Hair of the Dog by Gordon Carroll (reading strategies book TXT) 📗

ball, just like in the movies, a rarity in my experience, but most of the flames had died out. I counted five dead men inside, all toasted. Pretty horrible, but there was plenty of fire power in there too. So, bad as it was, it probably saved our lives.

I was sweating and tired when I made it back to Max and Jerome. I sat down opposite him with about twenty-five feet between us.

“You explain this to me,” I said.

“Told you before,” said Jerome. “They gonna kill Clair.”

“These aren’t Bloods.”

“Don’t matter. They workin’ for the Bloods.”

“Working for the Bloods?” I gave that some thought. Had gangs started bidding work to mercenaries? No way. But…

“Who in the Bloods wants her dead?” I asked. “I mean who put out the contract on her?”

“Don’t work like that,” said Jerome. “Not like in the movies. Not like those Italian gangster shows. Ain’t no contracts, no kisses of death, no formal stuff like that. Usually it’s a personal thing. Tre shoots Bone Bag, so his bro Smoker comes at Tre’s boys with some help… that sort of thing. Or, one of the OGs says there’s gotta be some blood on the street for something or other, either to establish turf or for a formal lesson or retaliation. That sort of thing.”

“Okay,” I said, “then which Original Gangster ordered the hit on Keisha and her mom?”

Jerome thought for a bit, then looked back at me through the dark. “Don’t know. But I could find out.”

“How?”

“I still got boys back in the hood.”

I pulled out my cell phone.

Jerome shook his head. “I’d have to go there.”

“Go where?”

“The hood. Chicago.”

“You are a wanted man,” I said. “How am I supposed to get you to Chicago?”

“You got a car,” he said.

Hmm. He had me there.

30

Sarah Gallagher stepped out of her front door, looking like Venus. She wore a simple blue dress that stopped short of her knees, so tight fitting it looked like it had been applied with a spray can. Her hair was perfect, her makeup flawless, and her high heels made her sleek calves look like a work of art. You’d think she’d been sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

I wondered if she woke up looking like that.

I said my goodbyes to Pilgrim. I didn’t plan on being gone long, but in my line of work, you never know.

Sarah hunched down and gave Pilgrim’s head a rub. He looked up at her with love and licked her fingers. They were old friends.

“How you doing, boy? How’s my big hero?” she asked, smiling into his furry face.

Pilgrim once helped save Sarah from a very bad man.

For an answer he rolled over and showed her his belly.

Sarah gave him a good scratch and looked up at me. “He’s still hurting isn’t he?”

I saw the tears start in her eyes.

“He’s lucky to be alive. Getting shot like that at his age is no small thing.” I hunkered down next to her and gave him a rub myself. “But he’s a tough old boy; aren’t you, Pilgrim?”

He growled, playful-like, and chewed on my wrist.

“Thanks, Sarah,” I said. “I know this is short notice.”

We both stood up.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “it will give me a chance to go through your things.”

“My things? What things?”

She grinned mischievously and held up the keys I had given her to my place. “How is it you like to say… things you wouldn’t know about… things you couldn’t know about…” her eyebrows drew down and her voice lowered, “…things you shouldn’t know about.”

I nodded. “Seriously, that was the worst Pee-Wee Herman impersonation I have ever heard.”

“That’s because I wasn’t impersonating Pee-Wee, I was impersonating Gil Mason impersonating Pee-Wee. A tiny taste of your own medicine.”

“Everybody’s a critic,” I said.

Sarah leaned in and gave me a little peck on the cheek. She smelled like sunshine. “You just take care of that little girl and get back here safe.”

“I will,” I said, “but all joking aside, don’t go to my place. Some very bad men might be staking it out. That’s why I brought Pilgrim here. Okay?”

Sarah knew when I was being serious. “Okay, Gil.”

We both stood up, and she took the leash and walked Pilgrim inside as I got back in the car with Ziggy, and Jerome, and Max. Ziggy sat in the back, Jerome in the front passenger side and Max in the far back cargo area. I’d removed the rubber platform, put the rear seats back in and replaced the fence between Max and them. Max tolerated Ziggy, but I wasn’t so sure he’d afford Jerome the same latitude.

“How long you two been together?” asked Jerome.

“She’s just a friend,” I said.

“Somebody better tell her that,” he said.

“Ziggy say you got that right,” said Ziggy from the back.

“You two are nutty,” I said.

“And you be blind,” said Jerome.

“Stupid too,” said Ziggy.

I backed into the street and we began the long road trip to Chicago.

Max lay in the back of the SUV, his eyes mere slits. He took in everything. Jerome sat in the front where Gil could watch him, but Max smelled the fresh blood seeping from the wounds he’d given him. The Alpha had stopped Max from killing the prey, which was his right, but Max didn’t understand it. Jerome was their enemy and Max had felt the man’s power. He was dangerous and should not be taken lightly.

The other human smelled of rot, his veins running with drugs that kept him functioning even as they killed him slowly.

Ziggy had shot up just before Gil stopped outside the rundown apartment where he was staying for the time being. The heroin mellowed him, allowing him to float along gently.

Max had no concept of heroin or why a human would take such a substance, but in the way animals think, he understood, through the incredible power of his senses, that the narcotics were eating the man alive. Everything about the man rankled him. The smell, the weakness, the strange sounds he made; grunting under his breath, soft