Dark Justice

“Man, that’s sad. She must be pretty torn up.”

Another look passed among the three men. “You can check that out for yourself. She’s sitting in the booth behind you.”

Loving looked surprised, and the surprise was genuine. Subtly, trying not to attract attention, he turned till he faced the row of booths in the back.

He knew who they had to be talking about. She had long, wild auburn hair and was dressed in a tube top and tight white jeans. She wasn’t crying, but the man she was with nonetheless appeared to be offering his comfort.

“Shouldn’t she be, like … in mourning or something?” Loving asked.

“Lu Ann isn’t the mourning type,” Louie said-another curt pronouncement of wisdom from the senior team member. “As you can see, she has a busy social calendar.”

Loving looked away. “Even before her hubby got charbroiled?”

“Long before. It was what you’d call a troubled marriage. Because she was what you’d call trouble.”

She was what he’d call trailer trash, Loving thought. Or out here, maybe it should be treetop trash. “She have anyone special?”

Huey shrugged. “From time to time. Till the next one came along.”

Loving watched surreptitiously as Lu Ann’s escort’s hands groped for the most accommodating parts of her anatomy. “Who’s she with now?”

“Fella called Doug Curtis.”

“He a logger?”

“Yeah. Well, not exactly.” Huey corrected himself. “Used to log. Now I understand he works for a man called Slade.”

Is that a fact? Loving thought.

“Why are you so interested in Lu Ann, anyway?” Dewey asked. A sharp line formed across his forehead.

“Oh, I’m not really.” Loving turned quickly. Obviously, it was time to cool it. “Or maybe just a little. Like any other rubbernecker.”

“Dwayne’d been actin’ some kind of funny for several weeks, up until the burnin.’ That woman had him on the ropes.” Louie shook his head. “Well, less said about that the better.”

“Agreed,” Loving replied. He knew he couldn’t push any harder without arousing suspicions. “You boys ready for another round?”

A quick glance, a shrug, a why not?, and another round was ordered. And Loving knew that once he paid the tab, their newfound friendship would be sealed.

An hour and a half later, Loving was buying his sixth round, and everyone at the table was beginning to act more than a little toasted-including himself. Truth was, he didn’t drink that much anymore; he was getting too old for that nonsense, and besides, it was making him fat. He wasn’t used to this level of consumption and it was making him woozy.

“Whad I don’t unnerstand is how these tree huggers get away with it,” Loving said. The word slurring was a nice touch, he thought, and at the moment it didn’t require any acting. “I’d think you boys’d pound ’em into pulp.”

“They hide,” Huey said. He was leaning slant-wise on one elbow, commiserating. “They strike when no one’s lookin’, then run away and hide.”

“Buddow do they know where you are?”

“There’s a leak,” Louie said, making another of the portentous pronouncements of which he was so fond. “Everybody knows it. We just don’t know who it is.

“But when we find out,” Dewey growled, “pow!” He brought his hand and fist together and almost missed.

“Who d’ya suspect?” Loving asked.

“We jus’ don’t know. Gotta be one of us, a logger, someone in town. Bud damned if we know who.”

“I can’t believe any one of us would be talkin’ to those damn tree freaks,” Huey said, with ample revulsion plastered across his face. “I jus’ can’t believe it.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Loving said. “Even in a nice li’l town like thisss.”

“Nice little town.” Huey made a snorting, hiccuping sound. For a minute Loving was afraid he was going to barf. “Yeah, that’s Magic Valley-Venom capital of the world.”

“Venom? Whassat?”

“Hot new drug,” said the sage Louie. “It’s all over town. ’Specially in the schools. Some of the kids are hooked on it.”

“It ain’t just kids,” Dewey corrected. “I think some of our cuttin’ pals are samplin’ the junk, too.”

“Yer kiddin’!” Loving said. It was a gruesome thought-some chain saw-wielding logger high on drugs. “Why do you think so?”

“Cain’t say,” Dewey said, obviously taking great pleasure in his secrecy. “But I got my suspicions.”

“But where’s the stuff comin’ from?” Loving asked.

Dewey lurched forward. At first Loving thought the man was going to head-butt him. Then he realized it was just his drunken way of directing Loving’s attention.

Loving twisted around, staring in the direction indicated. He spotted a burly man slunk back in a dark corner. He had long black hair that draped down over his bulging shoulder muscles. Hard to see in the low lighting, but it looked like he had an ugly scar over his right eye.

“How d’ya know?”

“I don’t know for sure. But every time he comes up to one of the boys, it’s the same story. Within ten minutes he wants to talk about drugs. Gettin’ high. Doin junk.” He shook his head. “Word’s out on him.”

Ben had contacted Loving before he’d gone out tonight and told him about his new lead involving a suspected drug pusher. Loving hadn’t seen the picture yet, but judging from Ben’s description, this thug could be the one.

As he watched, the big man slid out of his booth and started peeling bills off a fat wad of money. Loving decided to take the plunge. He knew he’d gotten about as much out of Huey, Dewey, and Louie as he was ever likely to, anyway.

“Pleasure talkin’ to you boys.” He slid out of the bar just a few seconds after his quarry.

The night air seemed cool and bracing-a delight after the smoky, dirty interior of the bar. Loving drank in several good deep swallows, purging his brain. He’d need a clear head if he was going to follow this goon without being spotted.

The man was heading east, back toward the heart of town. Fortunately, Loving had already learned the lay of the town, a task that took about ten minutes. He stayed on the opposite side of the street and held way back, staying as far away as possible without altogether losing the man.

Loving’s quarry seemed to be heading somewhere in particular, somewhere in a hurry. Could be any of a million things, Loving realized. But if he could catch this clown making a drug sale, or better yet, making a drug sale to a logger, maybe someone Gardiner knew … well, he might be able to make the Skipper very happy indeed.

The burly man with the long black hair turned left, heading north. Loving waited until he was entirely out of sight, then crossed the street. He quickened his pace, not making a show of it, until his prey was back where he could see him. Once he had the man in sight, he slowed.

The man paused at a street corner, looking all ways at once, as if he expected to meet someone but didn’t know which way he might be coming from.

That could be a problem. Loving started scanning the streets himself. If the man’s rendezvous was coming from the same direction as Loving, or anywhere close, he’d be spotted. He’d have to pretend to be tying his shoe or waiting for a taxi-and hope they bought it.

Hard as he looked, though, Loving didn’t see anyone. Even drug lords get stood up sometimes, Loving supposed. He turned back toward the street corner where his quarry was waiting.

The man was gone. Somehow, while Loving had been distracted, he’d disappeared.

Loving put his feet into first gear and began chugging across the street and down the sidewalk. Had the man spotted him? He didn’t see how it was possible. Maybe he was just always careful. Maybe that was a smart way to be when your chief occupation in life was peddling illegal designer drugs.

Loving raced down the sidewalk, feeling the weight of every downed beer sloshing in his stomach. He was