His face turned ashen and he cringed back. But his head jerked slightly to the negative and I knew further convincing would be necessary. I stood up and took a step back. I gave Max a head nudge and he struck like a ninety-pound cobra catching the bad man square on the left pec faster than the man could think or move or act. He gave a little grunt and then Max started shaking and pulling and the grunt turned into a scream and then a shriek and then something that pretty much defies human interpretation…something primal and deep from the depths of the soul…something filled with more than fear, more than terror, something digging down to the bowels of horror itself.
It might have made me a little sick if I wasn’t thinking about the man that murdered my family… but I was… about them and about Keisha. So I let Max work on him for a few seconds before calling him off and having him go back into a quiet guard. The terrified gangbanger had been reduced, once again, to a whimpering puddle on the floor.
“So,” I said, “I think that should end any question about my being a cop. This might be a good time to answer my questions.” I paused for dramatic affect and looked back at Max. “Not as good as it would have been a minute or so ago of course, but I promise you, way better than a minute or two from now if you don’t.”
The punk started to quiver as he moaned, but he shook his head again and said, “I… can’t… they’ll kill me.”
“So will my dog,” I said, “only it will be a lot more painful.”
“You… you can’t kill me,” he stammered.
I hunched down on my haunches about six inches from him and clucked my tongue. “Really? I thought I’d proven the whole ‘I’m not a cop’ deal to you.”
“Doesn’t… matter… you kill me you’ll never find out nothing… you have to keep me alive…”
“Actually,” I grinned, and it wasn’t a nice grin, “I don’t. You see your two buddies lying around? Forget about them, did you? Well the truth is, that when I wake them up and they see parts of your body scattered all over this room here, I have a feeling they’ll talk pretty fast quick.” I stood back up, giving him my best Major Payne command presence and I have to admit, I was impressed by his hesitation. It spoke volumes to his courage, if not his smarts. But he talked, oh yes, he talked.
11
I tied up and gagged all three of the Bloods and left them bleeding in the living room while I searched the house. Keisha’s room was cute, with pink curtains and mermaid pillows. An overfilled toy box loaded with dolls and stuffed animals and other girly toys took up one section of wall while a plastic makeup vanity filled the rest. The remainder of the house was pretty sparse. Jerome’s room had a bed and a few clothes hanging in the closet. No dresser or night stand. A few toys littered the floor in here too, as well as a half-dressed Barbie Doll lying on the unmade covers which made me think Keisha probably slept in here most of the time.
In the bathroom, I found a small first-aid kit under the sink and pulled it out. A lot of it had been used up, but I confiscated the remaining bandages and band aids and went to work on my cuts and bruises. I stripped off both of my shirts and turned the cold water on full blast. My ribs, shoulder and chest were red and already starting to show blue and green beneath the skin. Somehow the puckered wound on my chest, from being shot, had managed to stay closed, but the skin around it swelled red and hot. The water felt good on my face, cold and crisp and clean. The cut on my cheek went to the bone and should probably warrant a few stitches, but who had time for that? I felt the lump of swollen flesh and thought my cheek was probably not broken. I hoped not. I’d seen plenty of orbital fractures, caused my share of them too, and would prefer not to deal with the hassle just now. My knuckles were cut and felt thick and sluggish. I soaked them in the water, letting the red turn to pink and finally almost clear before drying them and going to work with the peroxide and crisscrossing Band-Aids over my left cheek and eyebrow.
I found several bandages in the trash can with dried blood on them. Jerome had been injured recently and fixed himself up in the same bathroom I was using right now.
Going through the house, I found about thirty wallets with differing IDs and nine guns, as well as an assortment of knives, brass knuckles, nun-chucks and other weapons. Several of the IDs had been doctored with Jerome’s picture laid over the original. Who was this guy? Jason Bourne?
And then pay-dirt! Under his mattress, a folder with check stubs from a company called Atlas Construction, with its address and phone number printed right there. The local head office was in Castle Rock, not far really, about a half hour drive depending on traffic, and on a Saturday, that shouldn’t be bad. In some states, I suppose, they might not be working on a Saturday, but in Colorado, construction stops for nothing but time itself. Don’t believe me? Just drive down any road. Speaking of time I looked at my watch and saw it was after three. I made a quick call and found there would be people at Atlas Construction till five. I made another quick call to Senator Marsh who, surprisingly, answered on the first ring. I told him what happened, gave him the vehicle’s description and license plate, and told him I would call Aurora PD to clean up the mess. I gave
