Bone Rattle by Marc Cameron (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

to remind everyone of the physical location of their target one last time before they moved. Booting the wrong door could prove every bit as dire as taking the wrong kidney.

“Weapons?” Officer Brooks asked. She was bright-eyed, fit, smaller than Lola, with hardly enough room on her waist for her Glock, extra magazines, Taser, pepper spray, radio, and handcuffs.

“There was a handgun in the drawer during the last arrest,” Lola said. “It was stolen, so we took that one, but I’d assume he’s replaced it – if only to keep from getting robbed by other heroin dealers.”

Brooks nodded slowly, as if she expected as much.

Sean Blodgett’s face screwed into an angry grimace. “And maybe a spider,” he said.

Chapter 3

Cutter tapped the Colt Python revolver at his side – his grandfather’s service weapon. The USMS regulation Glock rested over his right kidney. He moved quickly down the street with Lola and Officer Brooks on his heels. They stopped in a line at the edge of the driveway, fifteen feet from the front door, using the shadows of a fat blue spruce for concealment. Cutter took a deep breath of the chilly air, centering his thoughts. There was a certain smell to working a warrant. Brighter, more alive. Grumpy always said if you didn’t smell it, you were in the wrong business. Cutter had been creeping up on bad guys for nearly twenty years if he counted his military time. Mud hut, remote cabin, or residential neighborhood – it never got old.

Pistols out and stacked single file, they were close enough to hear one another breathing. Officer Brooks, who brought up the rear, gave Lola a firm tap on the side of the thigh with her nondominant hand. She was good to go. Lola repeated the gesture to Cutter, who did the same to Alvarez, who trotted off without another word.

From this point on, things would unfold at lightning speed.

Officer Brooks and Lola peeled off the line as soon as Alvarez reached the car, padding softly up the concrete steps to take up positions on the porch on either side of the doorjamb – out of the fatal funnel.

Cutter covered Nancy, watching the windows above while she approached the truck.

Another dog barked. This one closer. Each tiny noise sounded exponentially louder than it really was. The zip of spruce boughs against a ballistic nylon vest surely woke everyone in the neighborhood. Lola’s stifled cough echoed all the way down the street.

It was getting light enough to see Alvarez clearly as she lifted the door handle on Pringle’s blue Silverado, using the body of the vehicle for cover. She put her hip into the truck, rocking it. Headlights flashed and the horn blared. That part of her mission complete, Alvarez trotted up the steps and parked herself behind Lola.

Now Cutter could move. He reached the porch in four quick strides, skipping all but one step to fall in behind the others at the same moment the door yawned open.

Pringle’s girlfriend stepped out wearing nothing but a terrycloth robe and a very large pair of panties. She was a corpulent woman, and the robe, meant for someone much smaller, did little to hide everything that wasn’t covered by the undies. One hand shielding her eyes from the flashing headlights, the other held a cell phone. As Alvarez had pointed out, it was astounding how quickly felons called in help when someone tried to steal what they’d stolen from someone else.

Officer Brooks identified herself and motioned the woman the rest of the way out with a flick of her hand. Lola and Alvarez covered the open door with their handguns.

Cutter bumped Lola so she could take a step inside and cover the entry. The stairway to the second floor was eight feet across the small foyer. Back to the door, Cutter took note of the coat closet to his right – there was always a closet – and the open hall leading to the rear of the house. He covered the landing above with his Colt, while Alvarez covered the interior hall. The heat inside the house was turned up full blast, and the moldering odor of dirty socks and sour dishes hit them full in the face.

It smelled like a felony warrant.

Officer Brooks turned the heavy woman so she could cuff her before the shock of seeing cops at the door wore off.

The ratchet sound of the handcuffs brought the woman out of her stupor. “Why you doin’ this? Am I under arrest?”

“Depends,” Alvarez said, her voice calm but firm.

“You gonna let me tie my robe?”

“Just face the wall and you’ll be fine,” Alvarez said over her shoulder, standing just inside the door. “Which room is Jarome in?”

“He’s not here,” the girlfriend said.

“That’s a good way to be under arrest,” Alvarez said. “We know he’s here. If you hide him, you go to jail for hindering.”

“Why you ask me that shit if you already know?”

“I asked what room he’s in,” Alvarez reminded her.

The woman gave an insolent shrug. “I’m freezing my ass off out here on the porch. How am I supposed to know where he is?”

“Got a long gun leaning against the wall at the top of the steps,” Lola piped.

“Who else is here?” Brooks asked.

“Just us,” the woman said.

Alvarez shook her head. “Us?”

“Me and Jarome.”

Cutter pointed to the left, motioning for Lola to come with him and clear the bottom floor while Nancy Alvarez watched the stairway. He didn’t like huddling at the door for too long.

At that moment, Jarome Pringle stumbled around the corner from the direction of the kitchen. Dreadlocks stuck skyward from a hard night’s sleep. Belly rolls all but obscured his leopard-print Speedo. He didn’t appear to see Cutter until he made it well into the foyer. He tried to spin and run up the stairs but didn’t have the dexterity or speed.

“Jarome!” Cutter barked. “Stop! US Marshals!” Unwilling to let him get to the gun, Cutter sprang forward, catching Pringle by the hairy shoulder before he