Chaser by Dharma Kelleher

Author:Dharma Kelleher [Kelleher, Dharma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780979173011
Publisher: Pariah Press
Published: 2018-02-07T08:00:00+00:00

26

I passed the address to Conor, who navigated us north to a neighborhood in Peoria with roundabouts and speed bumps every hundred yards. They called them traffic-calming devices, but they made me anything but calm. Maybe if I slowed down for them, but who had time for that?

We stopped in front of a small ash-gray house with wooden siding and a patchy yellowing lawn, littered with empty beer cans, liquor bottles, and a child’s overturned tricycle. A line of scraggly Texas sage shrubs stood vigil in front of the iron-barred windows.

“Charming place.” I switched on the walkie-talkie on my belt, slipped on my shades, and stepped out of the truck. “I’ll take the front door. You take the back.”

Conor pulled a shotgun loaded with beanbag rounds from the back of the Gray Ghost. “Copy that.” He walked around the east side of the house, where there was a gate to the backyard.

I gave him a minute to get into position then pounded on the front door. “Bail enforcement! Open up!” I followed it up with more pounding. “Open the door now.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” an unhurried male voice said from inside the house. A heavyset guy with a mess of wild hair opened the door, wearing a rumpled T-shirt and plaid boxers, which revealed a lot more than I wanted to see. This was not Renzelli.

“I’m looking for Arthur Renzelli. I’m told he’s here.”

“Arthur who?” He scratched his belly.

From the other side of the house, I heard loud barking, followed by Conor shouting and cursing. Aw, shit!

I keyed my walkie. “Conor, you all right?”

The belly scratcher chuckled. “That your guy trespassing in my backyard? Guess he met Bert and Ernie.”

I tried to push past the guy, but he held his ground. “Get out of my way, asshole!”

“Not a chance, little lady.”

I planted my heel in his instep, and he fell forward onto the porch, howling. I flipped him on his belly, one arm twisted behind his back.

A shotgun blast thundered from the backyard and then another, followed by what I guessed were Bert and Ernie whimpering after getting hit with beanbags.

“Sumbitch shot my dogs!” Bellyscratcher yelped.

“Conor!” I called again into the walkie. “What’s your status?”

“Just teaching a couple of mutts who’s top dog around here.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement on the west side of the house. A skinny guy with long black hair and wearing only jeans and flip-flops had slipped out the side window. This was my guy, Artie Renzelli. He took off running down the street.

“Fugitive’s on the run westbound out the side window!” I yelled.

I chased after him, since Conor had a handle on the dogs and their owner. Renzelli sprinted across lawns and, with his long legs, was making good time. I may have been shorter, but I was in better shape and had proper footwear. After a couple of houses, I was gaining on him. I caught snippets of Conor trying to call me on the walkie, but I was running too fast to make out what he was saying.

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