Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3 Page 22

  Lara approached the counter and peered through the opening in the metal cage. “Relax. I'm just a customer today.”

  Herrera laughed, spewing crumbs. “Yeah dog, and I'm Mickey Mouse. You come back for a little mordida?”

  “I need a gun. Something powerful and something clean.”

  “Shit. That is the lamest entrapment I ever heard. You losing your touch, querida.”

  Gallagher drew up alongside Lara. Herrera looked him up and down, dissed him with a laugh. “Who's this, the bad cop?”

  Gallagher lunged through the opening, snatched a mittful of hair and collar and hauled the fat bastard through the cage. Gallagher meant to drag him clear through to the floor but the pawnbroker got stuck in the metal window. Herrera screamed and kicked his feet.

  “He used to be the bad cop,” Lara said. “Now he's just bad.”

  HERRERA sulked on a stool in the cramped workshop behind the cage. Mendes and Gallagher tossed the place.

  “Stealing my shit, yo.” Herrera watched helplessly. “Ain't right.”

  Lara found a pistol on a shelf but it was a replica Colt Navy, something she recognized from old Westerns. Interesting but useless. “You're not big on irony, are you?”

  “Shit,” was all Herrera could muster.

  “Bingo.” Gallagher, from the other side of the room. Hidden under a horse blanket inside a foot locker, he slid out a shotgun. The metal was black and parkerized, the stock and slide flat black. He turned it over, inspecting the weapon from every angle. “Mossberg, the kind the Marines use.” He handed the rifle to her, stock first. “The numbers are filed clean. It's got a matte finish too.”

  “No fingerprints.” It felt heavy and solid in her hands. She checked the loading gate.

  Gallagher dug deeper into the locker. He chin-cocked the pawnbroker stewing in the corner. “How do you know this guy?”

  “He's my homey.” She winked at Herrera. “Yo.”

  He pulled up a brick of twelve gauge shells. He handed it off to her and kept digging. “A-ha,” he said. “It's a matched set.” He held up a large knife, his fingers clamped to the blade.

  Lara took it by the handle. The blade was eight inches of carbon steel, serrated near the haft. A Marine Kabar. It felt absolutely lethal in her hand.

  “Semper fi,” she said.

  Gallagher wrapped the shotgun in the horse blanket and tucked it under his arm. Lara scrounged a fifty dollar bill out of her bag and folded it into Herrera's shirt pocket.

  “Catch you later.”

  THEY took Burnside across the river, stitched over on Sandy then swung north to his neighborhood. Gallagher led her through the kitchen to a door off the mudroom and switched on the lights in his office. It was a small room, most of the floor space taken up by a desk and some filing cabinets. A long corkboard was mounted to one wall, pinned with photos and notes from old cases. Gallagher pulled the chain on a banker's lamp and opened a laptop on the desk.

  Lara looked over the evidence board, noting the dates on the pieces. None of it was new, the most recent date she saw was from 2005. On the other walls hung plaques and picture frames; citations and commendations. The photos showed Gallagher smiling and clowning with other detectives and uniforms. One frame showed Gallagher and Lieutenant Vogel on a fishing boat, both beaming as they hoisted sturgeon for the camera. Like the evidence board, none of the photos were recent.

  She compared the beaming Gallagher in the photo to the one at the desk. It was difficult to reconcile the two. “You and Vogel were friends?”

  He looked up from the laptop. “A million years ago. I got partnered up with Vogel when I made Homicide.”

  “I didn't know that. He must of been a drill sergeant as a mentor.”

  “He stuck my nose in it when I messed up. But he was pretty patient.”

  “Really? Must have been nice” she said, putting enough edge into her voice that even he registered the sarcasm. “So what happened? You two have a falling out?”

  “Nah. Vogel earned up, became CO. Things changed. Hard to be pals with your boss.” He moved out from under the desk and waved at her to sit down. “Do me a favor. When this piece of shit wakes up, key into the precinct site and look up Kovacks. We need his details.”

  She took the chair while he rifled a cabinet. The laptop creaked and ticked like it was dying a slow death. She looked over the pictures on the wall. “What happened, John?”

  He looked up. “What?”

  “All this stuff.” She nodded at the pictures. “The citations, your evidence board. It all kind of stops. There's nothing new in the last five years or so.”

  He stuck his nose back in the drawer. “Cheryl and I divorced in oh-five and I became a single parent. Which, at the time, scared the bejesus outta me. This room has gathered dust since then.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “Yup. Thing was, I couldn't balance the two, you know? Amy and the job. She was the priority and work took a backseat. I only had her on weekends that first year but I was scared shitless I was gonna screw it up and lose even that.” Gallagher stopped digging and his eyes drifted off somewhere not here. “Something had to give. And it couldn't be her.”

  Lara watched his face almost crack. He shook it off and went back to the drawer. She wanted to say something but drew a blank on exactly what. The laptop limped to life, sparing her. She called up the PPB site, keyed her password and waited again. Ping.

  “I can't log in. We must be blocked.”

  He came round the desk with a handful of crumpled paper and leaned over her shoulder. There was no other chair in the room. “Try Bone Slab.”

  “Bone Slab?”

  “Vogel's password,” Gallagher said. “His stage name from his pro wrestling days.”

  It worked. She called up Ronald Kovacks's sheet. His mug shot appeared onscreen. “Now what?”

  He slid one of the pages to her. “We fill these out. Prisoner transfer requests. Then we fax it into the prison.”

  “And what, we just go pick him up? We're officially suspended.”

  “They won't know that. We say it's urgent and bullshit our way through.”

  “Using what for ID? Our Costco cards?”

  He held out a small folder, a little bigger than a wallet. Inside was a PPB shield and ID. Gallagher's unflattering photo looking back at her.

  “I lost mine three months ago, got it replaced. Then I found the old one under a floormat in the truck.”

  Some of the skepticism fell away from her eyes. But not all. “They'll still call the precinct to confirm the transfer.”

  “That's the point we need to rush it past them. How are your bullshitting skills?”

  “Rusty.”

  “You can practice on the way over.” He found a pen and began filling out the form. “Find the fax number for Rafton.”

  LARA knew this was a bad idea and said so for the third time when the security guard lifted the gate and waved them through. She would have mentioned it a fourth time but Gallagher marched on ahead to avoid hearing it. He was already arguing with the on-duty warder, a big man with de rigueur goatee and shaved head.

  “Look, I wasn't informed of any prisoner transfer.” The warder slid the forms back across the counter to Gallagher. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “My crime scene is gonna be stale by then. I need this guy now.” Gallagher pushed the form back. “This was faxed through an hour ago. Check your machine again.”

  The warder folded his hamhock arms, refusing to even entertain the idea.”There's a protocol here, detective. You can't just walk a prisoner out.”

  “When I got a crime scene going cold and the tech crew standing around waiting for me, I can do anything I need to. The prisoner knows the suspect and I need him on scene to confirm some details before it's picked apart. And I sure as hell can't bring the scene to him.”

  The man's mouth soured but doubt rippled across his eyes. “This is bullshit.” He took up the paperwork and lumbered deeper
into the office.

  Lara watched the man cross into a cubicle further back and confer with another warder, presumably a supervisor. This man listened then glanced up at the two ex-detectives crowding the counter. Annoyed and suspicious.

  “They're going to call the precinct,” she whispered.

  “Hang on.”

  They watched the supervisor dial a phone. The warder waddled back and huffed onto his stool. “No transfers after six PM. Unless it's an emergency.”

  A low growl uttered from Gallagher's throat. Lara took his elbow, worried he was going to pull his Wolverine schtick on the man. “Sir, we are three hours into a homicide investigation. That qualifies as an emergency.”

  The warder narrowed his gaze on her, hearing her speak up for the first time. “Then you need to warrant the request. And we need approval from your CO.” He tossed back their paperwork. “None of that is here.”

  “Kid, get your supervisor over here. Now!”

  Lara felt Gallagher coil up under her grip, threatening to lunge. She anchored him to the spot. “Forget it, John. We'll come back.”

  “I didn't see your ID, ma'am.” The bald man fixed his eyes on her again. “What was your name again? Mendes?”

  “Next time.” She peeled Gallagher from the counter.

  “No, there's a problem with your clearance here. I need to see it, please.”

  Lara clocked the supervisor. Still on the phone but rising out of his chair, his eyes fixed on her. Gallagher tried to shake his elbow free but she gripped down and made him wince. “Move,” she ordered.

  The warder yelled at them to come back but Lara kept marching Gallagher out to the foyer. A guard on the other side held the door for her.

  “Lara?” Correctional Officer Leto smiled at her, nodded politely to her partner.

  “Hi Leto.” She tried to be nonchalant but her tone was too hard.

  “What was all that hollering about?” Leto shot a look at Gallagher.

  “Procedural bullshit,” Gallagher spat.

  “We needed to see a prisoner.” Lara leveled her voice. “But we didn't cross all our T’s.”

  “Who? That Kovacks creep?” Leto chucked a thumb towards the exit. “Cause they just rushed that guy outta here.”

  “Kovacks? Where did they take him?”

  “The hospital. Dude collapsed in his cell. He was turning blue.”

  Gallagher snapped at him. “When?”

  “Not ten minutes ago. Hell, you can probably catch them on the road in.”

  Lara was already running for the door, hollering back her thanks to the correctional officer. “You're a peach, Leto!”

  Leto watched them disappear into the parking lot then pushed on to Chesler at the front desk. There was still a hubbub brewing because the Supervisor had actually left his cubicle and came round to Chesler at the front desk.

  “Whassup?” Leto said. Chesler and the supervisor nodded a curt hello and then huddled into whispers. Leto tried to eavesdrop but the Super was already walking away. The senior officer barked one last order on his way back.

  “Get the central precinct on the phone. Homicide detail. Find out who's in charge there.”

  33

  THE NEAREST HOSPITAL WAS BACK downtown. Gallagher swung out of the parking lot, hoping to catch the ambulance on St Helens. Lara looked out her window at the marsh passing by. The knot in her guts refused to slacken.

  They found the ambulance one minute later.

  It was cribbed to the shoulder of the access road, lights flashing but no siren. A paramedic stood in the headlights, looking down at the front end.

  “Something's wrong.” Lara felt the knot constrict her stomach more.

  Gallagher eased the Cherokee past the stalled bus and swung to the gravel run. “Get the shotgun.”

  The ambulance's grill was busted in, the left headlight shattered. The bumper hung from one end like a loose tooth.

  “Are you alright?” Lara approached the paramedic, the shotgun behind her back. She looked in the cab but it was empty.

  The man's face was etched in shock and he couldn't stop rubbing his head in dismay. “I didn't see...” He stammered, tried again. “It came out of nowhere. Just ran out in front and bang.”

  She looked the man over. He was dazed but seemed unhurt. “You hit something?”

  “Yeah. An animal. It was huge.”

  Gallagher went to the rear door and yanked it open. The bay was a mess of equipment and supplies heaved loose from the impact. The second paramedic straddled the stretcher trying to restrain the patient. Ronald Kovacks bucked and kicked his legs, thrashing about in a fit.

  “You hurt, son?” Gallagher climbed in, pushing debris out of his way.

  “ I'm fine.” The young man looked panicked. “Help me restrain this guy, would ya?”

  Kovacks thrashed his head to and fro, tearing loose the oxygen line taped under his nose. His teeth chomped, trying to bite the paramedic.

  “What the hell's wrong with him?”

  “I don't know.” The paramedic pinned one arm across the convulsing patient and reached for the restraints. “After the crash, he started screaming about someone trying to kill him.”

  Gallagher threw his weight onto Kovacks and the young man ran the belt over the thrashing man's shoulder and cinched it tight. A sickening pop came up out of Kovacks like his back was breaking. Pop, pop, pop. Kovacks chomped his jaw in a blur of teeth and gums. He caught the paramedic's sleeve and bit down. Gallagher froze as the pervert's teeth grew, elongating from the gums and tearing the young man's cuffs. Veins roped up his neck and swelled hot on his brow. The eyes dimmed and altered color, something not human.

  “Mendes!” Gallagher's voice boomed through the bay.

  Lara crawled into the cab, squeezing through the seats. She saw Kovacks's spasms, the maw of teeth growing sharp before her eyes. “He's changing,” she said.

  “What?” Gallagher felt the bones shift under his grip like some knotty parasite beneath the man's flesh. Kovacks flailed on. The clasp of the restraint belt bent, popped off. Gallagher pulled back, looking up at her. “What do we do?”

  Past Mendes, he could see the first EMT through the cracked windshield. Still talking to himself, pacing back and forth before the bus. Something swallowed him up and he was gone.

  And then everything went to hell, the world kicked off its axis.

  The ambulance rolled. Hit hard on the leeside, crumpling the panel wall inwards. The bus tilted on two wheels and toppled over. Gallagher hit the far wall, now the floor, and the stretcher timbered onto him. Kovacks thrashed on him, his gnarled teeth grazing wet against Gallagher's ear.

  Caught in the crawlspace between the seats, Lara spun and tumbled back into the cab. Off the dashboard, landing hard on the passenger door. Knees in the air, her elbow flat on the pavement that now filled the shattered window. Lara scrambled to get upright in the cramped space when something skulked past the front end. Dark pelage filled the windshield. The monster swung its head and looked at her through the glass. Yellow rimmed eyes held her own. Its enormity took her breath away. Terrifying in power and beautiful in symmetry, Lara Mendes was transfixed by the wolf.

  The shotgun was angled under her, wedged between her back and the door. She squirmed in the floor well, trying to pry it free. The thing's snout pressed the windshield and fogged the glass. Lara clawed the shotgun up. No room to shoulder it, she simply fired from the hip. The fogged glass exploded, the boom punched out her eardrums. The wolf was not there.

  The rear doors remained propped open, a square of night sucking the light from the interior. The wolf burst through, its maw stretched wide as if to swallow them all. The jaws sunk fast onto the legs of the restrained man, clicking as they locked. The EMT kicked out and screamed. Gallagher drew and swung the gun up to aim. The lobo pulled back and the gurney banged along after it. Ronald Kovacks was dragged, stretcher and all, out the door and into the night.

  Gallagher blasted at it, the crack of gun
fire booming inside the ambulance. Something told him to stop, to hold his fire for fear of hitting the victim. He ignored it, unloading five, six rounds at the damn thing but it was gone. He shot at nothing, at the night itself.

  The young man scrambled away from the doors, slack-jawed in terror. Crawling right over Gallagher to the far corner, his mouth jabbering up and down.

  “John!”

  Gallagher's arms remained locked, the barrel still trained at the door. A hand shook his shoulder. Lara crawled over the terrified EMT into the bay and looked him over. “Are you hurt?”

  He lowered the gun. “No.”

  “Move,” she said.

  THE ambulance lay on its side, two wheels in the air like some dead carcass. Gallagher banged out the door and swept the barrel left to right. Lara right behind him, crawling free of the dead bus.

  The ambulance driver was on the pavement. He was alive but his breathing was shallow and his eyes were fixed, shock setting in fast. There was blood all over the road. Gallagher knelt over him. The man's left hand was gone and the open arteries pulsed hot blood onto the pavement.

  Lara was already back inside the toppled bus, dragging the other EMT out. “Get out here. Help him.”

  He pushed her hands off. “No way!”

  She smacked him hard across the face. It didn't register so she hit him harder. The man looked at her in shock, anger. That was better. He took his kit and scrambled outside. Instinct and training took over when he saw his dying partner.

  Lara chucked up the shotgun and swept the perimeter but all she saw was the road and the marshland beyond it. “Do you see him?”

  “I don't see anything.” Gallagher lowered his weapon. “Where are the dogs?”

  A breeze ruffled the trees all around them but nothing moved, nothing sounded.

  At their backs, the young man worked frantically to stop the bleeding. The face of the downed EMT took on the color of ash. “I need another bus out here,” the younger man barked. “He's bleeding out.”

  Lara called it in, giving the dispatcher their location and relaying details of the injuries from the younger paramedic. When the dispatcher asked for her name, she hung up. She told the young man to hang on and looked for Gallagher but he wasn't there. She called out.