Goddess of Justice by Dwayne Clayden (mobi ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Move your fucking trucks,” Steele said. “Or we’ll push them out of the way.”

“You’re not getting past us.” Two of the Mounties stepped forward, their rifles at the ready.

“You’re fuckin’ hilarious,” Steele said. “Posturing with rifles won’t intimidate us. You might bully a reporter and her cameraman. You’re in shit for that.”

“We don’t want a fight with you,” a Mountie said. “Go back to the city. You have no jurisdiction here.”

A siren grew louder, and a black sedan raced toward them. The car slid to a stop. The driver’s door opened. Jackson stepped out. “What the hell is this? The shoot-out at the O.K. Corral?”

No one moved.

“You’re a bunch of idiots.” Jackson stepped between them and swatted the RCMP rifles down. He glared at the ERT team. “Put the fucking long guns away.” He glared from Steele and Zerr to the ERT sergeant. “Make sure the cameraman and the reporter are not hidden away in your lockup. Order your men to drop the news crew at our arrest processing.” He handed a radio to the ERT sergeant, who stepped away. They couldn’t make out his side of the conversation. Finally, he returned.

“Pack up, boys. We’re not needed.”

The ERT trucks pulled away and Steele steered their SUV up the lane. Jackson followed. As they approached the house, Lobo raced around the corner, barking, fangs bared.

Steele slowly got out of the truck. “Whoa, Lobo.” Steele cautiously held out a hand.

Lobo glared, hackles raised, growling. He blocked the way to the house. When any of them took a step, his barking continued. Then Annie strode around the corner, a shotgun at the ready.

“Oh, it’s you three.” She lowered the shotgun. “I thought Lobo and I were gonna bag us some ERT cops out of season.”

“Those assholes will always be in season.” Zerr headed over to Annie and kissed her. “You going to invite us inside?”

Annie glanced at Steele and Jackson. “Do I have to invite the other two?”

Zerr nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Dang.” She grabbed his hand, and they headed to the house. Everyone shed their winter gear in the entranceway. While Annie brewed coffee, the guys sat around the kitchen table.

Jackson stretched his long legs away from the table and clasped his hands behind his head. “This is a nightmare.”

“How do you think Brad feels?” Annie glared from the coffee pot. “He’s out there alone.”

“He enjoys being alone,” Steele said.

“No.” Annie frowned, her eyes on the verge of tears. “He enjoys being alone with Lobo. There’s a vast difference. Now he is completely alone.” She sniffled, then grabbed the coffeepot.

Lobo wandered around the kitchen sniffing pants and socks.

“See,” Annie said. “Even Lobo knows something isn’t right.”

“Sarge,” Steele said. “Tell us what the hell is going on.”

While Annie poured coffee, Jackson told them what he knew.

Annie sat, hands wrapped around the white coffee mug, and stared at the swirling steam. “That matches what Brad told me.” Then she told them about helping Brad escape and the ERT team assault on the farmhouse.

“Why did Lobo think Brad was in the trunk?” Steele asked.

“Because he was.” Annie grinned.

“I don’t follow.” Jackson sipped his coffee. “The Mounties didn’t find him.”

Annie smiled. “Brad’s always thinking ahead. He knew either Calgary cops or the RCMP would be here. I stopped a mile from here. Brad left his T-shirt there, then headed off on foot. I drove here, into the gun sights of a half-dozen Mounties, sure Brad was in the trunk. They were pissed when he wasn’t, so they took it out on Lobo and me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Zerr asked.

Annie tried to cover her wrists, but Zerr grabbed her arm and saw the redness from the cuffs. “Son of a bitch. They’re dead.”

Annie pulled her hands away. “Not now, Charlie. After we help Brad.” She stared at her coffee. The cup shook. “What do we do? We don’t know where he is.”

“He’ll contact us,” Steele said.

“He doesn’t have a vehicle,” Annie said. “I don’t know how much cash he has. Every cop in the city and the RCMP are searching for him.”

“Not every cop.”

They hadn’t heard the back door open. Briscoe strode in, shaking snow off his fake fur hat and stomping his overshoes. “I heard I could get a coffee here.” He slid off his police issue parka and plopped into a chair.

Annie poured him a coffee, then got another pot brewing. “I guess none of us are sleeping tonight, so I’ll keep the coffee going.”

Briscoe sipped his coffee. “Ah. The lot of you look miserable, morose.”

“Morose?” Steele said. “Where did you learn that word?”

“He used it properly, though,” Jackson said.

Briscoe ignored them and drank coffee. “You know he’s not dead, right? You’re acting like this is a wake. Get your shit together. We have to help him.”

“We don’t know where he is,” Steele said.

Briscoe drank some coffee. His eyes sparkled. “But he knows where we are.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The desk sergeant handed Sadie a bag of her belongings. “Sign here.” He slid a form across the counter.

“It better all be here.” Sadie glared at the sergeant as she put on her black knee-high boots, slid on her black parka and knit wool beanie, then wrapped her red silk scarf around her neck.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me.” She signed the form, grabbed her black purse, slung it over her shoulder, and stomped to the back door. She stepped out into the alley and slid on her leather gloves. Her cameraman had been released before her and went to get the van. She leaned against the outside wall in the back alley, waiting for her cameraman to pick her up. Cops came and went from headquarters. A few grinned as they passed.

Bastards.

An early sixties, rust-bucket truck drove slowly down the alley and stopped opposite her.

Now she wished there were cops in the alley. Her eyes darted up and down the alley, then to the back door. She had no problem screaming for help. But no cops were around. She thought about running. Then