“No bodyguard, either?”
As Roland steered out of the end of the alley, he said, “You’re acting as my bodyguard tonight. You up to it?”
The kid saluted him. “Do I get a gun?”
“Not till I say.”
Roland had looked closely at him when he’d gotten into the truck. This morning’s glassy eyes had cleared. If he was still high, it was only barely. In fact, it might go easier if the little asshole was a bit mellow.
“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
“How far is it?”
“Not far.”
“Can we have some music?” he asked, reaching for the radio dial.
“No. This isn’t a joyride. You’re supposed to be keeping your eyes on the side mirror to watch for anyone tailing us.”
“Got it.”
Roland tried not to let his anticipation show. The day had gotten off to a rough start, but it was ending on a much better note. Dylan and Haskell were still no-shows, but they would be sniffed out, then snuffed out, sooner or later.
The restaurant had been crowded and busy tonight, but he’d taken a call from Barbara Nix, who had reported that Darcy and his team had found the inlet on the bayou where the boat carrying the bodies of Adler and the girl had put in, only to discover that the cleanup crew had done an excellent job of ridding the area of evidence. Even if a scrap had been found, by now it would have been so compromised by the elements that a prosecutor would consider it useless.
Just before securing his office and heading for the back door, Roland had made a call to Oz to pass along that good news. “Nix organized the team herself. She’s been one step ahead of Darcy and his bunch the whole time.”
The young woman really was remarkable, but Roland had resolved to keep a tight leash on her. Go-getters often got ahead of themselves, ahead of their bosses. And he wouldn’t let that happen.
He went on to inform Oz that he and El Paso were scheduled to leave for the meat locker within minutes.
Oz had signed off with, “Call me when it’s done.”
Now, having reached his destination, Roland pulled the truck right up to the garage door at the back of an unpromising edifice. He looked across at the smart-ass who was sitting forward, gazing through the windshield at the brick building looming just beyond the blunt hood of the truck.
For over a century, the unsightly structure had been at the mercy of hurricanes and other erosives. It had withstood them, but their damaging effects were visible. Several of its windows were cracked despite the chicken wire in them. Mortar that was crumbling or missing altogether had left wide gaps between its faded and chipped red bricks.
El Paso said, “I got all dressed up for this?”
Ignoring the kid’s droll remark, Roland got out. El Paso, who’d gotten out on his own, took a look around at the area, which, in days past, had been a thriving industrial hub. Most of the factories and warehouses were now derelict and unoccupied except for squatters.
Anyone giving a casual glance to the building Roland approached with El Paso would think it was deserted and decaying like its neighbors. There wasn’t a sign designating either its owner or that it was Ristorante Italiano’s private meat locker.
He used a remote to open the garage door. It creaked and clattered as it rolled up, and at halfway an alarm began chirping. Roland stepped into the dark maw and punched in the code on the control box just inside. As soon as he and El Paso cleared the door, he used the remote to begin its noisy descent.
Roland flipped a switch, but the only lights to come on hung from the ceiling in a single file down the center of the cavernous space. The smell of fresh meat was redolent.
“Jesus, it’s cold in here,” El Paso said, hugging himself and running his hands up and down his arms.
“Of course it is. It’s a meat locker.” Roland gestured to his right where, hanging by hooks, were sides of beef.
El Paso looked at them with interest. “Did you see that old movieRocky, where he beat the shit out of that cow carcass?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
He turned to Roland and smirked. “Is this where you practice your boxing?”
