Mad Dogs by James Grady

Author:James Grady
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oldcastle Books
Published: 2015-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

34

“How did you find us?” Russell yelled to our captive as we sped away on a tree-lined, divided-lanes county road.

Cari stared at the night flashing towards her through the windshield.

“Our car!” said Russell. “Vic, there’s a theft location transmitter in this car!”

“No,” said Zane, using Baldy’s penlight to read a paper from the weapons vest. “This is a list of nightclubs and bars south of New York. Stone Pony’s number nine, and four are pen-checked, have a manager’s name and phone number jotted down by hand.”

“Standard practice,” I said. “The FBI, CIA, we track a fugitive or a target by what he’s done in the past, by what he likes. Magazine subscriptions, who he used to call and probably nowadays, who he’s e-mailed or where he’s logged on to, who he used to hang out with, places where he might get the kind of job he used to have.”

“Somebody tracked your dreams,” Zane told Russell.

Zane threw Cari’s phone battery out of Russell’s window, her phone out mine.

“Littering’s bad,” said Eric. “Against the law.”

“Oh-oh, now we got big trouble,” said Zane. “Vic: headlights in our mirror?”

“Not yet.”

Russell glared at Cari trapped in the back seat. “What’s your team’s search plan? How many crews—”

Cari said: “If we all stay calm, let me help you—”

Our laughter drowned the rest of her pitch.

“Vic?” said Zane. “How good of a frisk?”

“Ahh… Take-down and secure only. I’ll pull over so I can—”

“Keep us moving.”

My rear view mirror showed Hailey muttering to people who weren’t there. Zane maneuvered so that she slumped against the rear door and he sat beside Cari.

“I can do this easy,” he told our prisoner, “or I can do this rough.”

“How about not at all?”

Zane worked the brown coat off her, passed it to the front seat where Russell checked the pockets, squeezed its creaky leather and tossed it out his window.

The coat flew into the night from our speeding car like a whirling bat.

“Didn’t feel a transmitter locator,” said Russell.

Eric said: “If she’s trace wired… Best place in her shoes.”

One black shoe flew out Russell’s window, its mate flew out mine.

The road fought the rear view mirror for my eyes. White lines raced towards the windshield as Zane’s hands massaged Cari’s right foot, circled her ankle, slid up…

Yellow road stripe for a curve and I yelled: “Let Hailey do it!”

“Gotta be worth it. Gotta…”

“She’s busy,” said Zane. His hands circled Cari’s thigh, slid up…

Yellow eye headlights across the center line whipped past us.

In my mirror, Cari stiffened as Zane’s hand cupped her groin, fingers probed, his left hand circling behind to cup the curve of her—

“Whoa!” His left hand slid inside the back waistband of her pants.

Rip! The sound of tape pulling away from flesh.

Zane held a dagger for Russell and I to see in the glow of dashboard lights. “Plastic, cloth sheath. Double-edged, needle point, no metal detector would catch it, and if her hands are tied behind her…”

“Missed it,” I said. “Sorry.”

My eyes hunted Cari’s in the mirror, found only shadows.

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