“Damn you! Stop somewhere and let me see to it.”
Her impassioned shout was so unexpected, his neck popped when he turned his head toward her.
Her chest was rising and falling with agitation. “I had an injured man who ignored me. He insisted that he was fine, that he would be all right, that it wasn’t that bad, and he died. Hedied. I would prefer not to experience that again.”
Her voice had cracked. Her body was rigid, her expression stark. The appeal in her eyes was desperate.
Cursing under his breath, Mitch dragged his attention back to the roadway. He moved into the right-hand lane in time to turn into the parking lot of another super drugstore. As they rolled to a stop in the darkest area available, he said, “Got any money? Cash, not a credit card.”
Having collected herself, she gave a curt nod and took a small wallet from her handbag. She was about to open the car door when he said, “Hold on.” He reached into the narrow space between the seats and the cab’s window and pulled out a wadded-up windbreaker. “I don’t use this for undercover. It’s not pretty, but it’s clean. Put it on and pull the hood up.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“If I say it is, it is.” He placed his right arm on her seat back. “Dylan, here and now, in these circumstances, I’m the experienced professional, so what I say goes. Understand? Besides, it’s starting to sprinkle.”
She looked none too happy, but after a moment of mutinousglaring, she put on the windbreaker and pulled the hood over her head. Without saying another word, she got out and shut the door harder than necessary. He waited until she was inside the store, then took his cell phone from the pocket of his dirty, threadbare “homeless” jacket.
He had Jim Tucker’s number on speed dial. He thumbed it, and his former DEA colleague answered immediately, stating only his name by way of greeting.
Cheerfully, Mitch said, “Guess who.”
Tucker groaned. “What do you want? I’m busy.”
“Not as busy as you’re gonna be. I have a tip for you.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Tonight, a homeless man was assaulted with a deadly weapon.”
“Gee, that’s too bad.”
“The assailant was a short, spry male in his early twenties.”
“And you’re calling me with thiswhy?”
“The incident occurred in the median of Esplanade, directly in front of a locally owned restaurant with a loyal clientele. We know it well.”
Tucker sighed a handful of swear words. Mitch could picture him removing his eyeglasses and rubbing his tired eyes. “Any ID on the homeless man?”
Mitch said nothing, figuring that Tucker would read between the lines of his silence. That was confirmed when the agent added more words to his foul litany. “Was there bloodshed?”
“Some.”
“Which of the two?”
“I can say with absolute certainty that one of them was wounded.”
“Gunshot?”
“Knifing.”
“Jesus. How bad?”
“He’ll live.”
“Did the other one bleed?”
“No.”
