Chapter 9
Doug consulted the tiny map within his grasp. His condo should be on the west side of town—one of the newer buildings he'd glimpsed last fall. He turned the steering wheel with his spare hand and took the exit heading toward Lampton Hill. The other cars behind him sped on down the highway, leaving the exit far behind. Few chose to go to the little town that barely wormed its way onto the map. It had been growing a little more lately. In a couple more decades it just might become part of Chicago's suburbs, but for now it was safely serene and separate.
He caught sight of the new developments almost automatically. He'd be living in Sparkling Heights. He felt a laugh bubbling in his stomach despite his dark thoughts. Even the name sounded rich. It was still hard to think about him living in an upstanding neighborhood rather than in another rundown old farmhouse on the edge of town.
He turned into Sparkling Heights, chewing his lip thoughtfully. A14 he contemplated. It was the one at the end. That was nice to know. He didn't want to be the one in the center of the complex. Out here, he would be left pretty well alone. Or so he hoped. He had a lot of thinking to do if he wanted this to work out. He turned into his parking spot and reached for the envelope he'd found in his glove compartment. Somebody had planted it there earlier. It worried him how Rollson could make all these things appear without Doug noticing. There should at least be some trace of the person who did it. But Rollson had the money to make things runs smoothly and silently.
Doug poured out the envelope's contents into his hand. Just as he had expected there was a wad of money—his first two thousand—a gun like the one he had used on the last job, and a set of keys. There were also a few tiny gadgets as well: Surveillance equipment for Doug's use. He pocketed everything except the set of keys. He let them jingle merrily within his grasp as he hopped out of the truck.
A whiff of fresh paint caught his nose. The front porch was gleaming white. His eyes rose to check out the rest of the house and caught sight of the stranger lounging against his front door. His eyes dropped disdainfully to the pair of black leather hiking boots on the guy's feet. They were caked in mud and flakes had dropped onto his bright red welcome mat. He let out a little sigh. This was his partner—or at least that was what Doug presumed. This guy had a thing or two to learn and one of them was: keep your tracks clean or you're more likely to get caught.
Instead of moving up to greet the guy—whatever his name was—he moved around the side of the truck. He hadn't been in the state of mind to remember names before. He hefted two large suitcases out of the truck bed and carted them toward the condo. When his gaze returned again to his partner, the guy had placed his arms across his chest in a disapproving gesture.
"Aren't you even going to say hi?"
"Hi," Doug replied shortly as he headed toward the house. He dumped the suitcases near the welcome mat. He purposely allowed one a little leeway so that it slammed down on his partner's toe. The guy hopped back, his face turned molten red. He slammed a rock hard fist into the side Doug's house.
Temper, Doug noted. He's a bit of a liability. He won't think clearly; he'll make mistakes. He filed this away for later use.
"Sorry," he intoned.
"Name's Grady," the guy said once he had gotten enough presence of mind back. "Grady Clark."
"I know," Doug replied, even though he didn't. He wouldn't admit to being at any disadvantage.
He looked the guy over, trying not to smirk. Grady was a real piece of work. Sure, some intelligence shone in his grey eyes, but Doug bet his ego far outweighed his bright side. Grady wore a pair of knee-length khaki shorts and a tee-shirt with some band name Doug didn't recognize. His blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, accentuating the length of his oblong face. His cheekbones here wide and round and he wore one of those tough guy expression.
Something bulged out in Grady's pocket and Doug was willing to bet it was a gun. Doug's own gun was safely hidden by the folds of his jacket that covered his pant leg. He was sweating in the hot and muggy air, but it was better than showing off his gadgets to the world. He didn't particularly care to get noticed.
Doug stuck the key into the doorknob and twisted. He stopped twisting midway and gave the other guy a wary glance. "You're not living here too, are you?"
He hoped against hope that this wasn't true. He didn't know how much he'd be able to stand of this guy on a regular day basis—especially when he was considering killing him if need be.
The guy waved his hands in front of him and shook his head. "No. No. I'm living five houses that-a-way," he said, pointing down the street. "Just thought I'd say hello and get some things worked out."
Doug tried not to snort at Grady's word choice. He finished twisting the key and opened the door. The door swung back to reveal a glossy wood floor and a curving staircase running along the wall. Cool air conditioning blasted him in the face. He picked up his suitcases and sidled by the larger guy. Grady moved out of the way. He'd already had his toe damaged once. Doug dropped the suitcases in the entrance and turned back to face the other guy.
"What other things need to get worked out?" He asked of Grady, leaning into the door frame.
"Yeah. You know," Grady said, floundering a little. "Like who's in charge."
Doug raised his eyebrows. "Who's in charge?" he asked, nonplussed. "Grady, there're two of us. What do we need leadership for? We weigh the options together and we figure out a good solution. We don't do anything that is going to hurt our cover, and above all: we don't act rashly."
Grady looked a little deflated. You would have liked to push me around a little, wouldn't you, Doug thought, smirking inwardly. Yeah, this guy definitely had a power trip issue. He'd met Grady's kind before.
"Hey," Grady lifted his hands as if Doug had just accused him—which he technically had. "I'm not going to blow our cover. But don't expect me to sit around when I have a shot at one of them 'wolves."
Doug lifted the object from his pocket. Doug knew what the bulging gadget was even though it just barely resembled a gun. He'd used the same kind of weapon on Moldowin. Doug hissed in warning as Grady waved it about.
"Relax, will you?" Grady complained. "There's nobody out here to see me!"
"What about the neighbor's?" Doug challenged.
Grady gave him an "oh, come on!" kind of look. "This thing doesn't even look like a weapon, much less sound like one."
Doug wanted to punch whatever lights the guy actually had in his head out. He settled for glaring at him instead. It wasn't a very satisfying alternative.
"Like I say," Grady continued, brandishing the weapon within his hands, "I'm no coward. If I get a chance, I'm going to shoot one of them. No one will be able to trace it back to me. They won't even be able to understand how the 'wolf was hurt in the first place. A couple hundred silver needles stuck into 'im. It'll be like one of those unsolvable mysteries."
Doug sighed with frustration. "Look Grady, I have to change and then I'm going on a run, so I'll see you later."
He shut the door in the guy's face with relief. He rummaged through one his suitcases and pulled a pair of track pants and a dark tee-shirt free. He changed into them as he explored the condo. It had a clean and unlived-in feeling to it. Thankfully, Rollson had made sure the place was fully furnished. After he was done changing, he grabbed the cell phone and slumped into one of the comfortable grey couches. He dialed Rollson's number and waited.
"Doug, how nice to hear from you!" Rollson answered in a cheery voice the moment he answered the phone.
"The guy's an idiot," Doug replied, not waiting for friendly chit chat. "He's going to get us both exposed. Or worse, killed."
"Come on," Rollson chided. "It can't be that bad."
Doug snorted. "The guy's a liability."
"Listen Doug, Grady's one of the best and dirtiest fighters I've got. And he's bright too. Yes, I admit he's a little hot headed…and a little full of himself, but—"
"A little?" Doug interrupted.
"Okay, more than a little," Rollson replied. "But Doug, he'll be an asset. He may not have been in the 'wolf hunting business for long, but he's fit and strong, and he's not afraid to shoot a gun at a real target. Play to his strengths. You'll work something out."
"But…" Doug began.
""Okay, great," Rollson was saying in a harassed voice. "I'll talk to you later."
The phone clicked and the dial tone hummed before Doug could say another word. He dropped the phone, wordlessly. What was he going to do know? A seasoned and predictable fighter he could anticipate, but Grady would go shooting the place up before Doug could get the chance to save his sister.
He got to his feet, stretching slowly. Only a run would cure his bad mood. And perhaps it would also get his creative juices running. He moved over to the front door and pulled on a pair of sneakers.
He opened the door and froze. Grady was still standing there, his ponytail swishing in the light breeze.
"What are you still doing here?"
"I'm going running with you," Grady replied as if this were an obvious assumption. "You can show me the target's houses so I can start thinking about tactics."
Doug shrugged challengingly, "If you can keep up."
He knew instinctively that Grady couldn't. Few humans had Doug's unchecked speed. The Colonel had made sure of that. In fact, Doug bet that Jamie could have beat this guy by a mile in the old days. Now, there was no way of telling just how fast Jamie was.
He shut the door behind him and took off at an all out run.
