Protect (24 page)

“Jesus,” Chad muttered, stepping forward with
an ancient doctor’s bag gripped in one hand. “It’s different when
it’s someone you know.”

She nodded and stood, wiping at her nose.
“Yeah, it is.”

“Shot in the head, I see?”

“Yeah. He took a beating but I think he put
up a better fight than they expected. His knuckles are pretty
busted up.”

“Tough for a skinny guy.”

Sharon just nodded. She knew just talking
normally was a way to keep things professional, but given the
victim it felt grossly inappropriate.

“All right, Sheriff. I’ll work quickly so we
can remove the body.”

“Thanks, Chad,” she said, straightening. On
the small chipped dinette table behind Mickey sat a pair of work
gloves. She grabbed them, just as the coroner gave a cry of
protest. “Listen,” she said, hearing how numb she sounded as she
pulled the gloves on. “I need to do something to keep outsiders
from getting too interested in this case. I want this one for us.
Do you have a problem with that?” She wasn’t being snarky. It was
expressed simply and emotionless.

He pushed his glasses up, a fidgety gesture,
but after a moment he nodded. “We got a few moments before anyone
else will come in.”

Off the staff room were two doors. One joined
up with the shop which wrapped the side and back of the building,
and that’s the one she took. Out here drawers had been pulled from
tall tool chests, which made no sense. The contents were scattered
over the floor, some of the fixtures knocked right over.

After a short search she found a crow bar and
a rubber mallet. She brought them through the staff room where Chad
was moving around, poking and prodding, and exited through the
other door. It led to an office-come-storage room, mostly for
office and washroom supplies. There was a desk, filing cabinets,
and a big old safe. Nothing in here was touched. Her confusion
grew.

The lights had been off so she’d had to turn
them on. She’d have to remember that.

Making too much noise given the fact she was
committing a grievous offense and tampering with a crime scene she
legitimately set about trying to bust into the safe, knowing it
wouldn’t work. Then she dropped the tools where she stood, turned
off the light, and replaced the gloves on the table as Chad was
removing his latex gloves.

“Okay,” she continued, her tone still not
thawing. “Let’s get the body to the morgue.”

Fritter groaned as he hauled his tired ass up
to the second floor of the motel. They were close to the
California-Oregon border and it was past dark. The delivery to a
private airstrip inside the Oregon side of that border had been
beautifully executed, no worries. He hadn’t once had to worry about
Spaz riding in Mickey’s place on this run, which was only happening
because his miles were starting to really lag behind.

A bed; that was all he wanted. He didn’t even
give a shit if he was sharing it with roaches and bed bugs. He was
too tired to give a fuck. They were all beat. Not a single man was
even considering heading down to the roadhouse a few blocks over to
see if any female hospitality could be had.

The room was standard seventies spectacular:
plastic-coated fabric lampshade on a big brass chain hanging over a
vinyl two-person dinette set. Bedspread in charming shades of
pumpkin and walnut. Wall panels such a dark color they were damn
near back in style. But it smelled like fresh dry cleaning and the
air conditioner had been running, but not too much. Just enough to
feel refreshing.

It was the fucking Hyatt, he was so
tired.

With one foot he kicked the door shut and
threw the deadbolt, shut the curtains, and crossed to the bed
before flopping right down on his stomach.

Clean bedding, he knew the difference thanks
to the voice of experience he’d grown up with.

He had passed out, slipping right under with
the lights still on, when frantic knocking startled him so much he
bellowed and pushed himself upright, hand going to the small of his
back for his piece before he so much as got his eyes open.

“Fritter? You up? Come on, man. Open up.”

Rubbing his face he stumbled to the door and
tried to open it three times before remembering the dead bolt. By
the time he got it sorted he expected Tank to be fuming, but the
big guy wasn’t. He look ashen, and behind him Knuckles and Tiny
looked the same.

“Shit, what is it? Is it Rose? Is everything
okay?”

The three pushed inside and Fritter shut the
door, as sober and awake as a priest on Sunday. Something was going
down.

“We just got a call from Jayce,” Tank said
slowly, obviously in shock. No one was even
sitting
.

“Is Trinny okay?” He sounded like an idiot,
making guesses. But fuck, someone had better say something
soon.

“Trinny and Rose are fine.” Even Knuckles
sounded alarmed; no trace of joking or his usual insane humor.
“There was an attempted robbery at the garage. And ... Mickey’s
dead.”

There was no sound. Fritter looked from
Knuckles to Tank to Tiny, and not a single man could look at him.
Tiny was stark white, his eyes wide. Tank was breathing hard
through his nose, blinking too fast. Too rapidly. And Knuckles was
giving a thousand-yard stare that wasn’t directed at a single
person or object in the room.

“Wait. How do we know that?”

“The Sheriff’s Department showed up to tell
Jolene. She called Jayce, he called us.” That was Tank, and his
deep voice was thick and wet with emotion. “They think someone
broke in, assuming no one was there since it was at about 7:30.
He’d been doing shit in the office. Sent Jolene home without him
‘cause she had a headache. He surprised them, there were more of
them than him. They didn’t even get in the safe. Left with nothing,
as far as we can tell.”

“But he’s at the hospital or something,
right?”

Knuckles shook his head, eyes finally meeting
Fritter’s. “He was dead when they got there. These pricks shot him
in the head.”

The room suddenly wasn’t cool enough and his
vision swam. He actually stumbled back, ass hitting the edge of the
bed. “Wait, no. That can’t be right.”

“It’s true. And we gotta get back there,
right now.”

Fritter was nodding as Tank spoke. “Of
course. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

It was like someone had fucked with his
settings. His vision was narrowed, making everything seem farther
away, out of touch. His hearing was more of a whine, and when
people spoke it seemed as though they were in a cavernous room
while not speaking loud enough to be heard.

The sound of his bike starting was the first
thing to cut through at normal volume. The plan was to haul ass and
get into Markham within four hours or less, which would be at about
4am. He wasn’t tired anymore. He was an automaton, set on getting
home as soon as possible.

The highways were blissfully quiet, not a
patrolman in sight. Tiny’s rig was pushing itself to its limit, but
still the riders had to remind each other to ease off and let him
catch up.

The horizon was starting to lighten by the
time they got home. The Grainger home was lit up, with Gertie’s SUV
parked at the curb. That’s when Fritter remembered that Buck had
stayed behind too, because of the baby.

Jayce met them on the lawn. He fit right in
with the rest of them; he look bedraggled, exhausted and drawn.
Fritter had never seen the man with bags under his eyes, but there
they were.

“How’s she doing?” Tank asked, stopping in
front of Jayce on the grass. The rest of them fell in line behind
Tank to be filled in.

“Not good, man. Fox brought her something to
calm her down but,” Jayce looked over his shoulder at the house
like he was scared to be overheard. “She’s hysterical, man. No one
can calm her down. Only holding Davie makes her quiet, and when
they’re nearly asleep Gertie tries to take him back which wakes the
both of them up so they’re both screaming.”

“Any word from the Sheriff’s?” He had to ask.
He had to know how soon they could go hunting for assholes.

“Not yet. They came here to tell Jolene, it
was that Troy pipsqueak and Downey. Jolene lost it on them and
threw them out of the house, then called me. I want to go see
what’s happening but I’m worried about Gertie.”

“Where’s Buck?” This from Knuckles.

“At the morgue, watching over Mickey.”

The air took on a chill quite suddenly. It
was silent and cold and far too fucking vivid.

“We’re here now. We can go to the Sheriff’s,”
Tank spoke, nodding to the rest of the group. “You all stay here,
I’ll call Rose and get her here, too.”

“She’s already on her way,” Jayce assured
him. “She got into town at midnight and went to bed. I was calling
and calling.”

Tank cursed. “That’s right. I forgot she went
to Bakersfield.”

“She wasn’t alone,” Jayce said. “Her and
three of the girls all went together, otherwise I would’ve had a
prospect on her, too.”

Tank shook his head. “She’s carrying. But no
more fucking day trips.”

“No kidding.”

It was too much talking and his blood was
humming. Fritter wanted to hunt, find something to kill. Emotion
was clawing its way out of his chest and if he didn’t find
something to do immediately it would kill him.

“What do we do?” he cut through the convo
between VP and Prez rudely. “We know this is Mazaris. How the fuck
we finding them?”

“We gotta tread careful,” Jayce reminded him.
“There’s a lot of heat in Markham right now. We can’t go shooting
at everyone.”

“I can’t just fucking stand around talking,
dammit!” he shouted.

Knuckles grabbed him by both shoulders.
“Let’s go check on Jolene, Fritter. It’s okay.”

He let himself be led. Honestly, it was
easier than thinking.

Inside the lights were all on, making the
world outside seem pitch black. Gertie was on the sofa, Davie
half-covered by a blanket while she fed him. He gave her a nod, all
he was capable of, then took a deep breath as Knuckles stepped
around him and led the way into the kitchen.

Jolene was sitting on the counter, staring at
the front of the fridge. She had a flannel shirt on over a tank
top, jeans, and she didn’t look herself. Her hair was a bit
ruffled, out of place, whereas she usually had huge rockabilly
curls going on. Even in a ponytail she had some swoopy thing with
her bangs, but not now. And her make-up was gone, too. He’d never
seen her without it.

A bottle of beer was on one knee, the hand
not holding it picking at the label without her supervision. She
just
stared
, and Fritter felt the walls closing in more.

“Jolene?” Knuckles moved closer, hand out to
squeeze her arm. At his touch she started like she just realized
they’d arrived, and maybe they had. The edges of her eyes were pink
and swollen, even the skin around her nose looked inflamed.
“Knuckles,” she greeted him, then her eyes darted over to him.
“Fritter.”

“Hey darlin’,” he said softly. “Anythin’ you
need?”

She shook her head and her lip quivered. “No.
No, I’m fine.”

“They give you something to help you
sleep?”

She shook her head at Knuckles. “Yeah, but it
didn’t work. I don’t want to sleep anyway.”

“You should try, though, babe.”

“Don’t want to. What’s the point?”

Fritter looked at the floor. There was a
tight ache growing in his chest that made the air in this little
room even more rare.

“Worried about you, babe.”

She shook her head and hopped down, swigging
beer the whole way. Knuckles caught her by the hips as she swayed
one way, and he took the bottle. She let him, and Fritter realized
it was empty.

“I’m fine,” she whined, pushing Knuckles’
hands off of her. “Everyone needs to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Jolene, come on. You seem a little high
right now.”

“Fuck you. You’d know, wouldn’t you? Just
like Gertie can tell!”

“Hey,” Knuckles barked out. “Don’t be pissed
people care about you.”

Her mouth was pursed tight and she looked
furious. For one scary moment Fritter was sure she was going to
take a swing at Knuckles, but then right in the face of whatever
expression Knuckles had she crumpled, face all but caving in as
loud, painful-sounding sobs shook her entire body and she bent at
the waist as though she was in agony. Because she was.

“I love him ... so much!”

“Me too, honey.”

“And it’s my birthday next week. How the fuck
do I have a birthday without him?”

Knuckles brought her into a hug, giving
Fritter a look over his shoulder. “Go get her room ready. Water by
the bed, covers back. She can’t walk.”

Fritter nodded, moving down the hall to the
main bedroom. The bedside lamp was easy to find in the half-dark
and the room was humid and stuffy. He turned the window A/C unit on
low just to freshen the place up. There was a glass by the bed, so
after turning down the bedding he took that to the washroom and ran
some cold water then filled the tumbler.

Knuckles carried Jolene into the bedroom and
set her down. She was still weeping, and once she was free of his
hold she curled up on her side. Knuckles covered her up, sat next
to her and pushed her hair behind her ear.

“We’re here for you, Jo,” Knuckles was saying
softly. “Mickey loved you, we love you. We’re taking care of you so
you gotta deal with that.”

“Will you sit here until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Fritter quietly left them, returning to the
living room just as Buck arrived. Jayce was on him immediately but
Buck was slumping onto the sofa next to Gertie, who slid under his
arm, letting him kiss her forehead.

“Cause of death was gunshot to the head. They
beat him up really bad, he got a few shots in, too. So anyone who
was there likely got some hurt laid on them. Signs of a robbery but
they didn’t get anything, maybe something spooked them. And as far
as I can tell, the Sheriff’s Department is keeping this as their
investigation. No sign of organized crime involvement. Mickey
wasn’t even in his kutte.”