The Drifter (Peter Ash #1)(88)

The white van’s engine started. Behind him in the bushes, leaning against the house, Charlie found an old ten-speed bike with curly handlebars. When the white van pulled out, Charlie hopped on and followed.

Good thing he’d run all those sprints at basketball practice. He had to pedal awfully hard to keep up with the van.

He was pretty sure that the two men had killed Lieutenant Ash’s friends.

The van was pulling away from him, so Charlie pedaled harder. He was the man of the family, and he was going after his mother and his brother. Mingus was ahead of him, but the dog kept looking over his shoulder to make sure Charlie was still there.

The white van drove like every other car or truck, no crazy moves. Nobody would know there were people trapped inside, maybe tied up. Maybe hurt.

Still, the van drove faster than Charlie could ride on the old ten-speed, and he had trouble keeping up. Only three speeds worked. He felt bad about taking the bike, because stealing was definitely wrong. Not that he had much choice. But at the same time he wished he’d managed to steal a better bike, and wondered what Father Lehane would say about that.

He was lucky that there were a lot of cars on the road, because when the van got stuck in traffic or at a light, Charlie could make up lost ground. And he knew he didn’t want to get too close. Even Mingus seemed to know he couldn’t do anything while the van was still moving.

Eventually the van came up to a giant old falling-apart brick building. A big squat-nosed cargo truck, like the rent-to-own furniture trucks, only plain white with no markings, was backed right up against the building.

“Mingus, come.” Charlie stopped in the street, breathing hard behind the shelter of a tan SUV, and got his hand on Mingus’s collar. He wished again that he had his baseball bat. He wanted to hit those men with the bat, hit them hard and make them pay. Mingus pulled to get away.

“Mingus, stay,” said Charlie.

He used his serious voice the way Lieutenant Ash told him to. He watched the van pull up to the building and wait.

Mingus pulled at his collar again, like he wanted Charlie to do something. But Charlie didn’t know what to do. Maybe Mingus didn’t, either.

Then a window hummed down in the tan SUV.

A deep voice said, “Hey, kid. Where you get that ugly dog?”





45





Lewis


The kid took a step back and looked Lewis right in the eye. “Mister, I don’t know you.”

The kid looked more like Jimmy than Lewis would have thought possible. Lean, not grown into it, but he would get some size on him, you could tell. Big bony shoulders, and feet like a damn yeti.

“Your dog knows me,” said Lewis, putting out his hand for the animal to sniff. “Name of Mingus. Peter found him under your porch. And you one of Dinah’s boys, supposed to be with your mom and Nino and Ray at my place.”

The kid looked at him with a complexity of expression older than his years. “I think Nino and Ray are dead.”

It hit Lewis like a stone, that crippling loss, but he made himself set it aside. Time for that later. “Tell me.”

“Two other men came. My mom put me and Mingus down the basement stairs, and I made it out another way. I watched from the bushes while they put my mom and little brother in that van right there.” He pointed at the white Dodge van that had pulled up right before the kid. “I took this bike, and followed them here.”

Lewis looked at the boy with new respect. It was no small thing, what he’d done. But he couldn’t be out on the street, not now.

Lewis said, “Put up that bike and get in here.”

When the kid opened the passenger side, the damn dog jumped in first, crouched down on the center console, growling at the white van and tearing up the leather with his claws. Breathing down Lewis’s neck, that big fucking dog.

Lewis didn’t like dogs. He’d never liked dogs. Would never like dogs. Then again, to have a four-legged assault weapon was maybe not such a bad thing. Although he didn’t think this particular dog could actually be controlled. This dog had a mind of his own.

The guy with the scarred face got out of the white van and looked around like Mr. Magoo trying to spot a tail. Very subtle. Then he walked to the rear doors and opened them up, the doors blocking the view. Lewis caught a glimpse of a blank-faced man in a black jacket, with his hand on someone’s elbow, and maybe a fourth person, who must be the little brother, as they walked behind the big Mitsubishi to the loading dock and disappeared.

“Shit,” said Lewis. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He’d been there all night, waiting for Peter to come back. The jarhead was supposed to meet the cop at eleven and set things in motion from there. But something had gone wrong, because Peter hadn’t come back and hadn’t answered his phone, either.

Lewis had decided he would stay put, watch and wait. Do nothing without word from Peter, unless the big Mitsubishi tried to leave. Then he’d trigger the charge they’d rigged under the Mitsubishi’s engine block overnight, and use his shotgun to take out the driver and anyone else he didn’t know. Lewis was looking forward to it. The cops would come soon enough after that.

But this was new information. Dinah taken. This changed the plan. He could not just watch and wait. Hell, no, he could not.

Not once Dinah got taken inside.

Seeing her, it was like he was fifteen again.