Renegade (2013) (9 page)

Pike paid the taxi driver and got out. He grabbed the mail from the box, then passed through the security gate. Inside, he locked the gate
behind him because the garage didn’t take new business on Saturdays. As he crossed the graveled parking area, he checked to make sure all the cars were there. The Ford that had come in with a burned valve and the Subaru SUV that had needed a brake job were gone, but the owners had been scheduled to pick them up Friday evening.

As he walked toward the garage, Pike tried to recall seeing them in the lot when the cops loaded him into the back of the patrol car, but he couldn’t. Monty had been gone. That much Pike had known because the security gate was locked down.

Slotting the key into the door, Pike let himself into the garage. Instantly the shadows trapped inside welcomed him into their embrace, and the worry and tension that was eating at him seemed to drop away a little. Heat filled the building, and he felt like he had to push his way through it as he went to the office.

He flicked on the light and ran through the sheets, making certain the Ford and the Subaru had made it back to their owners. Monty had signed off on both, paid in full. That meant the floor safe would have Pike’s cut of those jobs. Pike left the money there because he didn’t need it and didn’t intend to do anything with it for the moment.

He dropped the wad of mail on Monty’s desk and sorted through it quickly. Most of the contents were advertisements, coupons, and junk mail offering credit cards, money for college, and reduced auto insurance. But there was an official letter addressed to Pike Morgan. He always filled out the garage’s address for personal correspondence.

The letter was from the Marine Corps and it was short and sweet, letting him know he’d been activated and was going to be shipped to Afghanistan from California with Charlie Company. More of the knot in Pike’s gut loosened. He could shake loose from Tulsa in a matter of days.

He pocketed the letter, then noticed a Post-it note with Monty’s handwriting affixed to the computer monitor.

Hey, Pike. I called the jail. They said they were cutting you loose in the morning. So knowing you, you’ll stop by here sometime Saturday. Dude, you ain’t got nothing but bad luck following you around, seems like. If you need something, gimme a call.

A number was listed at the bottom of the note. Pike recognized it as Monty’s cell phone. The man didn’t give that out to anybody except family, but he’d given it to Pike. Pike had never called it.

Don’t need nothing, Mont
y
, but thanks anyway.
Pike plucked the note from the monitor, wadded it up in his hand, and fired it into the trash can beside the desk. The Post-it rolled off the hill of debris. Grimacing, Pike grabbed the trash can and took it outside to the Dumpster behind the building. Monty was a good mechanic, but he couldn’t spot an overflowing trash can if his life depended on it.

Back in the building, Pike placed the empty trash can beside the desk and checked the sign-in sheet. Monty evidently had a couple people call in for the coming week. The workload looked light. New tires. Oil change. AC service. Nothing challenging.

Out in the service bay, Pike looked at Mrs. Garcia’s car again and thought about climbing under the hood to take another stab at tracking down the elusive electrical problem. He glared at the car, suddenly realizing he knew too much of its history too.

Everything was too familiar, and it was going to be just as familiar the next day. He’d let things get too close to him, and he realized it for the first time. That scared him more than crack dealers with guns and detectives with handcuffs.

Unwilling to stay any longer, Pike decided to get breakfast, then figure out where his head was at. Something was wrong with him. He just didn’t know what it was. But he knew someone he could talk to.

PIKE AVOIDED
the diner across from the garage and walked three blocks to a little greasy spoon called Tina’s. They made okay chicken-fried steaks and burgers and served breakfast all day. He didn’t go there often because Monty didn’t like the place. From what Pike had gathered, Tina was an ex-girlfriend, somebody he’d dated before he hooked up with his wife. Monty’s wife didn’t like him going there either.

This morning, Pike went there because no one knew him there. He ordered a big breakfast—biscuits and gravy, home fries, and sides of bacon and sausage—and devoured the meal, chasing it down with hot coffee. Maybe he’d stop for a six-pack of beer on the way back to his apartment. The food filled the hollow space in him that the egg biscuit hadn’t touched, but it didn’t settle the uneasiness that thrummed within him like a tuning fork.

He got a coffee to go, then hiked another four blocks to a small hotel that had a public telephone. This was one call he didn’t want showing up on his cell records. He called Caleb Mulvaney, the detective sergeant who had investigated Petey’s death and later helped Pike get into witness protection.

Mulvaney had been the first to point out that by providing testimony against the Diablos, Pike could bring down the whole outlaw
biker organization instead of only getting a few of them before he got himself killed. Pike had countered that maybe the Diablos wouldn’t be able to kill him and that maybe he could get them all. Mulvaney had just given him that look, that Mulvaney look. Pike hadn’t been able to figure that look out—or how it weighed on him so heavy when the detective did it.

In the back of the hotel lobby, Pike called Mulvaney’s number from memory. According to the agreement he’d signed with the Department of Justice, Pike wasn’t supposed to have contact with anyone he knew from his old life. That included Mulvaney.

Surprising himself, Pike hadn’t been able to walk away from Mulvaney. The detective had a quiet calm about himself that Pike had felt drawn to. The man had been the first on the scene after Petey was killed. Other police officers had tried to arrest Pike and take him away because he’d been carrying weapons that he didn’t have permits for and because he had a dead guy in his lap. Mulvaney had intervened, telling them all to stand down until arrangements were made to take Petey’s body away. Then Pike had gone willingly. He’d just wanted to do right by Petey. Mulvaney had read that without a word being said.

Mostly, though, Pike went because he no longer had anywhere else to go.

At his end, Mulvaney answered and then hung up the phone. Both of them were careful about the connection that existed between them. The US Marshals knew they stayed in touch and had decided to look the other way for the most part because Pike and Mulvaney were both more stubborn than the marshals were persistent. But with the Diablos still lurking around, it was better to be careful.

Fifteen minutes later, while Pike was watching kids skateboarding in an alley across the street, the pay phone rang.

“Hey. Everything okay, hoss?” Mulvaney had a raspy voice that sounded like it came from the bottom of a well.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Heard you were getting grief from the attorney.”

“They don’t want to push me too hard. I got more to give them than they can take away from me, and they know it.”

“You torched a crack house? Seriously?”

Pike grinned at that. Mulvaney had that effect on him. The guy was old enough to be his dad, which was a creepy thought every time it crossed Pike’s mind, but he stayed cool about things. “New building. Same guys.”

“Dealers are like roaches, kid. You shine a light on them, they scatter, find a new hole, and set up shop.”

“Gonna be hard to set up shop in this one again. It’s extra toasty.”

“That’s what I heard. You gotta get a new hobby.”

“Nothing else lets me work out my aggressions as well.”

“Work out your aggressions, huh?”

Pike leaned a shoulder into the wall, relaxing a little as he talked to Mulvaney the way he always did. “Something a counselor told me once. Said it was something I needed to work on.”

“I don’t think torching crack houses was on the list for viable exercises.”

“It should be. Improves the community. Makes you feel better.”

Mulvaney laughed. “So what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you call?”

“I gotta have a reason?”

“Kid, you
always
have a reason.”

Pike thought about that, silent for a moment while he gave the question consideration. “I’m shipping out next week.”

“Okay. You nervous?”

“Nope. Looking forward to it, actually.”

“So you can work out more aggressions.”

“Gonna be plenty of chances from what I’m hearing in the news. Lots of bombings and attacks over there.”

“Al Qaeda’s gearing up, thinking the United States is going to keep pulling soldiers out of the area. The terrorists want to be able to step into the vacuum.”

“Yeah, well, the Taliban’s not gonna want that to happen so easily. Neither will the warlords.” Pike knew what to expect. “Once America pulls out of Afghanistan, there’s gonna be a major land grab. The Afghan police ain’t ready to pick up the pieces. Russia’s waiting in the wings, so it’ll be interesting to see how that goes down. Especially since Pakistan is part of the mix. Kinda feels like throwing gasoline on a fire sometimes.”

“You do what you can, kid. Same as with burning crack houses.”

They were comfortably silent for a time, which was one of the things Pike really respected and enjoyed with the old warhorse. Mulvaney didn’t talk just to hear himself talk.

“So what’s got you bothered, Pike? I can hear in your voice that things with you aren’t quite right.”

“I spent the night in jail.”

“I hadn’t heard about that, but that’s not new for you. I don’t see any life-changing experience there.”

“It kind of was. Kinda has to do with me burning down crack houses.”

“So tell me.”

“There’s this diner across the street from the garage where I work.”

“With Monty. Yeah, I remember.”

“You remember Monty?” Mulvaney’s memory surprised Pike, though he knew it shouldn’t have. He was a decorated detective and knew his stuff.

“When you call, you mention Monty. Nice guy. Wife and kids. Coaches Little League ball. I tell you, my hat’s off to any guy willing to do that job. Those guys should be licensed to carry anything short of WMDs.”

The fact that Mulvaney remembered Monty bothered Pike. A lot. He hadn’t realized he’d talked about Monty so much.

Mulvaney prompted him. “Anyway, this diner. Keep going.”

“I was there last night helping Hector with his math homework.” Suspicious, Pike hesitated. “You know about Hector, too?”

“Yeah.”

“I talk about him?”

“More than you talk about Monty, if you want to know. Thing that surprises me is that you can help the kid with his math homework.”

Pike ignored that. “So I’m helping him with his homework. The server comes by, checks on us. She knows my name.”

“Your whole name?” Mulvaney sounded a little worried for a fleeting instant.

“No. Just Pike.”

Mulvaney chuckled. “Doesn’t take a detective to figure that out. She knows you because you go in there so much.”

“Yeah. And that bothers me.”

“What bothers you?”

“Her knowing my name bothers me. I didn’t know hers till last night.”

“Pike, I’m gonna tell you this and you’d better not bust me for my man points for saying so, but you’re a good-looking guy. Women are gonna notice you, and once they’ve noticed, they’re gonna remember you. Especially if you’re polite. She probably knows your name and how you want your burger, whether you like mustard or mayo. I don’t see a problem.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like what?”

Thinking about how to best put it, Pike shook his head in disgust. His reasoning sounded foolish even to him. “People knowing me. Knowing my business.”

“Anybody know you’re in witness protection?”

“No.”

“Then they don’t know your business. They just know your name. Only your first name at that. They don’t know you.”

“They know me more than I want them to. There’s a police detective who knows me now.”

“That’s your fault. You don’t want to be noticed by the police, don’t break the law. Or at least have the decency to cover it up.”

Pike ignored the interruption and continued his list of things that bothered him. “Hector comes to me for homework.”

“Because he’s got nobody else and he figures you’re safe. It’s your fault for being somebody he trusts. Man, that’ll teach you.”

“Now this diner knows me because I punched out the server’s ex-convict ex-husband.”

“That’s what landed you in jail last night?”

“Yep.”

“They should have hung a medal on you.”

“I’m thinking around Tulsa they run shy on medals for beating the snot out of ex-husbands. From what I’ve seen, could be a full-duty detail if somebody wants to take up the cause.”

“For them to put you in jail, you must have beat the guy pretty good.”

“He pulled a knife. He had friends. When I beat him down, I wanted to make sure none of that was going to be a problem. He hit the floor and stayed there until they carted him off.”

“I see. But you’re not worried about the ex-convict?”

“He’s gonna be a convict again. Violating his parole. They’re sticking him back in the big house with new charges pending.”

“Then he’s not the problem. The problem is that you’re not invisible in the neighborhood.”

“Yeah.”

“Why does that bother you?”

Pike was quiet for a bit, thinking about it. “Because I don’t like to run a high profile.”

“Usually you don’t hang around one place to get a profile. Do you realize you’ve lived in that neighborhood for almost three years? Except for the time you’ve been on active duty.”

Actually, Pike hadn’t thought about the time involved. “Hector used to be a lot smaller.”

“I’ll bet he was. I also think Hector’s part of the problem.”

“Hector’s not a problem. He’s just a kid.”

“Right. A kid that you help with his math homework.”

“So I fix a few kids’ bicycle flats. I like working with my hands.”

“Bet it doesn’t take as long to patch a bicycle tube as it does to do long division.” Mulvaney was laughing.

“You think something is funny?”

“Yeah, I do. You. I think you’re funny. But it’s sad, too, because what’s going on is that you’re starting to notice how much you like it there.”

“I don’t like it here. It’s just a place to hang until we put the Diablos away.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Because I think what’s really going on is, after three years—longer than you’ve lived in any one place since you got out of the orphanage—you’re figuring out that you like living there and you’re starting to get afraid that somebody’s gonna come along and take you away from all those people.”

The uncomfortable feeling squirmed through Pike again, and he
suspected Mulvaney was closer to the truth than he wanted to admit. “These people will do just fine without me.”

“Really? Hector gonna learn math on his own?”

“He’s a smart kid. I think he’s deliberately having problems with his math so he can get me to help him. I sit down with him, he’s awesome, and I’m not a teacher.”

“Don’t sell yourself short as a teacher. The kid wants somebody he can look up to.”

“You and I both know I’m not the guy for that.”

“Probably not, but you’re all he’s got right now. Another thing: if you leave, is the crack house gonna burn itself down?”

“Detective Horner’s gonna be looking into that now.”

“Detective Horner, huh? Haven’t made it to a first-name basis yet?”

Irritated, Pike frowned. “Maybe now isn’t a good time to talk about this.”

“I’m fine with it. You’re not bothering me.”

“It’s bothering me. Talking to you isn’t helping.” Pike shifted against the wall, trying in vain to find a comfortable spot. The conversation wasn’t going the way he’d thought it would.

“I wish I could fix this for you, kid, but this is something you gotta figure out for yourself. Once you think it through, get it set in your mind, you’ll know what to do.”

“I’m thinking it would probably be better if I let the marshals move me.” The words sounded hollow and wrong to Pike, but he didn’t take them back.

“After you fought with them to stay there?”

“If I change my mind, they’ll be happy.”

Mulvaney’s voice lowered and grew more serious. “Yeah, I think you’re right about that. But what about you, Pike? Are you gonna be happy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, if you want some advice—”

“That’s why I called, but you’ve made everything confusing.”

“You were already confused. If I was you, I wouldn’t do anything until I was sure what I wanted to do.”

“I don’t like waiting. I want to have a plan now.”

“You’re getting reactivated. You can’t move anyway. A few days, you’ll be out of there. Moving will mean a new identity, and it’ll mean Lance Corporal Pike Morgan will no longer be a Marine.”

“Private.”

“I thought you made lance corporal during the Somalia mission.”

“I did. It lasted till I got back to the States. Didn’t make it through my first week before a shavetail second lieutenant with an attitude busted me back down.”

“You’re sure the lieutenant had the attitude?”

“That’s how I remember it.”

Mulvaney sighed. “The bottom line is this: are you ready to leave the corps? Because that’s what you’ll have to do if you let WitSec move you. The military will have your fingerprints on file. You won’t get back in under another name.”

“No. I don’t want out of the corps.” That was one thing Pike was certain of. He enjoyed being a Marine even though he didn’t care for the authority so much.

“Then go. Be safe. Wait to see how you feel when you get back.”

Pike watched the kids on skateboards in the alley and wondered if Hector knew them. Then he wondered if those kids would be a good influence or a bad influence on Hector. Realizing he was even thinking about that bothered him a lot. Hector had his mom to worry about him. The kid’s upbringing was none of Pike’s business.