"With Cat-like Tread" - Part Ten

Revell, Mouse, and I stood in a circle in the middle of the Red Dog's back office with the mook in the center. He sat in one of the metal folding chairs, still out cold, his head down, hands cuffed behind him, ankles duct-taped to the chair legs.

"What do you think?" said Mouse. "Scare him first? Or do we just start slicing off body parts."

"That's starting to get inefficient," I said.

"Got a better idea?"

"I beat him until almost dead," said Revell, rubbing the knuckles of one ham-sized fist.

"He won't be any good in that condition, Rev," I said.

Revell shrugged. "Make me feel better."

A thought struck.

"Let's make him do the work for us," I said.

"How?" said Mouse.

"Dots," I said.

Mouse cackled with laughter.

* * *

Thumbnail-sized, self-adhesive GPS transmitters. Three mile range.

Tinker made them.

Murphy called them "dots."

I had stuck a dot on the inside of the mook's belt, toward the back, and secured it with a bit of duct tape. Then we'd left him in an empty booth at Wang's Fish and Chips next door to wake up.

The restaurant's patrons had ignored us.

Wang never said anything but flashed us a toothy grin and conspiratorial wink when we left.

Now, ten minutes later, Mouse and I were sitting in the Shelby in the alley next to the Red Dog, watching the display screen of the GPS receiver I had balanced on my right knee.

The screen showed the dot's current position: corner of 45th and Garner, two blocks away, and moving northeast.

I handed the receiver to Mouse and started the car. "You navigate," I said, put the Shelby into gear, and pulled out of the alley onto Garner.

* * *

We followed the signal to the light industrial district of Northwood, just south of the airport. Gray concrete buildings and rust-orange corrugated metal warehouses dotted the area, each with its own fenced-in lot.

I spotted a gray sedan ahead of us turn left at the intersection and glanced at Mouse.

She nodded, eyes on the GPS receiver. "That's him," she said.

I followed.

The street dead-ended on a salvage yard. Halfway down, the sedan turned into a lot and disappeared behind the fenceline.

I pulled the Shelby to the curb on the other side of the street and shut off the engine.

A brown-slatted chainlink fence surrounded the property. Between the slats I could make out a line of three office/warehouses. The gray sedan pulled into a slot across from the builidng next to two other cars. Two figures got out of the sedan and went into the middle unit.

"I'll bet this is where they would've taken the girls," I said. "I'll bet Raya's still here."

"You sure?"

"You heard Farrell. He said they were about to leave when he called to arrange the pick up."

I got out of the car. Mouse followed.

Went to the trunk and popped it open.

"They didn't get the girls," I said, "so they're gonna be heading out."

"We don't let them," said Mouse.

"Nope." I reached in, opened one of the duffels I had in there, and pulled out four flash-bang grenades. Gave two to Mouse. Put the other two in my cargo pockets.

Then patted myself down.

Eight reloads on my gear belt.

Checked the Twins. Full load. I'd reloaded back at the Red Dog.

One hundred fifty rounds total.

Plenty.

Mouse was grinning when I turned to her. "Slice and dice?"

"Yep," I said.

(to be continued...)

"With Cat-like Tread"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 11

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