Spy High (27 page)

“Okay, we’ll start at Skidmark’s
garage.” I peeked at my tracking unit, eyeing the red dot. “Looks
like Orion’s still there,” I added. “Maybe you’ll get to meet all
three of my suspects at the same time.” I shot a look at
Hellhound’s backpack. “Do you want to drop that off at my tent
first?”

Hellhound shrugged, the pack rising and
falling on his powerful shoulders as if it was weightless.
“Whatever. If the garage is on the way, let’s go there first.”

When we strode into the gravelled
clearing, Skidmark was back in his chair beside the garage. As we
approached, he lovingly inhaled the last molecules of smoke from a
roach so tiny I couldn’t believe the embers weren’t burning his
skin.

Then again, between the yellowed
calluses on his fingers and the marijuana high, it was probably a
matter of ‘no sense, no feeling’.

He squinted at us for a moment before
pinching out the butt and slowly lowering the front legs of the
chair to the ground.

“Christ on a crutch, that is one ugly
dude,” he mumbled. “Girlie, don’t tell me you’re getting it on with
Frankendude here, or it’ll break my heart.”

I slid my arms around Hellhound and
scowled at Skidmark. “You better believe I am. Watch your mouth,
old man.”

“Huh.” Skidmark transferred his bleary
gaze to Hellhound. “So she likes it rough and ugly, eh? I should’ve
known. Tough bitches like her just want to be put in their
place.”

Hellhound gently disengaged himself
from my grip and stepped closer to loom over Skidmark. “How d’ya
feel about smokin’ your next joint through your asshole?” Hellhound
inquired mildly. “’Cause that’s how far down your throat I’m gonna
shove it if ya make another crack like that.”

Skidmark took in Hellhound’s
battle-scarred face and bulging arms sleeved in tattoos before
raising both hands in a placating gesture. “Be cool, man. Just
rattling your cage.”

Hellhound regarded him expressionlessly
for a few moments before replying, “If ya like livin’, ya better be
careful whose cage ya rattle.”

Skidmark blinked and mumbled, “Hey,
it’s cool. I’m picking up what you’re laying down, bro.” He tipped
his chair back again and his drowsy gaze tracked over to me. “You
gonna introduce us, girlie?”

I scowled at him before turning back to
Hellhound. “Hellhound…” I jerked my chin at the older man.
“Skidmark.” I took Hellhound’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Skidmark’s voice
stopped
us. “Hellbound?”

Hellhound’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace.
“Prob’ly.”

“
Hellhound, not
hellbound,” I corrected. I reached up to brush a kiss across
Hellhound’s long-ago-broken cheekbone and whispered, “You’ve done
your time in hell.”

Apparently
Skidmark’s hearing was better than he’d let on. His eyes sharpened
to a shrewd glint as he eyed Hellhound. “How many?” he asked
abruptly.

“
What
?” Hellhound’s brows drew
together.

“How many kills?”

Hellhound went
expressionless again, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’re ya
yappin’ about, ol’ man?”

Skidmark nodded slowly, still studying him. “You
know exactly how many, don’t you?”

Hellhound regarded
the older man with narrowed eyes and said nothing.

The silence
stretched until Skidmark nodded again and pulled out his baggie to
roll a joint with his usual reverent concentration. Giving the
paper a final twist, he offered the finished product to Hellhound,
who shook his head.

Skidmark cupped his
hand around the joint and the flare of the match illuminated his
weathered features as he lit up, dragging luxuriously.

The smoke stayed
gone a long time before trickling out in wisps as he spoke,
addressing
me with one eye on Hellhound.
“There’s three kinds of guys in the world. First kind won’t kill no
matter what. Call it principles or cowardice, it don’t matter in
the end. The second kind, he’ll kill and be proud of his body
count. Wackos, those guys. Kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.
The third kind, now…” He took another drag and shot a significant
glance at Hellhound. “He’ll kill in the line of duty, but he knows
he’s going to hell for it. And he does it anyway ‘cause it’s gotta
be done. That’s a brave man.”

H
e leaned back, sucking in another lungful of smoke. “You
know exactly how many, don’t you?” he repeated.

Hellhound held
Skidmark’s gaze, poker-faced.

Skidmark nodded. “Can always tell; it’s in the eyes.
Sniper, right?”

For a
barely-noticeable
instant Hellhound stood
as though carved from stone. Then he chuckled and shook his head.
“Ya got a hell of an imagination, ol’ man.”

“
Yeah.” Skidmark
gave him a crooked grin. “You wanna know how I know? Snipers’re the
only guys that know for sure. Us infantry grunts, we never really
know how many.” Skidmark toasted Hellhound with his half-smoked
reefer. “See you in hell, son. Gonna be a good time; all my
buddies’ll be there.”

I slid my hand into Hellhound’s, lacing my fingers
through his rigid ones. “I don’t believe in hell. And even if there
is such a place, he’s not going there.”

Skidmark wheezed out a laugh. “There sure as hell is
a hell.”

I squeezed
Hellhound’s hand tighter. “Hell is created by people, for people.
And you don’t have to die to go there.”

Skidmark eyed me
thoughtfully, his joint momentarily forgotten. “Girlie, you just
said a mouthful,” he said at last. “How many for you?”

I drew a breath to
hide my surge of adrenaline. “You’re nuts. And we have to go. I’ll
be back later to help you with the truck.”

He waved the joint vaguely. “Tomorrow.”

I led Hellhound down
the path to
ward the bench. Just before we
rounded the corner I glanced back to see Skidmark still propped
against the garage, staring into eternity with heavy-lidded eyes
while the smoke curled around his shaggy head.

“What the hell?” Hellhound muttered as
we strode down the path. “How did he know?”

“He didn’t. He’s always throwing shit
against the wall to see if any of it sticks. So far he’s called me
a male transvestite and a lesbian. Like he said, he was just trying
to rattle your cage.”

“Well, it worked,” Hellhound said
grimly. “If he’s a vet he mighta noticed my PPCLI tattoo so he’d
peg me for infantry, but nobody oughta be able to guess that close
on the snipin’. He knows somethin’.”

I hid my clutch of fear in a level
tone. “I don’t know how he could. He’s never met you before and
I’ve never mentioned you to him. And he wouldn’t have any way to
access your service records even if he did know your name in
advance. I’m pretty sure he was just flapping his gums.”

“Maybe,” Hellhound growled. “But I
still don’t like it. An’ what about Orion? I thought the tracker
showed him around here, so where the hell is he?”

We emerged from the trail and I made a
show of settling onto the bench, peeking at my tracker in the
process. “Back at the garage. Looks like he’s still avoiding
us.”

Hellhound sank onto the bench beside me
and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close and pressing his
lips against my hair.

“Are ya sure the tracker’s workin’?” he
muttered. “Maybe he found it an’ ditched it.”

“Maybe, but it was working fine
yesterday.” I sighed. “I guess we’ll find out. If it doesn’t move
for the rest of the day, we’ll know what happened.” I stood and
spoke at normal volume. “Come on, there’s a really nice view over
the river from around the corner here.”

I ushered him to the point that
overlooked the renters’ land and we stood with our arms around each
other, ostensibly admiring the view.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched
his gaze flick over the landscape, and I knew he’d be storing the
layout of the commune and surrounding areas in his phenomenal
memory. After a few minutes he turned to me with a smile.

“Pretty nice, darlin’. Let’s walk down
an’ ya can show me the rest.”

Hand in hand, we strolled back via the
garage, but Skidmark had vacated his chair and there was still no
sign of Orion. When we arrived at my tent I led Hellhound inside
and checked the tracker again.

The red dot still glowed in the
vicinity of the garage and my heart sank.

I flopped down on the mattress. “Shit,
maybe it fell out of his boot. It’s been in the same place all
day.”

Hellhound swung the pack down from his
shoulders and joined me for a look at the tracker. “Well, like ya
say, we might as well wait an’ see.” He eyed my wooden-crate
shelves with a frown. “I got some gear in my pack that I don’t
wanna leave where somebody could find it. Ya got a cache around
here anywhere?”

“Yeah, in the little pond I showed you
from the viewpoint. I’ve got a waterproof box stowed under a log,
but I don’t know if it’ll be big enough. What have you got?”

Hellhound glanced around the windowless
tent and dodged the question. “Fuck, I hate bein’ where I can’t see
outside. Let’s go have a look at it.” He rose and slung his pack
over his shoulders again.

I was just getting up when my tent flap
rustled. Our heads snapped around to face the incoming threat and
Hellhound dropped into a combat-ready crouch.

The air whooshed out of both of us in
laughter when Peaches entered, tail crooked in a question-mark as
she made straight for Hellhound and wound around his ankles. She
sang a little melody of purrs and trilling meows, and his laughter
changed from surprise to delight. He leaned down, stroking her with
a gentle hand, and she pushed her face into his palm and purred
extravagantly.

“Who’s this?” Hellhound inquired, his
expert fingers rubbing a spot on her jaw that made her eyes slit in
bliss. “Looks like somebody needs to go on a diet.”

“This is Peaches.” I smiled. “Careful,
Hooker’s going to be jealous when he smells her on you. And she
doesn’t need a diet, she only needs another week or two and she’ll
be skinny as a rail.”

“She’s gonna have kittens?” Hellhound
knelt, cupping her bulging sides with the lightest of touches.
“Hey, little lady.” His rasp softened to a tender sing-song.
“You’re gonna be a momma-cat soon. Hey, little momma-cat.”

She bunted his knee with her face
before making her way determinedly up his thigh to press against
his chest in the universal feline body language for “Pick me up and
carry me, human.”

Hellhound shot me a worried look, his
hands hovering protectively near her. “What should I do? Will it
hurt her if I pick her up?”

“No, just keep her supported, the same
way you pick Hooker up.”

He placed careful hands under her chest
and hindquarters and tucked her close to his body, his brow
furrowed in concentration. When he rose, cradling his purring
passenger against his massive chest as though she was made of spun
glass, I had to swallow a lump in my throat.

“Where can I take her where she’ll be
safe?” he asked.

I cleared my throat and stepped over to
give Peaches a chin-scratch. “Just bring her along. We can have a
look at the pond and then drop her off at the main building.
There’s a nice warm cat-house there for her and the other commune
cats.”

“Okay, good. Lead the way, darlin’.”
His gaze didn’t leave the furry bundle in his arms, and as I went
out the tent flap, his rough-edged croon followed me. “Hey, little
momma-cat…”

He managed to tear his attention away
from Peaches long enough to evaluate my cache at the pond and nod
approval. “Okay, that’ll work. I ain’t gonna get at it in daylight,
though. Let’s go drop off my little lady, an’ then I wanna go for a
walk an’ scout the renters.”

“Oh…” I frowned. “I don’t think we’re
supposed to go over there. When I got here Moonbeam and Karma were
pretty clear about the extent of the commune’s land.”

Hellhound grinned. “Lucky I’m just a
dumbfuck an’ don’t know any better.”

I grinned back. “Damn tourists.”

“Fuckin’ right.”

With Peaches safely delivered to the
main building, we set off toward the river, hand in hand once more.
On the bridge, Hellhound drew me to a halt about a third of the way
across and pulled me into his arms to kiss me unhurriedly.

I sighed contentment and leaned into
him. “I wish I didn’t know you were just using this as an excuse to
scope out the bridge,” I mumbled against his lips.

He chuckled and guided me to the
railing, where we leaned overlooking the river with his arm around
my shoulders while he surreptitiously studied the structure below
us. “Fringe benefit, darlin’,” he murmured, and leaned closer to
hide his lips in my hair. “This bridge could hold a fuckin’
tank.”

“Yeah.” I dipped my head to let my hair
swing down like a curtain between us and the renters’ side. “They’d
need to bring in supplies and stuff, so it’d have to hold a
vehicle’s weight. That’s probably why Ratboy has been so cranky.
They’re probably waiting on the truck so they can make a supply
run.”

“Why wouldn’t they just use the station
wagon?”

“No idea.” I hesitated. “Unless they
need to bring in something that wouldn’t fit in the station
wagon.”

Hellhound grunted agreement, then
added, “How many guys d’ya figure are over there?”

“I don’t know for sure.” I leaned over
for another kiss. “I saw between thirty and thirty-five in their
assembly, but there might have been more in some other part of the
encampment. And I don’t know if they’re all guys. I’m just
assuming.”

“Hm. Well, let’s go see.” Hellhound
straightened and together we ambled across the bridge.