behave.”
“For you, they will,” Travis said, speaking Frank’s thoughts on the subject aloud.
But in the end, the dogs were allowed to join them. Frank had arranged for care of the cat. Finally, he had called Pete Baird and told him of his plans to find Irene. After listening to his partner’s warnings about the inevitable problems at work, Frank had refused Pete’s offer to join them.
“I’d love to have you with me, but one of us getting into this much trouble will be bad enough. I need you in there to beg for my reinstatement. Besides, if Irene comes home safe and sound before I do, you can tell her where I am. And I need someone to cover what’s going on here — to try to contact me if anything comes up while I’m still within cell phone range.”
“Anything else I can do for you before you’re fired for interfering in Thompson’s investigation?” Pete asked.
“Yes. If we’re not back by Sunday at six, come looking for us.”
So now Frank sat in the van, watching a man whom many people thought of as his most unlikely friend. Jack Fremont, tattooed and scar- faced, wearing black leather and sporting a gold hoop earring, his head completely shaved, looked made to order for the job he had once held — leader of a biker gang. That Jack had been born into wealth, and — after a number of years on the road — was now one of the wealthiest men in Las Piernas, surprised almost anyone who learned of it. It wasn’t a fact he advertised. He fit better into the role he was playing now.
“Stinger Dalton, you crusty-assed old son of a bitch, put your guns away!” he called.
“Jack?” a low, gravelly voice called back. “By God, I don’t believe my fuckin’ eyes. I figured you were dead!”
“What? And you think I wouldn’t have come haunting you before now?”
The front door opened, and a thin man with a shotgun stepped onto a ramshackle front porch. He was of medium height, and was wearing jeans, heavy boots, and a sleeveless blue T-shirt. He had long, gray hair that he wore in a single braid down his back. His arms were covered with tattoos. As he came into view, the dogs began whining.
“Hush,” Frank said to them, trying to hear the conversation outside.
“What the fuck happened to your hair, dude? And who fucked up your face?”
“You ask me the same questions every time you see me. You need someone to write you some new lines. Man, put the gun away. I want you to meet some friends of mine.”
Dalton looked at the van with misgiving.
“I’d never bring trouble to your door, Stinger. You know that.”
“No feds?”
“Shit, Stinger. We both know you aren’t hiding from the feds.”
“Any of ’em feds?” he repeated obstinately.
“No. One of ’em is a cop—”
“What!” Dalton brought the gun up.
Christ, Frank thought, why did you tell him?
“Now, Stinger, in a minute here, I’m gonna take offense,” Jack said easily. “I’m trying to tell you that he’s a cop, but he’s not here on a beef or anything like that. He’s my friend. You’ve heard me talk about Frank. Works homicide in Las Piernas. But he needs to do some business with you that’s got nothing to do with him being a cop, except that maybe it will get his ass fired.”
“I don’t follow you,” Dalton said, holding his position.
“The man’s as good a friend to me now as you’ve been, Stinger. Remember me telling you about Irene’s husband?”
At that, Dalton lowered the gun.
“Let us come in out of the rain, Stinger, and I’ll explain. Unless you think I’ve turned into a liar, you’ve got no reason to keep me standing out here.”
“Haven’t seen you in a long time, Jack,” Dalton said.
“Bullshit. I was out here just a month ago. By the way, keep in mind that this is the guy that lets me borrow his dogs.”
“Your neighbor’s dogs—”
“Oh, yeah — I almost forgot! I’ve brought a couple of dogs that would like to see you again.”
Dalton’s face broke into a grin. “Bring everybody in.” He turned and went inside.
Jack motioned to Travis, who started the van.
“What do you think of him?” Travis asked, as they turned up the drive.
“I think Jack is pretty free about introducing my dogs and talking about my wife to head cases. But if Jack says Stinger’s a good friend of his, I’ll try to reserve further judgment.”
Travis said nothing, but Frank didn’t miss his look of unholy amusement.
Deke and Dunk sprang from the van and charged toward Dalton, who was back out on the porch, without the gun. To Frank’s amazement, though, they slowed as they neared him, and approached with ears back, tails wagging — suddenly well mannered. Dalton spent several minutes praising and petting them, to their obvious delight.
He stood up and extended a hand as Jack said, “Doug Dalton, this is my friend Travis Maguire, Irene’s cousin.”
