Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay by Gordon Carroll (tools of titans ebook .TXT) 📗

“Computer programming, networking, stuff like that. I get high school and college credit at the same time.”

“Who does he hang around with at school?”

“Nobody. Just me.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Have you seen anyone strange hanging around him? Teachers or janitors or older students showing an unusual interest?”

“I don’t think so. We just go to school and come home. I still do the rest of my classes at the high school.”

“Do Shane or you ever look at anything… bad, on the Internet?”

“Bad? You mean porn?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s what I mean.”

“In our house?” he laughed. “Are you kidding? My dad’s got filters on the filters. You couldn’t get a Sport’s Illustrated Swimsuit edition into our house.”

“What about at school or the library?” Public libraries have loads of computers with Internet access and the facilitators routinely refuse to add blocking filters or restrict usage to anyone at any age.

“We’re not into that. In case you haven’t noticed, my family’s pretty religious.”

“Yes, I noticed, but temptation… temptation is everywhere these days, especially for young men. If there is anything, I have to know. I won’t tell your parents.”

“Nah, there’s nothing like that, man.”

“Drugs?”

“Nothing.”

“Then where is your brother?”

He brushed a hand through his hair. “He was under a lot of pressure. School, grades, what he was going to do for a career after school. Living with Mom and Dad and four brothers and sisters. Maybe he just split for awhile to chill out.”

I reached across, put a hand on his shoulder, let what I felt bleed through to my eyes. “That’s not it, Joseph. He didn’t run away.”

“He didn’t?”

“No. This is a bad situation. Very bad.” I was hair’s breadth from telling him. But that was up to his mother to do when she was ready. “It’s dangerous… for all of you. So if you know something, please, tell me.”

He looked at me, squinted as if taking my measure. His eyebrows drew down and again I was struck by his resemblance to John Krasinski. He took in a breath as if he were going to tell me something, but a splash of light, followed instantly by a massive crack of thunder, blasted directly overhead. He jumped, his eyes squeezing shut and then open, fast and afraid. His head jerked to the side, his heart beating so hard I could see it pumping through the veins of his neck. The moment was lost.

“I don’t know anything.”

I nodded. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I handed him one of my coins. “If you think of anything — anything — give me a call.”

He took the coin, hefted it in his hand. “Yeah, okay.”

I took my hand away. “You better get back inside, your Mom’s going to need you.” As he opened the door, another flash of lightning reflected off the clouds, accompanied by an ear splitting crash of thunder. Joseph turned back to me, hunching his shoulders and ducking as though he thought God was throwing bolts of lightning at him. He closed the door and ran for his aunt’s house as another torrent of rain began to fall.

19

I drove back to my office and picked up Max. By the time I got home it was full dark. The rain had passed and I could see a few stars poking through the clouds.

The house was dark and uninviting. I put on some lights, played with Pilgrim for a few minutes and started up the computer. I was beat and needed some rest, but there was no time for that now. I had five days.

Opening my e-mail I saw there were seventeen spams that slipped past my junk dumper and twelve messages from friends.

I clicked off my e-mail and googled flash drives. I read through several useless blurbs. No joy there. I tried thumb dot drives, coming up empty. Next I typed in limousine companies, Colorado, and was rewarded with over fifty pages of listings. Hmm, Maybe Colorado is the new Hollywood. I entered the name my buddy Andy, from Denver, had given me, Ballard’s Rentals, and found their webpage, complete with a one-eight-hundred number.

I gave them a call.

“Ballard’s Rentals, I’m Kendra, may I help you?” Her voice reminded me of Sally Field’s when she played Sister Bertrille on The Flying Nun. The sixties TV show was based on the book The Fifteenth Pelican, by Tere Rios, but I think Sally did it one better.

“Well, Kendra, I hope so. I was driving some stuff to the dump and I forgot to cover the truck bed with a tarp. Long story short, some things fell off and I think they might have damaged the limousine’s windshield that was behind me. I would have stopped but the limo pulled off on an exit and by the time I got around it was gone. I was able to get the car’s plate though and it turns out to be one of yours. I’d like to make restitution if that’s possible.”

“Oh, that’s really kewl of you. When did this happen?”

“Earlier today. The plate was NNL-7421.”

“Let me check the maintenance logs real quick, can you hold?”

“Sure.”

Canned music played over the line. I took the opportunity to punch in a website that specializes in soldiers for hire. Under requested requirements I keyed in, military and governmental experience. A list of two hundred and thirty names flashed onto the screen. Hmmm. I added, thirty to forty-five years old. That took it down to a hundred and ten. Progress. I clicked on profiles and started reading. Several of the potential clients had pictures, some did not. I zipped through the ones with photos but didn’t find Mr. Spock. I resumed reading.

“Sir?” Sister Bertrille was back on the line.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“We do show one of our vehicles with that plate as having a cracked windshield. It’s a regular size, not a stretch. But the log says it happened last month.”

“Really? I’m sure the stuff that fell out of my truck hit it,” I said. “Who do you have it rented to?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I