He looked for Hector in the alleys and the gaps between row houses, but the little fucker had vanished. Shelton didn’t suppose he got across the Rio Grande by being an easy target.
The mystery of Jenna’s disappearance had been solved, though. If Hector wasn’t involved, why would he take off running? He was knee deep in it. He had to be, to risk life and limb by running from Shelton and his magical red beam.
Shelton turned down a snow-narrowed alley at the end of the street. He took out a few trash cans and snapped his rearview back while the Silverado trailed paint. He pushed down harder on the gas and sparks flew off the brick until the whole alley seemed swarmed with glow bugs.
He barreled onto Jupiter Road and there was Hector, two blocks ahead and running hard through the drifted sidewalks. Shelton didn’t know if he’d ever seen somebody run so fast. Hector was probably in a pair of Kmart high-tops, two sizes too small. Yet there he was, a low-flying flash of Mexican lightning.
Shelton punched the gas and covered some ground. Hector looked behind him, and when he saw Shelton gaining he rounded the next corner and nearly lost his footing, probably would have gone ass over elbows had he not grabbed a stop sign and flung himself forward onto Gibbons Street. Shelton skidded through the four-way himself and had to straighten the truck in the intersection.
Gibbons was a wide road, lined with discount storefronts and gas stations. It was Cutler’s half-mile stretch of suburban sprawl, and Shelton drove it at the speed limit. There were always cops on Gibbons, and while Shelton’s caution allowed Hector to regain his advantage, he was content to trail him as long as Hector was in his sights.
Shelton couldn’t believe the way Hector kept running, the way he maintained his speed. If Shelton had to run as far as Hector he would have already keeled over and died twice. Shelton admired the boy’s grit, which only made their quickly disintegrating friendship all the more difficult to bear.
Hector leapt the fence at the Saint Francis School playground while Shelton came to a stop at the red on the corner of Gibbons and Michigan. There he checked the glove box to see if he had any goodies stashed. He found a pint of whiskey, which was a relief.
He looked for something good on the radio, but it was all commercials. He glanced in the rearview, checked that he was all clear, and hoisted the pint for a swallow. He tapped the steering wheel and waited. There was nobody out, not even in this little ebb in the storm, so he decided to ignore the red and drive right on through. He had another gulp of whiskey, to keep the good times rolling.
Something was playing on the radio, but he didn’t know what it was. He recognized the tune, though, and hummed along. He passed the Amoco Station and the Urgent Care and the comic-book store. He turned off on Stanley Street and there was Hector, finally slowed to a jog on the sidewalk.
He hoped he didn’t have to kill Hector to get Jenna back, or even hurt him too badly, but that was really more of Hector’s decision, wasn’t it? That part didn’t have a thing to do with Shelton. Hector would either cooperate or he wouldn’t.
Meanwhile, the little absconder had run himself into a bit of a predicament. It turned out there weren’t any side alleys or sharp corners on Stanley Street. There was just the road and the razor wire where Stanley’s Used Ford stretched for blocks. Little Hector had trapped himself on a straightaway and Shelton had him dead to rights.
He didn’t guess Hector would stop and try to climb that fence, not when all Shelton would have to do is get out and tackle his ass to the ground. Or maybe shoot him in the back of the knee, but only as a warning and proof of the seriousness of his intent.
At the end of the street was the bike path that ran along the Bear River, which was obviously why Hector had chosen this route. Hit the bike path and he’d be safe, relatively. Shelton couldn’t drive farther than the turnaround at the end of the street, and even as tired as Hector was there was no way Shelton could catch him by foot.
The boy’s plan had been foiled, though. Shelton had caught him long before the turnaround, and he slowed the Silverado to a roll, then parked along the curb. He was no more than five feet behind Hector now, and he gave the horn a couple quick taps in greeting. Wisely, Hector stopped running and turned to face him.
Shelton put the truck in park, then opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. He pointed the Glock and put the laser square on the boy’s chest. Shelton thought about how precarious it all was, life and the universe.
Chapter Eleven
Portis drove the center of Grain Road and the Ranger held a hard, straight line through the drifted shoulders. The pines were set close and the snow had started to fall again.
Somebody was on the radio, singing about the Houston sky and galloping through bluebonnets. Portis had his window cracked and he smoked as he drove. He nodded at the stereo and said it was Warren Zevon.
“Who is that?”