooms?”

  Kate interjected, “That sounds good. You can add olives to it, too.”

  Elizabeth dissented, “Health class said protein is best. And fungus tastes slimy.”

  Abriella said, “You won’t believe what my parents did.”

  Kate would have none of it, “I want one vegetarian and Holly might like that, too.”

  Vicky nodded, “I’ll get the second one with Canadian bacon and anchovies. I’m sweated out after riding and if Holly ran tonight she probably wants something salty, too.”

  The back door opened again, and they all fell silent as Holly, with her long hair draped about her face and shoulders slumped forward, came through the door.

  “Kate said it would be okay if I came,” she said in a soft voice that was almost a whisper.

  After a long pause, Vicky spoke first, “Yeah, you live here. We were just picking pizza topping.”

  Holly nodded shyly, “I like peperoni with pineapple.”

  Vicky made a couple of finger movements on her phone, “I’ll add pineapple to the peperoni then. Done. The new app makes ordering from them so much easier.”

  Kate began to protest, “But I wanted…”

  Vicky cut her off, “I got a third small mushroom and olive, Kate. Shut up a moment.” Then she turned toward her best friend, “I’m sorry, Abriella. What did you say about your parents?”

  Everyone fell silent and looked at her.

  “My parents left town without me. Told me just before I was getting on Indy to ride.”

  A soft flash of lighting snuck around the corners of the common room curtain followed by a deep rumbling bellow of thunder outside.

  “Where are they going?” asked Kate.

  “The mountains they said. They won’t be back till late tomorrow night.”

  Vicky shrugged disappointment, “Too bad they did it on a school night. And not much time to put any fun together.”

  “I’ll show them,” said Abriella. “I’m inviting Kelton to my place tonight. He can’t really stay here anymore anyway. Mrs. Grant is starting her new safety patrol.”

  Holly added, “I hear Mrs. Grant is also recruiting spies that aren’t even wearing the bright yellow vests.”

  Kate’s eyes went wide, “Really? Cool! I want to be a spy.”

  A knock came from the back door, and as they turned they saw the broad shouldered silhouette in the dim grayness beyond the glass window.

  Abriella turned toward the door and said around her long red pony tail, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  And then she went through the door and closed it behind her as Kelton greeted her, and Azrael shook out his wet coat on the back porch.

  Elizabeth looked at everyone staring opened mouth at the door and then issued judgement, “That’s inappropriate. We should call somebody.”

  “She can do what she wants,” defended Vicky. “I wouldn’t want to waste the opportunity.”

  Kate agreed, “She’s not breaking any of the rules. She’s not in the campus house. She’s in her own house. Mrs. Grant has no business doing anything about it.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, “But that’s not the point. It’s not about the school’s rules. He’s like, way older.”

  Vicky shook her head, “Leave her alone. She can make her own choices. Plus, he’s hot.”

  They heard the old police cruiser startup and saw its lights come on which shown brightly in the rain.

  Elizabeth turned toward Holly, “What do you think? I know you haven’t met him, but he must be pushing thirty. Who’d want to share her body with that?”

  “Gross!” squealed Kate.

  Holly sat down on one of the couches, head bowed forward and gave a shrug. “Sometimes we just don’t know everything that is going on.”

  Bobby McFife sat on a chair in a corner of the hotel room by the air conditioning unit. Mr. Armesto’s men had rented a “family suite”, with internal doors which opened to connect a pair of adjoining mirror image rooms. His bowels felt watery as he watched the younger and more powerful men take in the contents of the open duffel bag on one of the beds.

  Mr. Grunfeld had called him at home, letting him know that he needed a special favor and some men were coming to pick him up. That it had been Mr. Grunfeld, and not the chief, had made him feel important. Like he was part of a deep conspiracy and connected to its highest levels. He was valuable. That’s why they had paid him yesterday. And now they desired utilizing his services. A secret mission, letting him ride coattails to rub elbows with the most powerful of the community. Then the Chevy Tahoe showed up with four thugs inside and the moral crisis started. He began to realize that even though he was a cop, there were things he couldn’t control. And it scared him. Especially when they told him to leave his sidearm at home.

  He’d gotten in the backseat, sitting in the middle as they drove to the Hunt Lodge Hotel on Second Street. It was on the south side of Second Street just across from the Kroger’s, a tired relic of a previous era. Its five floors nestled up to the old sidewalk, the white six over six window panes giving a little life to the weathered red brick facade. He occasionally ate in the first floor restaurant, which sported green linen tablecloths, but had never been to the rooms upstairs.

  The one way alleys to the east and west of the building provided access to the parking lot behind. It was surrounded by other tall buildings of downtown making a secluded space not trafficked by passing pedestrians. Every once in a while, Bobby would get a call to help a bum loitering there to be on his way. The lot was pretty empty on a Tuesday night, and they had managed to park close to the dark green awning of the back door and avoid the worst of the impending storm by dashing inside.

  They made him take the stairway that was just inside the rear entrance. When he protested, they told him the elevators were too near the main lobby where they risked being seen. Bobby, with his paunch, struggled with the stairs and cringed upon using his still healing arm when leaning heavily upon the handrail as his lungs heaved.

  Plopping down in the room’s chair, feeling the chill as sweat ran down his spine, brought little relief as his mind tried to frame up what he was into and if he could possibly get out of it. Diego reached into the dark duffel on the bed and lifted up an M4 carbine rifle, just like they had in the police department arms locker. The M4 carbine was the newest version of the military’s M16 rifle, but shorter and handier overall for getting in and out of vehicles due to a cut down barrel and a collapsible telescoping stock.

  “Okay boys, listen up. We don’t use these around the big city much cause the range is real close and they’re hard to conceal. But the Harper farm is different. Mr. Armesto cares about you and doesn’t want you to find yourself with just a pistol exchanging shots across a cow pasture. He wants us to do this job, and he doesn’t want anyone getting picked up. He’s sensitive that a lot of dust has been stirred up and the police are gearing up for us. If they intervene, he wants it to be quick and decisive in our favor. Even if they bring the entire department.

  So, first, let’s load up these magazines,” he said holding up a metal box
with a slight bend in it. “Everybody get one. The rounds go in butt first. Push down a little before sliding them back and make sure they seat fully to the rear.”

  Diego demonstrated by picking up a cartridge from a plastic tub. The tub was akin to a large butter crock, but instead was stamped, “Liberty Pack” and looked to contain a couple hundred shots loose packed.

  “How many in the clip?” asked Andres.

  “It’s a magazine,” corrected Jhon.

  “Shut up, Dipshits. Doesn’t matter what you call it. It holds thirty. But if the spring gets too hard to push down on, don’t worry about it if you only get in twenty-nine.”

  Soon they were all grabbing at magazines and slowly loading them up. In just a few minutes, the men had emptied one tub, and ripped open a second one. Diego opened a bag of peanut M&M’s while the fingers of his men worked. There were still a handful of cartridges left when all the magazines had been filled.

  “Okay, pick out a rifle,” instructed Diego while picking up the one he’d held up earlier.

  McFife noted they were all tricked out with tactical lights mounted by the muzzle and C-More red dot optics on top. The C-More was a midrange reflex site, essentially a circular piece of glass that the shooter looked through. It didn’t magnify at all like a scope, but was designed for quick shots at closer ranges. A small laser put a red dot on the glass to indicate where the bullet would land, saving the shooter from aligning rear and front sites with each other, and keeping that alignment while sighting on the target. The red dot was also easier to see at night than traditional sites or the thin crosshairs of a scope.

  “Turn this knob on top to get the red light of the sight to come on,” demonstrated Diego. A glowing red dot appeared on the glass circular lens on top of the rifle. “This red dot is where the bullet will go.”

  The men picked up their rifles and looked through the lenses, aligning the glowing dots on the glass with make-believe targets about the room.

  “Everyone got it?” he asked.

  “How long do the batteries last?” asked Miyer, one of the two new guys. The other recent arrival was Camilo.

  “Long enough to leave them on all night. So turn them on and leave them on. You can twist the knob left and right to make the dot brighter or dimmer. Get comfortable, because I don’t want anyone fucking around with them after we load. Then we’re going to get some rest for an all-nighter. You guys ready?”

  After a few last glances through the lenses with the stocks tight against their shoulders, they lowered the carbines and nodded. Bobby wasn’t sure what to think. As a policeman, he only shot the carbine once a year. And they had skipped a year here and there during the war when ammo was scarce. Even with only that, these guys were amateurs in comparison. But what they lacked in familiarity with the weapon, they made up for in ruthlessness. They weren’t wide-eyed in wonder at their new toys like rookie cops at the academy, buzzing with excitement at the first time of getting to do something really cool. It was simply a tool for them, for a task they all had done many times before. He might only be the city’s animal control officer, but Bobby recognized veteran killers.

  Sergeant Barker answered his cell with his customary brusqueness, “Barker,” and swatted away a pesky gnat.

  “Murphy,” came his patrolman’s voice. “I’m still over here at the hospital and want to give you the highlights.”

  Barker turned his back to the dirty car that the men were cleaning off with soft brushes and took a few strides for privacy. He’d sent Johnbull off with Larry Turner several hours ago, the builder gracious enough to give the kennel master a ride back to the fixture. Now he hoped they could finish before the impending storm destroyed key evidence.

  “Okay, shoot.” Barker felt the grit of soil on his teeth as his tongue made the words.

  “Mr. Bartholomew claims to have been assaulted by a man matching the description of our John Doe patient. He was allegedly pulled from his horse, and while he tried to get his wind back was struck on each thigh in turn with a steel rod with sufficient force to break the bone.”

  “That’s not telling me anything I didn’t already infer,” complained Barker.

  “Which is why I saved the good news to cheer you up afterward. They may have taken our suspect, but they didn’t take his lab work. I was able to get a vial of his blood before the hospital tested it. Which means we have something to use for DNA evidence with a good chain of custody.

  I’ve sent it to the state lab overnight mail, and called them to expect it. They already know we want not just an identification, but a list of his known associates.”

  “Good work, Murphy. Keep your phone handy in case I have follow up.”

  “Will do, Sergeant Barker. Have a good night.”

  It was good work, thought Sergeant Barker. But it may not make a difference. Out there somewhere was their John Doe, and a gang that buried his car. They were up to something, and it wasn’t good for the citizens of Westburg.

  CHAPTER—23

  Bruno Salvitore devoured the stale saltine crackers abandoned in the deserted farmhouse.

  No fool, he realized in his current state his compadres saw him more as a liability than an asset, and had slipped out into the tall grass and darkness when everyone was engrossed with Mr. Armesto’s deep sinister voice. He’d crawled slowly, knowing he didn’t have to get too far before he could just lay on the ground and be indistinguishable from a rock or bush. There’d been no cattle grazing on the farm this year, and the weeds and brush provided plenty of places to lay low. Which was good. A short crawl was absolutely all he’d had energy for. That they’d never checked the car, or hunted about in the dark for him was a bonus.

  He’d been thirsty, but thankfully the heavy dew of the Virginia summer came to his relief. Just crawling about on the ground his hospital gown became sodden, and he squeezed the laden fabric over parched lips. It made his stomach nauseas, but with such a small amount he didn’t throw up. His head throbbed so much it masked his other injuries, but he’d managed to slither, sleep, and drink the night away in small bursts. Come morning he’d only covered a few hundred yards.

  Dawn’s light had showed him the dark old farmhouse with mildewed asbestos siding and corroded tin roof. A weathered poster sign remained from an estate sale last year, hanging on rusted nails to a piece of plywood. He’d managed to rise and stagger forward to its back porch. An occasional rock or thicket attacked his bare feet, but he’d made it without major cuts. The house had looked vacant through the door’s glass panes. The knob wouldn’t turn, so he’d broken the glass with a stone to reach inside and unlock.

  The power was turned off, and it was still and dusty inside. He could smell ash and knew the residents had burned wood for heat. Sun faded rectangles showed on the walls where pictures had been removed after decades of display. While a rickety empty bookcase and a broken end table remained, it was devoid of furniture. The inheritors had been less than diligent in cleaning away the post-sale remnants. This was fortunate.

  He’d found some worn farm clothes, and a ragged pair of boots which fit close enough. The only useful weapon was a chef’s knife with a badly chipped blade. But the real godsend was the crackers.

  They’d been in an old metal tin, reused for countless years with tiny dints and scratches in the painted label. But it had kept the prize inside away from the rodents. An odd forgotten glass in the back of a cupboard allowed him to wash it down with stale water from the toilet tank. He slept again, willing himself not to vomit.

  And he didn’t.

  The gray sky had kept him from baking while he slept the day away. This evening he felt stronger than last and pondered where to go next. Wherever it was he wouldn’t get there fast, but at least he could move in the coolness and cover of night. He needed to reprove his usefulness and his loyalty.

  Abriella drove, frequently checking the rearview to study Azrael’s eager eyes watching the oncoming road from the middle of the back seat. Her driving was less aggres
sive now, trying to be relaxed, confident and grown up. The rain was picking up, but the wipers did their job.

  “I’ve got to stop at the drugstore before going home. Do you need anything?”

  “If I can have some laundry soap and bleach when we get to your place, all I need is a little backpacking food.”

  “Not a problem,” she promised as she turned onto Main Street and then cut over south to Second Street. “Sorry the school is tightening up on visitors. We’re all going to miss your study sessions. Where will you go?”

  “Maybe west to the mountains. I bet the leaves are pretty in fall. Thanks for letting me stay in your barn tonight. It looks as if this storm is going to go on for a while.”

  They passed the Hunt Lodge Hotel on their left.

  “That hotel back there is where most visitors to town stay. My parents honeymooned there, and we’d sometimes go for Sunday morning breakfast when I was little. Every time we drove past my dad would say to me, ‘that’s where mom and I made you’. When I was eleven he did it in front of Vicky. It was really embarrassing.

  The drug store is just up here on the right.”

  She pulled in the parking lot, getting as close to the front as she could. The worn lines of parking spots were hard to see under the falling droplets. It was right next to the grocery store, and briefly she wondered if that would be a better choice for his needs. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t want to waste time with superfluous shopping. Tonight was about her needs and that meant getting home.

  Kelton asked, “Is it okay if I leave Azrael in your car? Normally I have him sit in front of the entrance, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to get wet.”

  “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

  The store’s front doors sensed their approach and slid apart, and she watched as he made his way over to the snack aisles, guided in the general direction by the racks of overpriced two-liter soda bottles and cheap wine. She scanned the little hanging signs and made her way to infants.

  In a cardboard box on a shelf, she found a tube of thick white diaper rash ointment. It was only a few ounces, and she looked at the surrounding shelves in frustration. A pimply faced sales clerk approached her, pushing up his glasses as they slid down his nose.