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

didn’t want. You never know what someone else will think is irrelevant in a case. I would do the eliminating myself. “No, that’s okay. Just the raw info.” I gave him the dates. We talked for a few more minutes and then we hung up.

I looked at the computer screen where I had paused the surveillance video with Jerome and Keisha on the automotive aisle.

He needed the Fix-A-Flat for a reason.

7

The three of them sat in the stolen car up the road from the private driveway that led up the hogback. The air conditioner ran full on and they had the windows open while they smoked marijuana blunts. The temp butted ninety today, but it really was a dry heat that was nothing compared to the muggy Chicago summer they had just escaped. The Green Monster led the group. His real name was Drake Jefferson, but since getting jumped into the Bloods at ten he’d been known as The Green Monster or Monster for short. Not because of his stature, he was skinny and normal height, but because he loved money more than just about anything or anyone. At twenty-one he was the oldest of the trio, the other two, Mad-Cat and Shine were both nineteen.

“You sure he comin’?” asked Shine from the back seat.

“The man says he’ll come… he’ll come. Man ain’t never wrong, Shine. Never.”

“How long?”

Monster took another hit of the thin pot filled cigar, the heavy smoke drifting into and past his eyes, making him squint like a young Clint Eastwood ready for a gunfight.

“Don’t know that,” said Monster. “Maybe an hour, maybe longer. Maybe not till tomorrow. Don’t matter. He’ll come when he comes.” He took another drag, let the smoke dribble past his lips and up his nostrils where he sucked it in again and held it for nearly a minute before blowing out an almost invisible stream. A little smile twitched his lips. “And when he do, we will follow.”

Shine and Mad-Cat looked at each other and laughed.

“Man,” said Shine, “you sure do got it out for this Jerome dude.”

Monster looked at both of them, sucked in some smoke, held it, let it out. “You boys never knew Lil’ Grill. He before your time. He was a brother to me. Saved my butt more than once. Even took a bullet for me. Jerome done betrayed the Bloods when he killed Lil’ Grill. Worse, he betrayed me. He gonna pay for Grill.” He took another long drag then flicked the ash out the window. “And he gonna pay for what he done to me.”

8

Jared is good. He had the list to me in less than an hour. He even threw in the Cherokee County patrol stops in the general area as well as CSPs (Colorado State Patrol). I sifted through the material as fast as I could, but even so, it took me about three hours, by which time I thought my eyes were going to start pouring blood.

I made sure Pilgrim was comfortable and tossed Max in the back of my own black Escalade before hopping on highway 285 toward Aurora. I figured if they shopped there, they probably lived there, although that theory certainly wasn’t a sure bet. They could have just been in town when their tire went out. I had addresses to check from Evergreen to Pueblo; eleven in all, not as bad as I thought for a three day period. The first place was an apartment off Parker Road. The car listed to a twenty year old Hispanic woman named Maria Lopez. I found the car a few spots down from her building and sat on it for about fifteen minutes before she and a white guy strolled out of their building, got into it and drove away.

Today wasn’t about tailing. I just wanted a quick check to see how many I could rule out. I wasn’t going to check them off my list yet, but on first glance they didn’t look likely.

The second plate listed to an address just off of Colfax and Potomac. The house looked empty and there were no cars in the driveway or out front. I’m not above a little B&E if the situation warrants it, but like I said, today wasn’t about the deep stuff.

The next two were more of the same. One probable elimination, one no show. But the fifth looked at least marginally promising. Its location placed it about a mile from the store. The car, a brown, late-model four-door Chevy, with a little rust and in need of a paint job, sat in the street in front of a modest tract-house built in the sixties. It was small, with no garage or driveway, but it had a battered, six-foot wood-slat privacy fence that blocked out what looked to be a sizable back yard. I sauntered up to the car and saw a little of the dried white gunk around the air nozzle on the passenger side front tire, no cap on the stem. Hmm. Even more promising. And better yet, a child’s car seat was strapped in the back seat. I considered giving Jared a call to have a car back me up, but figured I would be jumping the gun. Besides, I was just going to have a look around.

The front windows were draped shut and the door had a locked screen door. I didn’t see any security cameras and nothing at all to suggest a kidnapping, gang-banger killer was holding up here. No toys lying around the front yard.

A gate with an ancient-looking latch sat back about five feet from the north edge of the front of the house where the fence protected the back yard from intrusion. I decided to intrude anyway. No lock; that made it easier. I thumbed the latch and very gently lifted on the fence as I pulled it toward me. I saw four of the old-fashioned metal trash cans still with their lids. They were beat up and rusted, but looked