Hair of the Dog by Gordon Carroll (classic novels to read .txt) 📕

I got to them, Max was keeping Jerome Larkin at bay with his teeth at the base of his skull. I wondered what that must feel like…didn’t like it at all, and pushed the thought as far away as I could.

“Easy, Max,” I said. “Good Job, boy. Platz.”

I activated the attached muzzle light on the AR15 and shined it on Jerome Larkin.

“You take it easy too,” I said.

He turned, slowly, still sitting, and looked at me through squinting eyes. He held a hand up to block the light and I saw blood on his hand.

“I can’t do that,” he said.

“Can’t do what?”

“Can’t take it easy. I have to find Clair.”

“Who?”

“Clair, my little girl. The girl you stole from me.”

“Keisha? The girl you kidnapped?”

“I didn’t kidnap her. I saved her.”

“After you murdered her mother.”

He didn’t answer to that for a few seconds. Then he said, “Yeah, I killed her mother. That was the job. But I didn’t know about Clair. They was gonna kill her. I stopped them. She’s mine now.”

“That’s not how it works,” I said, and I kind of wanted to put a bullet through his head.

“They gonna kill her,” he said.

“Who’s going to kill her?”

“Bloods.”

“Why do the Bloods want her dead?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “They just do. Won’t stop till she dead.”

“No,” I said, “she’s safe.”

“Ain’t no such thing as safe less she with me. They gonna kill her. Only I can keep her safe.”

“Well,” I said, “that’s going to be pretty hard since you’re going to be caged inside a prison cell for the rest of your life.”

“No,” he said as he stood to his feet, “that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Sit back down.” With the slightest of shifts, I pointed the suppressed muzzle at his heart.

Max watched him silently, and I knew he was a hair’s breadth from attacking.

“No,” he said. “You gonna tell me where to find her and how to get her back.”

“Or,” I said, “I can just kill you here and now.”

He wasn’t squinting anymore, just staring over the light as if he could look into my eyes. I’ve seen resolve in men before. Total commitment in a belief or a cause, and I was seeing it, here and now, in Jerome Larkin. He was about to attack. He knew I had a high powered rifle pointing at his chest and an attack dog from the depths of Hell by my side. He was hurt and tired and had no chance, but still he was going to go for it. All for a little girl he had no right to.

“Before you try it,” I said, “understand this. I’m not going to kill you after all. Instead, I’m going to blow out your knees. You’ll never walk the same again. And Max here, he is going to rip pieces off your body. Big pieces. Pieces you wouldn’t want ripped off. Pieces that shouldn’t be ripped off. Pieces you wouldn’t think could be ripped off. And it’s going to take a while for help to come. A long while. You will be hurting that whole time.”

“Don’t matter,” he said. “You should think ‘bout this; I’m not gonna kill you either, not till after.” He looked down at where Max lay. “Him I’m gonna kill right off. But not you. First, you gonna tell me what I need to know. Then after, I’ll kill you. But that killing can go one of two ways. You give up now, tell me, and it can go quick and painless. But you make me hurt to get it… you waist time I ain’t got…and I swear, I’ll spend some extra time I ain’t got to make you pay.”

In my experience, I have found it wise to take people at their word when they are threatening you.

I let the muzzle drop to his right knee and took up the very minimal slack on the trigger.

Headlights splashed the trees overhead and I heard the sound of engines coming up my mountain. More than one.

28

Van Blake had seen his share of war. He’d been Spec Ops back when that really meant something. After that, he did a stint with the DEA, working the jungles of Columbia. He got in a spot of trouble with a woman and some cocaine over there and got drummed out of the agency. He signed up with a private firm and shipped back over to the sandpit for two more tours before getting caught ripping off some locals of their drug money. So now he did the merc gig. It paid better than all the others combined, although sometimes the work could be spotty. Still, there were no rules and he liked that. It suited him.

Van was a big man with big muscles. He kept his hair high and tight, just like back in the day, and his body ready. He put in six hours a week on the range and could strip and reassemble any auto or semi-auto in less than a minute.

He surveyed the group of men around him in the SUV; all mercenaries like him. Men of differing backgrounds and builds and specialities, but all warriors of the highest caliber.

The group had been brought together a few days earlier and had been stationed on 24/7 call ever since, just waiting for the summons. They were moving five minutes later, weapons loaded, with night gear attached. They had been stationed in a safe house a few minutes away from the target location, and at this time of night, there had been little traffic to impede their progress.

It seemed like a lot of manpower to take out one man. Van thought it was overkill, but hey, overkill was a good thing in combat. He checked his Commando’s magazine set for the third time and made ready for battle.

The SUV started up a winding hogback and he slipped his night goggles down from their helmet mount and over his eyes. He’d studied the maps of the terrain and knew exactly how far it was to the house. The