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

gun out and down along his leg. Scattered rays of hazy sunlight splashed the long hall from the far window, stretching its distorted illumination toward him. He made out two silhouettes at the end of the hall standing at an open door. They were Clyde’s men. They stood back as a young woman wearing a short dress was thrown from the room, hitting the wall, and falling to her knees. She held her face with one hand and was dragged to her feet by one of the Blood gang members he had seen outside with Clyde. The girl screamed and the banger slapped her again. A man yelled from the room and came into the hallway.

“Leave her be, man, we done called you. No need for the rough stuff, Blood.”

The Blood faced him as three more gangers piled into the hallway, obscuring Jerome’s sight of the woman.

“You wanted to negotiate price, this is how I do it,” said the Blood. “Now if you don’t want me to start slapping you too, then you best tell me everything. Then we’ll decide what you get.”

One of the suits spotted Jerome and started to walk toward him.

“Beat feet, boy. Nothing here for you to…” he broke off, recognizing the face and frame and reached for his gun.

“It’s the…” he started to shout.

Jerome shot him three times, stopping his voice forever.

Bullets peppered the walls next to Jerome and something tugged at his side. He ran for the stairs, making it just as several holes appeared in the drywall behind where he’d made the corner. He ran full tilt down the stairs, voices screaming behind the massive booms of gunfire and the wild whipping sound of ricochets as lead chipped and skittered across concrete and metal. The car was still sitting outside and miraculously hadn’t been stripped in the short time he was inside. He got in and drove away, tires screeching, as Bloods and Secret Service Agents flooded the street, blasting away at him. He heard one thunk near the roof on the passenger side and then he was around a corner and out of danger. He drove to an abandoned rail-yard several miles away and opened the back door. He smacked the unconscious man, trying to wake him so he could get information out of him, but the man just snored loudly with a terrible rattling, choking sound and refused to awaken, no matter how hard Jerome hit him. Jerome debated whether he should try and get him back to the motel for further interrogation, but he just didn’t have a mind for that kind of figuring. He finally decided it was too dangerous since they would probably be looking for the car. So he left him inside and wound his way on foot into a neighborhood where he hot-wired another junker and made his way back to the motel.

35

Max waited patiently in the motel room. A strange urge had been building inside him since the Alpha had allowed the giant man to live. It was the drive that K9 trainers the world over identified by the term Rank, and was exactly what it sounded like. The genetic urge to rise in order within the pack and eventually to become the pack leader… The Alpha. The survival of the pack was all that mattered and that required a strong leader. Anything less than the best could lead to starvation or worse…decimation, as had happened to Max’s first pack when he was just a pup and the Great Gray Wolf had slaughtered them. The fact that the pack was comprised of only Max, Gil and Pilgrim was inconsequential. If the current Alpha was insufficient to the task, and putting the pack at risk, then he must be removed and replaced. In the world of canines, this didn’t mean Gil would have to be killed, but he would be required, once bested, to take up a lesser place in the pack.

The feeling had started after Max made a gift of the giant human by crippling him, only to have Gil let him live, even allowing him to accompany them. It grew when he let the other human, the one that smelled like rotting flesh and chemicals, come along as well. The urge had grown stronger as they drove hundreds of miles in close quarters to this strange smelling place with the near constant clamor of far off gunshots and screams and cars and noise. Noise, noise…always so much noise.

Max missed the hills of Colorado. The climate was nothing like his native Germany, but the altitude and grandeur of the mountains did compare. He missed the freedom to roam and hunt and kill…always looking for the Gray Wolf, even though he had caught not the slightest hint of his spore. Still, there were others. There were the coyotes and the foxes. He’d even caught the scent of bear and cougar. There, at least, the hunt was always possible. There, he could continue to hone his skills until the day he finally met the Gray Wolf and destroyed him. But here…here there was nothing. He was trapped in this small room and was only allowed out to empty himself and sniff around for a bit. Here, there was only wasted time.

And so he lay here, outwardly resting, but inwardly burning and burning. Because The Alpha was The Alpha only so long as he remained The Alpha. And after that, Max would be The Alpha.

Ziggy made it back to the motel before Gil. He walked over to tell Jerome all he had learned, but Jerome wasn’t in his room. Gil had told him to keep put, that he surely had, Ziggy heard him say it himself, but that Jerome was a wild card for sure and Ziggy had his doubts about bringing him along.

Ziggy had a key card for Gil’s room too. They all had each other’s cards, but Ziggy decided not to go in there alone. That dog scared him something fierce. The way