Wolf's Clothing by Gerrie Ferris Finger

Author:Gerrie Ferris Finger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bold Venture Press

16

Clearing the parking lot filled with Suburbans and cops cars, Lake groaned out, “I’m starving. First eatery I see, I’m stopping.”

“I made you a ham sandwich.”

“I appreciate that, but I gave it to Betsy as a reward for finding the body.”

That Eleta allowed strict dietary discipline to be broken said something. She might have to carry a ham sandwich for the rest of Betsy’s call-outs.

The little town we passed through was a tourist trap. This area had plenty of creeks for gold-seekers to pan the waters. I pointed at a storefront that had ice cream cones instead of letters for its name. “Thirty flavors, plus choc and vanilla yogurt.”

“I want red meat,” Lake said, scanning the shops.

“Probably a Burger Doodle on the main drag.”

Lake pointed to an antique shop with tables on the sidewalk. It advertised ice cream and yogurt inside. “Doesn’t anyone up here eat real food?”

Lake’s cell phone gurgled. “You really should get a decent ring tone,” I said. “How about The Who. Who are you?”

“It’s a thought,” he said, pressing the green button on his cell phone. “Yeah.”

He listened for quite a while, long enough for us to pass a couple of Burger Doodles. He ended with, “Thanks. Put it on my desk and enter the info into the data base and the Buddy casebook.”

When he pressed the red button, I said, “You made a Buddy casebook?”

“This should go into the Erskine casebook, but since it’s not re-opened yet, we’ll let Buddy handle it. They’ll merge or I’m not a bureaucrat.” Lake has been calling himself a bureaucrat lately.

“Sanders death should go into the Buddy casebook, too.”

“The money stands between them.”

“The rumors of its existence may be greatly exaggerated.”

We were on treacherous mountain roads with no sign of a roadside diner, even in the tiny towns. “What happened to all the barbecue and fried chicken joints?” Lake grumbled.

“Nice of you to sacrifice your lunch.”

“Lunch? That was a snack and it’s past dinner time.”

“No wonder you’re grouchy, lunch and dinner.”

“We’ll be back to the steakhouses before long. Meantime, I got something you’ll be interested in.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I scored one over Webdog,” Lake said bouncing in his seat. “He must be mooning over Russian girls. Laying down on the job.”

“Who’s this about?”

“The Who?”

“Smart aleck.”

“Colin Dempsey.”

“I’ll phone Web. He was working with Dirk’s to get info.”

“You paid big bucks needlessly, my love. The APD will hand over to your pretty person all you need to know about Colin Dempsey.”

“Go on, gloat.”

“Colin Dempsey, aka Carter Donahue, age fifty-five now—”

“I had him pegged at mid-fifties.”

“Twenty-five years ago he was a member of the San Francisco Police Department’s Organized Crime Bureau. He had a stellar record. Commendations out the ya-zoo. SFPD’s OCB has the same basic mission as all major city departments—rid the city of street gangs and drug operations. He was undercover for most of his career, except for the last two years. Which is saying a lot because those guys don’t usually last that long.”

“Then he hit the skids?” I offered.

Relaxed

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