David Rosenfelt - Dog Tags

Providing further support will be Willie Miller, who brings no particular talent to the operation other than a desire to help out and the toughness and fearlessness to tackle any task I give him. Then there is Edna, reluctantly prepared to do whatever it is that Edna does.

The meeting is scheduled to start at ten o’clock, and at the appointed time everybody is here except for Marcus and Edna. Willie and Laurie already met Hike at the wedding, so I introduce him to Sam.

Sam and Hike inhabit opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. It’s not that Sam is an out-and-out optimist. It’s more that he’s enthusiastic about tackling new projects, especially those that involve investigative work on my criminal cases. Hike approaches each task as if it’s a root canal, and one that ultimately will fail to avert the extraction of the offending tooth.

“Let’s get started,” I say. “Laurie, you can fill Marcus in on whatever he misses.” This is already a plus of allowing Laurie to participate in the case. She is pretty much the only person I know who has always demonstrated an ability to effectively communicate with Marcus, and who isn’t petrified to do so.

I go over the parameters of the case as I know them, which doesn’t take very long, since there’s not a hell of a lot that I know. “The discovery material should be here this afternoon,” I say. “Hike and I will go over it, and then we’ll be able to plan our initial strategy.”

“Have you traced the license plate yet?” Laurie asks. She’s talking about the plate Billy saw on the murderer’s car.

“Not yet. But I’ll take care of it.”

“Where does the dog fit in?” she asks.

“At this point he doesn’t. I just want to keep him hidden and protected.”

There isn’t that much for me to say, at least not until we’ve gone through the discovery. All I want is for everybody to be on the same page as we get started. I’m about to end the meeting when the door opens and Marcus comes in.

He doesn’t say a word, which for Marcus is business as usual. The only sounds in the room are his footsteps as he moves toward a chair, and the involuntary gasp from Hike at seeing him.

I can’t remember the first time I met Marcus, I’m sure my subconscious has blocked it rather than allow me to relive it in my mind. I would guess there is about a 70 percent chance I pissed in my pants; either that or I ran away.

Marcus is the most powerful, most menacing-looking human being I have ever seen. His entire manner is uncompromising; to look at him is not only to know that he could kill you, but also to know that it wouldn’t faze him.

“Hike, this is Marcus,” I say.

“Unh,” says Marcus.

At first Hike doesn’t say a word; he just stares at Marcus, openmouthed for at least twenty seconds. Then he manages a feeble, “Hey.”

“Marcus, Laurie will bring you up to date on where we stand, and you’ll get your assignments from her as well.”

He nods at Laurie, the hint of a smile on his face. She is the only person I have ever seen him show any warmth toward.

“Great. We’re done here,” I say.

I ask Hike to stay as the others leave, because I want him to go over the discovery material with me when it arrives. I need to know how far his abilities extend, and whether I can expect him to help in strategy or just be a legal mechanic. I can deal with it either way; I just have to know.

“Kevin told me about him,” Hike says.

“Marcus?”

He nods. “Kevin says he got used to him. That after a while he wasn’t so scared to be in the same room with him.”

“I agree,” I say. “I’m not nearly as afraid as I used to be. My teeth don’t even chatter anymore. You just have to remember that he’s on our side.”

Hike nods. “That’s a good thing.”

“And the other thing is, if he bothers you, just smack him around a little, and he backs off.”

Hike doesn’t say anything, possibly pondering this concept.

“That’s a joke,” I say, just in case.

He nods. “I picked up on that.”

While we’re waiting, I call Pete Stanton. “I’m taking your friend’s case,” I say.

“More than just the dog?”

“More than just the dog. I’m defending Billy on the murder charge.”

“That doesn’t count as a favor,” he says. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“It counts,” I say.

“It does not.”

“Do you want to start buying your own beer, effective immediately?”

“Okay,” he says. “It counts.”

“Glad we cleared that up. Now here’s a chance for you to return the favor.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“It’s no big deal,” I say. “I just want you to trace a license plate.”

“I’m supposed to use city resources, provided by the taxpayers, to do your work?”

“You want to get your friend out of prison?”

“Give me the plate number.”

I do so, and Pete tells me he’ll have the information within twenty-four hours. “Is that it, I hope?” he asks.

“Almost. Billy says the shooter was six foot five, maybe taller. That ring any bells for you?”

“Maybe we should arrest the Knicks,” he says.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know?”

“Of course I know. But once I get you the plate number, we’re even,” he says.

“We are not even. We’re not close to even. I am putting in months of my life on this, and you’re tracing a license plate. That is not in the same ballpark as even.”

“Okay,” he says. “But you’re still buying the beer.”

CHAPTER 27

JEREMY IVERSON HAD NO IDEA THAT ONE OF HIS PARTNERS WAS DEAD. He and Donovan Chambers had dropped out of touch and gone their separate ways after returning home from the war. Chambers had never told him he was going to live in the Caribbean, and the truth was that Jeremy wouldn’t have cared anyway. They had done a job together; it wasn’t like they were best friends.

Jeremy was aware that Erskine was dead; he had seen that on television, when they were talking about that dog. The news didn’t come as a surprise to him. Pretty much everybody he knew hated Erskine, so it made sense that eventually somebody would take a shot at him. Jeremy just hoped it had nothing to do with the Iraq operation. If it did, it could have ominous consequences for himself, although he was well hidden from the world.

Jeremy basically hadn’t touched the money, other than to provide for some basics like a place to live, some decent civilian clothes, and three hunting rifles. He realized that he was in a state of emotional limbo, unable to decide in which direction he should go. He instinctively knew that whatever first steps he took, they would influence his life forever.

The only real decision Jeremy had made since returning was to make a clean break with his past. It wasn’t a great sacrifice; all that was left back home in Missoula was an alcoholic mother and an ex-wife whom he learned had filed for divorce while he was in Iraq. Mail call wasn’t much fun that day.

Jeremy had rented a cabin about thirty miles from Jackson Hole, Wyoming. He drove through the town on the way out there, and was struck by how the rich people had taken over the place. He found it pretty funny to realize that he could afford to live there if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

Except for occasional trips into town for food and other supplies, Jeremy pretty much stayed to himself at the cabin. He had some success at the bar with the local women; money even helped at that. But he had no interest in establishing any relationships, at least not until he felt more ready to face the world.

So like every other day, Jeremy woke up that morning with the choice of going hunting or hanging out in the cabin and watching television. The only sports on were baseball games, and Jeremy wasn’t that big a fan. He was more into football and basketball. So Jeremy made the decision he had been making almost every day, to go hunting.