Renegade (2013) (2 page)

“Leave the backpacks.”

“Homes, you don’t know all the trouble you’re getting into.”

Pike trained his weapon on the man who had spoken. The gangbanger was the first to strip out of his backpack.

“Stay on the ground and crawl away.”

Fearfully, the three men clambered across the ground. Sirens echoed in the distance. Pike didn’t know if the sirens were coming to address the gunshots fired in the alley, but if they weren’t, he knew it wouldn’t be long.

Gray smoke rolled from the lower windows of the building where the glass had been broken out. Flames twisted and pushed the darkness inside the structure out into the alley.

Moving swiftly, keeping an eye on the three men to make sure they didn’t pull out another weapon, Pike unzipped the backpacks. All three held money and drugs. Evidently the men had split up the haul. Satisfied, Pike grabbed the backpacks by the straps, lifted them from the ground, and headed for the sleek SUV. Firelight gleamed off the spinner caps.

“What are you doing, homes? That’s my ride.”

Pike didn’t know which of the gangbangers had called out. He didn’t care. Using the butt of the pistol, Pike broke the glass in the driver’s-side window. The gangbanger cursed plaintively. Ignoring the cries, Pike hauled the backpacks up to the window and shoved them in.

Walking to the rear of the SUV, he pulled out a lockback knife and ducked down to slash the fuel line to the gas tank. Gasoline ran out onto the ground like ink, and the fumes filled Pike’s nose. He started walking back the way he’d come. Taking another road flare from his pocket, he struck it and tossed it under the SUV into the pool of gasoline.

Flames whooshed to life and latched on to the vehicle.

“No! You didn’t do that!”

Pike shot a look at the three men at the other end of the alley. “Tell the Sureños this neighborhood is off-limits.”

The man cursed him.

Wheeling, Pike fired a round that cut the air over the man’s head. The man dove to the ground, followed by his two buddies. At that point, the gas tank in the SUV exploded and the vehicle jumped off the ground slightly before settling back down. The interior was on fire as well, burning merrily. Most of the money and the drugs would burn before the fire department arrived, but he was willing to bet enough evidence would be left to get police investigators started on the operation. The neighborhood would be watched over for a time.

When Pike reached the unconscious man he’d left in the other alley, he caught the man’s collar and dragged him into the street. He searched the man and found a throwaway cell phone. Opening the phone, Pike punched in 911.

“Nine-one-one operator. State the nature of your emergency.”

“Fire.” Leaving the phone connected, Pike dropped it onto the unconscious man and kept walking. Even if the neighbors didn’t call in the fire, emergency units would be dispatched.

He walked away, feeling pretty good about the night’s work.

AT 6:20 THE NEXT MORNING,
Pike was taking bacon from a skillet when someone knocked on his apartment door. He was clad in a pair of faded, oil-stained jeans, barefoot and shirtless. He took the high-capacity Glock .45 from the counter beside the stove, set the skillet off the burner, and padded to the door.

He didn’t peer through the peephole. A guy could catch a bullet in the brain that way as soon as the lens went dark and alerted a shooter on the other side of the door. Instead, he stood to the side of the door with the pistol in his fist.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Mr. Pike. Hector.”

Hector was the young boy from the neighborhood who had first asked Pike to help with Juan Mendoza, who was part of the Sureños. Hector’s sister, Erendria, had gotten mixed up with the previous group Pike had “relocated.”

“What are you doing here, Hector?” Pike kept from growling the question, but only just. The kid was good, hadn’t taken up any bad ways, and he sometimes came by the garage where Pike worked. His mom worked a lot, and his sister was trying to manage community college and a job as well these days. She’d kept herself clean. Hector’s father had run away shortly after he’d been born.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Pike still didn’t reach for the door. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“School’s not till eight.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?”

“I’m ready.”

“Does your momma or your sister know you’re here?”

“She’s at work. Erendria is at college. She has
friends
she’s studying with.” The kid made
friends
sound like leprosy.

“Kinda early for her to study.”

“I think she goes there for coffee and gossip. That’s what my mom says.”

Despite himself, Pike grinned sadly. Kid was caught between a working mom and a sister getting ready to take flight out into the world. That left him little family time.

“Can I come in?” There was a little whine in the boy’s voice. Not enough to be annoying, and it was subtle enough that Pike knew Hector was trying to hide it.

“You alone?”

“Yeah.”

Pike slipped the pistol into the back of his waistband and removed the lock bar he’d mounted in the floor, then unfastened the three locks on the door. When he opened it, Hector stood in the hallway.

The boy was nine going on ten. Hispanic and too thin for his age, dressed in a Batman T-shirt that was too big for him and hung almost to his knees, Hector was a good-looking kid with eyes that had seen too much. Innocence didn’t count for much in the neighborhood. Pike understood that. Hector’s black hair was unruly and his chin was too pointed. One of these days he’d be a good-looking young man, but he wasn’t there yet.

Hector frowned at Pike. “You gonna ask me to come in?”

“You a vampire or something?”

Hector’s frown grew deeper and he looked at Pike like he was loco. Then a smile cleared the frown in a heartbeat. “Oh, I get it. Because vampires have to be asked to come in.”

Pike shrugged. “Door’s open.”

Hector walked inside. “My mom told me it’s still polite to be asked into someone’s house.”

“I opened the door.”

“I don’t think that counts.”

Pike bolted the door shut. Hector took notice of all the locks, but he didn’t say anything. He took notice of the gun, too.

Around the neighborhood, Pike had a reputation as a guy not to be messed with. Occasionally he got involved in situations—domestic problems, thugs—but only because those events seemed to find him. He didn’t go looking for trouble.

Well, mostly he didn’t go looking for trouble. Last night had been the exception.

At the stove, Pike put the .45 back on the counter and replaced the skillet on the burner. He took the bacon grease that he’d saved and poured it into the skillet with the leavings from the last, getting a good half inch of grease in the bottom. He gestured Hector to the small kitchenette table with two mismatched chairs.

“Have you had breakfast?”

The boy sat. “Cereal. I can fix that myself.”

“Can you eat again?”

Hector smiled. “Yes. But only if you have enough.”

“I have enough. Eggs over easy work for you?”

“Yes.”

Pike took eggs from the carton on the counter, cracked them, and dropped them into the grease. They sizzled upon impact and the whites started to color up almost immediately.

He cooked quickly and efficiently, the way he did everything.
When he finished, he filled two plates with eggs, bacon, and toast that he’d browned in the bacon grease–coated skillet at the end. After placing the plates on the table, he took grape jelly and hot sauce from the small refrigerator and put those on the table as well. He added two glasses of orange juice.

Pike sat, picked up his fork, and started to dig in. Then he noticed Hector staring at him expectantly, both hands clasped together on the table in front of him.

“Something wrong with the food?”

“No, the food looks very good. I was waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to say grace so that we may eat.”

“Oh.” Pike thought about that, even tried to remember the last time he’d said grace before a meal. It must have been sometime in juvie, but that had been a while ago.

He was twenty-nine now, and he and Petey had escaped at fourteen and started living on the streets. Mostly on the streets. Every now and again, they’d been busted on misdemeanors. Nothing serious enough to carry any real weight.

Pike nodded to Hector. “Why don’t you say grace. I made breakfast.”

“Sure.” The boy beamed and bowed his head.

Pike did likewise, feeling foolish. He didn’t believe in God, didn’t even think he had during the bits and pieces of his childhood that he could remember. He didn’t believe in anything beyond what he could do for himself, and he knew his limitations. That kept life simple.

Hector prayed quickly and fervently, and the words sounded familiar spilling from his lips. “God, bless this food we are about to eat. Bless Mr. Pike for cooking it. Thank you for watching over us. In Jesus’ name we pray.”

Pike was caught off guard as Hector abruptly raised his head. He
felt odd for having sat there silent, but somehow hearing the kid pray hadn’t been so bad.

“Okay, now we can eat.” Hector picked up his fork and started moving food. For a little guy, he could put it away.

As he ate, Pike thought about the last time he’d eaten breakfast with someone. It had been in Somalia, with Lance Corporal—now Corporal—Bekah Shaw. He’d been part of her rifle team during the action over there. After his return to the States, he’d gone back to his routine at the apartment and the garage, but it always took a while to settle in. He enjoyed his time in the Marines as a reservist, but he liked his time alone as well.

Hector carefully spread grape jelly on his toast, then took a bite. A spot of jelly clung to his chin and he didn’t notice.

Pike pointed to his own chin. “You got something there.”

Hector picked up a paper napkin Pike had saved from a late-night Taco Bell run and wiped his chin. “Thank you.”

“No prob.” Pike bit into a piece of bacon, savored the flavor as he chewed, then swallowed. “So did you just come by for breakfast this morning?”

Hector shook his head. “No. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“The crack house burned last night.”

Pike didn’t say anything.

“I thought maybe you had something to do with that.” Hector looked at him with those big brown eyes. “Did you?”

“Maybe there are some things you’re better off not knowing.”

“I can keep a secret.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They ate in silence for a little while, but Hector always had questions. Sometimes they were questions about his homework, which Pike
occasionally helped him with down at the garage after school. Every now and again, Pike had gotten Monty—the garage owner—to help out. Monty had kids and knew more about homework. Pike knew how to do a lot, most of it self-taught, but he didn’t always know how teachers wanted homework done. He could usually get the answer, just not the right way or in a way that Hector could understand.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“In juvie.” Pike wouldn’t lie about that. The crack house was a different story. “You know what juvie is, right?”

Hector nodded. “Yeah. Where they put the bad kids.”

“Yeah.”

“You were a bad kid?”

“Partly. I didn’t have any parents. So I got stuck in the orphanage and in foster homes. I didn’t like them. After a while, they put me in juvie.”

“Oh.” Hector took another bite of eggs, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “They taught you how to cook real good.”

“Thanks.”

Hector looked at him. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt last night.”

Pike thought a minute about how to best handle that. Finally he just nodded. “Me too. Now finish your breakfast. You don’t want to be late for school.”

PIKE’S CELL PHONE
rang at 7:17 a.m. while he was at the bodega a few blocks from his apartment building. He’d gone in to pick up a newspaper and a cup of coffee to take to work. Monty was a master with engines, but his coffee-brewing skills lacked. Pike had never bothered to tell him.

As he stood in line for the cashier, Pike answered the phone.

Monty started speaking at once. “You in some kind of trouble, Pike?”

“No. Why?”

“I got two detectives here at the garage asking questions about you.”

Feeling a little cornered, stepping back into the old days in a heartbeat, Pike looked through the advertisement-covered windows out onto the street. Everything seemed normal. “Are you sure they’re cops?”

“Yeah. I been in some trouble before too, buddy. I know what cops are like. These are the real deal. I made them show me their badges and their IDs. Ain’t my first rodeo.”

“They say what they want?”

“You. They’ve been real interested in what time you normally come in. I told them around eight. They wanted to know where you lived. I didn’t tell them that. I figured they could look that up at the DMV.”

Pike knew that too. The detectives could have been knocking on his door that morning instead of Hector. That meant they’d chosen to meet him at his work. “They don’t have anything on me, Monty. If they did, they’d have come to my apartment.”

“That’s what I figured, Bubba. This is just a roust. Shake you up a little. I just didn’t know what for.”

“Me neither.” Pike didn’t like lying to Monty, but he didn’t want to involve the man in his problems either. “I’m at the bodega. You want me to bring you anything?”

“Yeah. A bomb. Mrs. Garcia brought that station wagon of hers back in and I gotta chase down another electrical problem. I’m beginning to think I’d be better off just getting her another car so I don’t have to look at this one ever again. I swear, I don’t need another project car.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Fresh outta bombs. Anything else?”

“Nah, I’m good. And listen, Pike, if you need an attorney or something, I got a guy that’s real good.”

“I don’t think it’ll come to that, but that’s good to know.” Pike said good-bye and closed the phone. He took a deep breath and stepped up to the cashier.

The garage was located sixteen blocks from Pike’s apartment. It was an easy enough walk, and he liked being able to see for himself what was going on in the neighborhood. Every place he’d ever been had its own rhythms. Getting to know them was just a matter of time.

He took different routes to the garage, never getting locked into any pattern, and he even got his coffee from seven different places, including the diner where Hector’s mom worked. A routine could save lives, but it could also put them in jeopardy. The Marines taught discipline and order, but the streets taught Pike organic chaos. He split the difference most days, always changing it up.

He wore work boots with jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt from a Molly Hatchet concert, and a black nylon shell for the wind. He’d left his weapons at home. The cup of coffee kept his left hand warm. Wraparound sunglasses blocked out the morning sun.

The two police detectives stood just inside the open bay doors of the garage. They had on suits and looked official. Pike guessed the neighborhood was buzzing with fears of ICE. Immigration and Customs Enforcement made an appearance every so often, busting illegals sometimes but mostly looking for human-trafficking operations.

They stood a little straighter when they realized Pike was headed for them. Behind them, Monty’s boom box blasted the Hollies’ “Long Cool Woman.” Monty was an oldies kind of guy, but it was an appreciation that he’d developed, not been born into. He was in his midthirties.

Mrs. Garcia’s station wagon was in the first bay. Monty had gotten on it quick because Mrs. Garcia ferried four grandchildren around to school, dental and medical appointments, and extracurricular activities like soccer and dance. She was helping her son who had lost his wife to cancer. Her car had to move.

“Pike Morgan?” The older detective spoke first, taking the lead. Pike had had two other last names before that, stripped away just as quickly as they’d been given when he had been forced to move to the other two locations. They’d wanted to move him farther west. Oklahoma was as far from Texas as Pike had allowed them to move him. Getting into the Marine Reserve had caused the US Marshals a lot of headaches, but Pike had insisted, and he was still needed to testify in a couple ongoing court cases.

“Yeah.” Pike came to a stop in front of the detectives and sipped his coffee.

“I’m Detective Tom Horner with the Tulsa Police Department.”
He was well dressed, manicured, and had a clean haircut that looked like he’d just stepped out of a salon. Everything but the gray at his temples had been touched up. He looked to be in his late forties, a guy who watched what he ate and kept himself in shape. His right eye had a squint to it, like he’d gotten popped there and the swelling hadn’t quite gone down. Horner nodded to his younger partner. “This is Detective Trey Winkle.”

The other man was in his early thirties and balding a little, his scalp showing through his fair hair. He was full-faced and had a small, crooked scar across his chin that looked like something left over from a childhood accident.

“I see some ID?” Pike sipped his coffee and waited till the two detectives dug out their shields and IDs. They displayed them in quick flicks. Both sets looked legitimate. “What can I do for you?”

“We’ve got a few questions. Is there somewhere we can go?”

Pike met the man’s gaze. “Here is fine.”

Horner frowned a little at that, obviously not happy. Pike suspected the man was more unhappy over not being able to immediately seize control of the interview.

“All right. Can you tell us where you were last night?”

“My apartment.”

“Is there someone who can verify that?”

“I was alone. I usually am. Except during those times that I’m not.”

Horner smiled good-naturedly, like he was embarrassed and needed some help to make everything all right. “Well, that’s a problem.”

“Is it?” Pike blew on his coffee and took a sip.

“You don’t have anyone who can corroborate your story.”

“Does my story need corroboration?”

“We’d like to know where you were last night.”

“I just told you.”

Horner shrugged. “We’d like more proof than that.”

“Why?”

Horner looked irritated and scratched the underside of his chin. “Peace of mind.”

“Whose peace of mind?”

“Mine.”

Pike grinned a little at that. “Didn’t know you cared.”

Some of Horner’s good-natured attitude evaporated and he shifted, squaring up his shoulders and standing taller. “Maybe it would be better if we had this conversation downtown.”

“Are you arresting me for something?”

Horner was quiet for a moment. “No.”

“Then that question was an invitation I’m declining. I’m not going downtown with you, and we’re done here. I’ve got people waiting to get their cars back.” Pike stepped past the man.

Detective Winkle bristled and took a step toward Pike. Pike ignored the man, knowing his partner was calling the shots. Horner lifted a hand and waved the younger detective to heel. Winkle grimaced, but he stepped back.

Pike thought about pointing out how well trained the younger detective was, but he made himself pass on that. He had no reason to bait the police, even though his rebellious nature made him want to. He placed his coffee on the rear of the ancient station wagon.

At the front of the vehicle under the raised hood, Monty watched what was going on with a disapproving frown. He was a short man with broad shoulders and swarthy skin that broadcast his Hispanic heritage. He was fit and powerful, perhaps ten pounds over his best weight because his wife cooked well and Monty kept beer on ice in a cooler at the shop for after hours. He wore dark-blue shop pants, a lighter-blue uniform blouse with his name sewn on in red thread above the right pocket, and an OSU Cowboys ball cap. A gunslinger mustache framed his upper lip.

Horner wasn’t quite ready to walk away. “Do you know about the crack house that got burned down last night?”

“Sure.” Pike tapped the newspaper he’d laid beside his coffee. “It’s in the news.”

The story was on the front page.

“What do you know about it?”

“Just what’s in the paper.” Pike walked over to an upright toolbox, pulled out his keys, and opened it up to take out a tool belt. He laid the belt across his shoulder.

“Nothing else?”

“Anything else you think I should know?”

“Officers arrested a couple gangbangers last night who gave a description of a guy that looks a lot like you.”

“Lots of guys look like me.”

“I don’t think so. Officers who work this beat have heard some rumors about you. Said you’d got in a couple scrapes, but they’ve never had a real beef with you. They also said there was another altercation involving a group of crack dealers a few months ago. They were beaten up pretty badly and got told to leave the neighborhood. I find that interesting.”

Pike looked at the detective. “You know what I find interesting?”

Horner folded his arms across his chest.

“That the police department only knows about the drug-dealing operations after the fact. Probably makes a lot of people wonder how good you are at doing your job. They might even wonder why you’re chasing after someone who put the gangbangers out of business instead of chasing after the guys putting drugs out in the neighborhood. From the story I read, the house that burned up can’t be the only one in this neighborhood. Much less the whole city.”

Crimson tinted Horner’s face. “We’ll be back to talk to you.”

Pike shook his head. “Not without a good reason. Otherwise I’m gonna talk to an attorney about filing a harassment suit.”

For a moment, Horner locked his gaze with Pike’s. Then the detective jerked his head to his partner. Together, the detectives walked out of the building and got into their unmarked sedan at the curb in front of the garage.

“You know I make it a habit not to stick my nose into other people’s business.” Monty wiped his greasy hands with a red towel.

“I’ve always liked that about you.” Pike joined Monty and stared into the car’s engine space, tracking all the wires. Searching for a short was time-consuming and often frustrating. He wasn’t looking forward to the job.

“So I’m not gonna ask you if you’re the guy those cops are looking for. But you’re also my friend, so I’m gonna tell you to be careful. The guy who burned that house down and rousted those drug dealers? He’s made friends on both sides of the street. Personally, I like the idea that those guys are gone. Makes the neighborhood a little safer for my kids.” Monty clapped Pike on the shoulder. “I just want you to be careful, amigo.”

Pike nodded. “I always am.” He stripped out of the Windbreaker and leaned on the car’s fender. “Now let’s see if we can get Mrs. Garcia’s beast back on the road one more time.”