The bite wound bled through my shirt, but fortunately not all the way through the sleeve of my jacket.
I roll up the sleeve. Her teeth cut dents into my skin like red dashes that make an oval shape. Not bad enough for stitches, but it’ll still sting like hell. It’s not the first time I’ve been bit, but I still worry about what disease might have creeped into my bloodstream.
I wince after I douse the wound with alcohol. Then I dab it with gauze until it’s clean, rub the cream on, and place fresh gauze over the wound and secure it with tape.
I’m seriously craving some blow about now, but I fight it. No amount of coke will keep my body from breaking down real soon.
When my phone has enough juice, I turn it on.
I got messages. Two of them are from Miriam’s father, and one is from Leslie.
I listen to her message first.
“It’s me. I saw the news and Miriam Gregory’s photo, so I’m sure you were involved in that terrible shooting. Just want to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you can. Bye.”
Damn, it feels good to hear her voice. I’m not ready to call her, though. As hard as it is right now, the way I’m feeling, I need to call Ian Gregory.
He answers the phone immediately. He sounds distraught, tired.
“Frank Marr here, Mr. Gregory.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner.”
“I spoke with the police. They filled me in as much as they could. I was hoping you might have something more.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That you and a police officer had my daughter, but there was a…a shooting and she ran away.”
“I’m afraid that’s about it. I want you to know that I didn’t find any sign that she might have been injured.”
“You mean like…blood?”
“Yes. Has anyone else contacted you?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry I let her go,” I tell him, realizing too late that you never apologize. It’s something I learned as a cop. Use any other words, but never apologize like it’s your fault. But then again, I’m not a cop anymore. “I’m going to find her.”
“Mr. Marr, maybe at this point I should leave it to the police. I mean, they seem to be really on top of it now.”
“Yes, they are. I can assure you of that, but I’m going to stay on it all the same. It’s on my time now, not yours.”
“I don’t expect you to do that.”
“I know, but it was made personal. The police will do what they do, and I’m going to do what I have to do.”
No response.
“Mr. Gregory?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“I’m going to find your girl.”
I hear him begin to sob.
“We’ll talk soon, okay?”
“Yes, okay,” he says, a bit broken.
I disconnect, lean back on the sofa, and light a smoke.
What the fuck did I just do, making a promise like that?
Sixty-six
After twenty-four hours missing, especially under these circumstances, the chances of finding Miriam again are slim to none. So I gotta get up and move.
Despite the fear of crashing, I get a little support from the white powdery substance.
I’m going to need a car. And I hate to say it, but I know just where to go.
I put on my new suit, go to my stash, and count out ten grand. I straighten the bills out as best as I can and fold them into thousand-dollar wads. I also grab one of my throwaway guns, a .45-caliber Taurus pistol. It’s not my style. I don’t like the shine on the steel. It’s too fucking flashy, but maybe I need a little dazzle for what I might have to do. I also take my .38, another gun I have licensed, and then I make sure I got enough powder this time just in case I have to pull another all-nighter.
I cab it all the way out to the Ethiopian dealership in Maryland, where I took care of Lenny’s truck.
I give the cabbie a hefty tip, and he blesses me.
I find the same Ethiopian in the lot’s trailer office. He recognizes me and pops from his chair like a Whac-A-Mole.
“I’m here as a customer,” I assure him.
“Oh, I see,” he replies, with some hesitation.
“I can show myself around.”
“Feel free. Feel free. I’ll be right here when you need me.”
I exit and check the few rows of cars he has on the lot. First one that catches my eye is an older-model silver Toyota Camry. It’s got some good tint, but not enough to make it stand out. It’s nice enough that it’d look natural sitting in someone’s suburban Virginia driveway. That’s what I need right there.
The price on the windshield is $8,999. I know that’s high for this year and model. We’ll see how much I can talk that fool down.
I go to check it out. Looks clean, but I gotta hear the engine. I turn and notice the Ethiopian staring at me through the window. I wave him over.
He responds quickly.
“That’s a very excellent car.”
“Let’s say we dispense with the sales pitch. You got a key so I can hear the engine?”
“Yes, sir, most certainly. Let me start it for you now.”
He opens the driver’s door, sits, and starts the engine.