Never Cry Mercy (4 page)

I threw my hands up and apologized.

"If it makes you feel any better," she said, turning away from me and extending her arm straight out, "look in that direction and wait for a light to blink on three times in about five minutes. That'll be my sign for you to know I'm home safe."

So I stood on the worn stoop, watching Reese fade into the darkness. A few minutes later a light switched on, then off, and repeated twice more.

"Goodnight, McSweeney."

Chapter 7

The next day started two hours earlier than I had expected. A tinge of orange coated the lower horizon. I made my way downstairs, found Ingrid at work in the kitchen with her back to me. She'd started a pot of coffee moments earlier. The first few drips splashed on the bottom of the pot as I entered. Soon after the brew's aroma saturated the room. The old fluorescent tube light cast a yellowish gloom over the room. There were at least two dozen dead cockroaches littering the fixture.

I travelled across the kitchen silently, intent on getting through the door before Ingrid noticed me. But as my hand hit the knob, she told me there was no way she was letting me out of the house without a cup of coffee and a decent breakfast.

I didn't have to stop, but hell, the woman had offered to put me up for a few days. Least I could do was let her offer me some of her home cooking. So I took a seat at the table and waited while she fixed me a plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns. I broke the yokes first, then soaked everything in it. Of all the breakfasts I'd had, this one ranked top ten, easily.

The meal turned out to be a quiet affair. We didn't speak until I put my fork down. Ingrid sat across from me, sipping her coffee and nibbling on a slice of bacon. She smiled every so often, and grabbed my mug when it closed in on empty.

I rinsed my plate and mug, and left them in the sink where a couple other dishes were piled.

"Will you be back for dinner?" she asked.

"Don't worry about me, ma'am," I said, exiting the house.

The air outside smelled sweet. Honeysuckle, maybe. The sky was a few shades lighter now. Seconds after shutting the door, a choir of birds broke the silence. I explored streets and alleys for the next ninety minutes until I'd gone almost full circle and found myself approaching the window I'd seen light up three times last night. It was on the upper level of a two story garage. One of the doors was raised, revealing a restored, black, early '70s Dodge Challenger.

I spotted Reese off to the side with a pair of shears in one hand, a hose in the other. She had on a blue checkered shirt and a pair of cut-off jean shorts that covered very little beyond her ass. She dropped the hose and started attacking a wily bush.

"Nice car," I said.

She spun, shears extended, ready to lunge. The first four buttons of her shirt were undone. She slid her hand under it, covered her heart, patted it, then wiped her brow.

"Jesus, Jack. I could've killed you."

"Too much distance. There's ten feet between us. You'd never reach me."

"Willing to place money on that statement? Hundred bucks says I wipe that smug grin off your face."

I sized her up. Her arms and legs were lean with muscle. Built for endurance, but displaying a hint of power. It was deceptive, that's for sure. She'd stayed in great shape. Hell, might've been in better shape than when I knew her. A detective's life wasn't always easy on the waistline.

"I think I'll pass. This time, at least."

She smiled, dropped the shears and walked up to me, stopping close enough that I could smell her body lotion. "What brings you all the way out here?"

I jutted my chin toward the garage. "The car, obviously. Care to take me for a ride?"

She glanced over her shoulder as she wiped her hands on a red handkerchief. "It might be a bit much for you."

"You're probably right. Where'd you find it?"

"I rescued it from a barn that was one heavy gust of wind away from falling over. A little old lady sold it to me for $500."

"Sounds like you took advantage of her."

Reese shook her head. Her gaze lifted and drifted past me. "It was her son's pride and joy. He'd saved all through high school to get that car. He planned on restoring it. Showing it, maybe. A month after he bought it, he joined the Army. Planned on sending money home to help his momma. He was Special Forces. Went off for a mission one day. Didn't make it back. She'd held onto it all those years, but with her life winding down, she decided to part ways. Said it wasn't about the money, she just wanted someone who'd finish what her son couldn't."

I said nothing while Reese paused and took a deep breath. The woman's story had made an impression on her.

On me, too.

"Anyway, I've spent the past four years restoring it. Still a bit left to do." She backhanded my stomach, caught me off guard. "I'm gonna change, and then we'll take that ride."

I found a weathered rocking chair off to the side of the garage. It was ugly, but sturdy. I ran my hand along the seat and back, making sure there wouldn't be any surprise slivers of wood. I carried the chair to the driveway, sat facing the sun. The morning heat cut through the gentle breeze, hinting at what was to come later in the day after the humidity set in.

"If you knew the critters that lived on that thing, you wouldn't be sitting in it."

Reese descended the staircase with a smile.

"I've sat in worse," I said. "Hell, think about some of the folks that have sat on that barstool I used last night."

She snorted, covered her face for a moment. Her smile held for a few seconds longer, then faded as she gazed down the street. I turned to take in the view and saw a familiar sight. The sun's reflection off the cruiser windshield made it difficult to tell if there were one or two officers seated inside. I doubted the father-son duo from the previous night shift were up and at 'em on the street before seven in the morning.

Seemed I was about to make a new friend.

"This something to be worried about?" I asked.

"Probably not," Reese said. "But you never know with these small-town cops."

The cruiser passed through the shade of a large oak tree. The glare dissipated, and through the windshield I spotted an older gentleman. Looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He pulled the vehicle to a stop twenty feet away. The engine whirred a notch or two higher as it idled. The man slid his sunglasses up on top of his silver hair as he stepped out of the car. He stood as tall as me. Similar build, but worn down by age. His face was lean, angled and cut, with a slight sagging under his chin.

"Mornin', Billie," he said with his gaze trained on me.

"Vernon," she said. "How's things?"

The man walked with a noticeable limp on his right side, though it didn't slow him down. He strolled past me, looking me up and down. Even when we were shoulder to shoulder, he kept me in his sights. I turned as he passed, saw his hand go to his pistol. His palm rested there, fingers relaxed. He was ready to draw.

"Heard you had a bit of trouble up at the bar last night," Vernon said, turning his head enough to the side to catch a glimpse of me in his peripheral.

Reese shrugged off his suggestion.

"No different than any other night. You know how those morons get sometimes. Have to show the world they're the badasses of the town."

"I'm aware of that, indeed. But what I was told had more to do with a stranger. In fact, a couple of my guys ran into a stranger late yesterday afternoon, and turns out he fit the description of the guy at the bar."

Reese squared up to the man, straightening, and pulling her shoulders back.

"I had no problems with a stranger last night."

"Well, that's what I'm curious about. See, the account I got from the bar was that you knew this guy pretty well. So, yeah, the description of a stranger might not do much for you. And so I got to thinking, and I said to myself, there's no way Billie would bring some hothead into my town. She wouldn't dare invite someone who would be starting trouble in my town."

"I'm not here to cause trouble," I said. "I'm Billie's cousin. Name's Jack Smith. Your guys shoulda been able to tell you that. They checked my ID."

He took a deep breath, absorbing what I'd said, then ignored me. "Billie, didn't you say you didn't have no family?"

"No immediate family," she said. "I haven't talked to my aunt in over twenty years. It was only through persistence that Jack managed to find me."

Vernon stood quiet and motionless for several seconds. Was he thinking of his next move? Another line of questioning? Playing a game to see if one of us would blink first?

Reese's gaze remained fixed on the man. She hardly blinked. Finally, he swung his hand around the back of his neck and scratched at the small tufts of grey hair that trailed down beneath his shirt. He turned, glaring at me as he walked past.

"Just keep your head down, Mr. Smith. This may seem like a quaint little town, but there are a lot of places around here where a city guy like you could get into big trouble."

Chapter 8

After Vernon left, Reese figured it was best that we hold off on taking a ride. His unannounced visit had left her a little uneasy. She wasn't visibly shaken, and didn't delve too deeply into what bothered her. I imagined the last thing she wanted was for anyone to start digging for information on her. She told me they'd done it when she'd arrived in town, and they'd come close enough to uncovering her identity that she had considered running, outright leaving the witness protection program.

Over the years they'd continued to treat her like an outsider, but with an interesting twist. Vernon had picked up on Reese's detective skills. She wove a story and attributed it to spending time as an MP in the Army. A lie, but one constructed as part of her background by the FBI. There were even files stating that Roberta "Billie" Weddle had served for eight years following high school.

That was about all the Feds got right. Sticking her in a little town where she stood out was about as dumb a mistake as they could make. Naturally I assumed they'd done almost everything else wrong, too.

Reese gave me directions to a drugstore where I could pick up a burner phone to use while in town. I reluctantly purchased the dumbest device they had after going several weeks without a cell. The break had been nice, but I knew it wouldn't last forever. And at some point I'd have to think about finding Sean. I couldn't leave Mia with him forever.

From the drugstore I headed to Herbie's cousin's garage to check on the Jeep. Turned out to be a waste of a visit. The place was closed, not a soul in sight. I wiped some dirt off a window and peered inside. The floor was stained black with oil and grime. Tools were spread out everywhere. There were a couple of uneven stacks of tires in one corner. Looked like they would topple over if one of the doors slammed too hard. The place had four lifts, all in use. The Jeep was hoisted up on one of them. At least the job was in progress.

"What the hell are you doing here, man?"

I pulled my face back from the window and saw the reflection of two tall men. They appeared to be at least ten feet back, so I took a few seconds before turning. Once facing them, I realized they were the guys Reese had put in their place at the bar.

"Apparently I'm asshole shopping," I said. "And it's my lucky day since you two are the biggest I've seen in a while."

They stood staring at each other for a few seconds, presumably unsure whether they'd been insulted or complimented. Then the heavy guy charged at me. If he were a few feet away, he might've had a chance. But at ten feet, and at his reduced rate of speed, I had plenty of time to react and redirect his energy. And he'd built up a lot of it.

The guy grunted and leaned forward, head down, arms back, ready to pile drive me.

I stepped to the side, deflecting his upper arm with one hand while using the other against the back of his head to keep him moving forward. I thought he would slam into the bay door like a torpedo, maybe punch out a section of it. Instead, he tripped over his own feet and went down forehead-first into the asphalt. He yelled out as his skin grated against the rough surface.

I didn't stand around and watch him wallow on the ground.

The skinny guy made his approach. He looked even taller out in the open. He remained calm and cautious, coming at me from the side with his hands raised defensively.

I positioned myself so both men remained visible. The big guy hadn't managed to get to his knees yet. He pushed himself up, but his wobbly arms collapsed under his weight, sending him down and smacking his cheek against the ground.

"You're in for a world of hate, my man," the skinny guy said.

"Linus, right?" I asked, recalling his name.

He said nothing, tucking his arm behind his back.

"I told you both I didn't want any trouble. Yet here you are." I countered his steps, working myself into the open. "Are you both that stupid, or did someone send you out to follow me?"

Linus flung his arm around. A bowie knife glinted in the sunlight. His calm demeanor dissipated, and he charged me the way his heavy friend had.

Was it something I'd said?

He'd seen how I reacted to his friend. If he'd had any training, Linus would anticipate I'd react the same to his advance. So I changed things up, faked a move to the right, re-centered, and took him head on. He bit on the fake. I had set him up like a flat-footed linebacker. By the time Linus reached me, he was twisted at the waist in a way that prevented his long arm from reaching me. His weak attempt at slashing me with the knife was met with a boot to his solar plexus.

Linus went down hard on his hands and knees. The dislodged knife clanked against the asphalt and slid toward me. I kicked it, sending it tumbling through the lot and coming to rest in a patch of grass about thirty feet away. He scrambled to get to his feet. I drove my boot into the man's side, sending him sprawling.

The two guys lay a few feet from each other, Linus on his side, and his heavy friend on his back now. The heavy guy used his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Streams of blood traveled down his face, falling to the side.