The Highways of the Dead (A Creed Crime Story Book 1) by James Evan March

Author:James Evan March [March, James Evan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-05T22:00:00+00:00

12

I had a cold shower, pulled on a pair of boxers, and went out onto the porch to sit in the rocker and drink a cup of black coffee. The sky was clear. The rain had cooled things off a bit. Letting Makker out to do his patrol of the property, I ran through a mental checklist of what I needed. Coffee finished, I went inside, took a cold shower, put on a black tee shirt and ERDL-pattern camo pants. It was the best camo for East Texas woodlands in summer. Shoving my feet into a pair of black Saloman boots, I opened the hidden panel at the back of my closet. All this required was pushing in the right spot and the narrow door sprang open.

Removing and unfolding a heavy black canvas duffle bag, I filled it with a web belt fitted with two Condor Triple M4 Multi-Cam pouches which carried all six of my loaded 30-round box magazines, an IFAK and a TNVC PVS-14 monocular white phosphor night vision goggle with a head mount. I threw in a pair of Oakley Pilot gloves. Lastly, I took the black denier nylon ARC that contained a Smith & Wesson MP 15-22 with a EO Tech 553 holographic reflex sight and a PEQ 15 infrared laser device attached to the quad rail.

Locking the two bags in the Ford’s tool box, I was fervently hoping I didn’t need to use either the MP 15-22 or the IFAK. Hoping for the best was human nature, but being prepared for the worst was common sense..

By then Makker had come home. I put him in the house and drove into Wayland to buy a Samsung with 9.0 Oreo, and two small magnets at the 24-hour Walmart.

Back home, I began charging the device. The sunrise was in full glory as I called my service to add the new phone while drinking a second cup of joe. Activating the phone’s Find My Device feature, I had just finished adding it to my Google account and sending myself a text with the new phone’s IMEI when Sheriff Guthrie pulled up to my front gate and came on the intercom to tell me – not ask me – to let him in. I did so. Logging out of my computer, I stashed the new phone in the closet and was out on the porch when the white Cherokee rolled up. I left Makker inside.

Guthrie didn’t get out of the Wrangler so I went to the driver’s side. He rolled down the window and said, “Where’s your killer dog?”

“Inside. He isn’t a killer dog.”

“The hell you say. I can foresee the day when I have to put it down.”

Since he was just trying to provoke me, I let that slide. “What brings you out this way?”

“What do you think?” snapped Guthrie. He was in a belligerent mood and I couldn’t blame him for it. Or maybe he always was.

“I only told your deputies what I saw.”

“I’m not convinced it happened at all.

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