Contagious Page 27

“She can really drive that thing,” Bobby said.

Donald nodded.

“Donny, I’m going to throw out a wild guess here. You haven’t been taking your meds, right?”

Donald shook his head.

“I figured as much,” Bobby said. “What I love about you is your consistency—you never learn. Come on, Candice is working on a big lunch, and my daughter the Blond Tornado wants to watch the Pistons with her Unkie Donny. Think you can manage that without trying to beat somebody up?”

“I can give it the old college try.”

They got on the sleds and headed back down the trail. Donald felt like a complete idiot, losing his temper like that in front of his daughter. What if the guy hadn’t been Bobby’s neighbor? What if he’d just been some jacka.s.s with a gun? Then Donald, and his daughter, could have been in real danger. Maybe he’d start taking those meds as soon as he got back to the house.

MOTEL -ROOM COFFEE

Dew sat in his motel room sipping a cup of motel-room coffee. He remembered when it was all fancy to have one of those little single-cup coffee machines in your room. Now they were everywhere, and they all skimped on the vitals—who the h.e.l.l made coffee with only one creamer and one sugar?

s.h.i.tty as the coffee was, he needed that caffeine kick for this conversation. He held the coffee in one hand, his old bricklike secure satellite phone in the other.

“It was a bloodbath, Murray,” Dew said.

“You screwed the pooch this time, Top,” Murray said, using the shorthand for top sergeant, Dew’s rank back when they served together. Dew hated that phrase, and Murray knew it.

“You’ve put me up against it,” Murray said. “The new chief of staff is going to have my b.a.l.l.s on a platter for this. I told them Dawsey was under control.”

“Yeah, well, that was a pretty stupid thing to do, L. T.” Murray’s old wartime shorthand for lieutenant annoyed him just as much as Top annoyed Dew.

“It’s not all bad,” Dew said. “At least Margaret has that test for the hosts. That’s a big step.”

“True, that will help some,” Murray said. “I don’t know if it’ll be enough—Vanessa Colburn has it in for me.”

“Something else might help, too,” Dew said. “After I sent my report, the guys found the daughter, Sara McMillian, in a shallow grave in the backyard. Killed by a hammer blow to the head. So it’s not like Dawsey was butchering innocents here.”

“Nice,” Murray said. “How’s the baby and the oldest son?”

“Baby is fine. No infection. Oldest son, Tad, he’s physically okay. Psychologically . . . well, turns out the father made Tad dig the grave for the sister.”

“You’re s.h.i.tting me.”

“I s.h.i.t you not,” Dew said. “That’s what the boy said. And he’s probably telling the truth, because his hands are all blistered. It’s pretty hard to dig through frozen ground. Hence the shallow part of the shallow grave.”

“Jesus. Well, I guess I can say Dawsey actually saved Tad while I’m at it. Less psycho, more brave hero.”

“Murray, listen. I’m thinking maybe it’s time we put Dawsey away.”

A pause. “Define put him away.”

“Not that kind,” Dew said. “A sanitarium or something. A supermax. Whatever.”

“Come on, Dew,” Murray said. “You know we can’t do that.”

“He attacked two agents.”

“Baumgartner has a broken nose and Milner has a black eye, for f.u.c.k’s sake,” Murray said. “They’ve probably got worse in a pickup basketball game.”

“Doesn’t matter. a.s.saulting an agent is a federal offense.”

“Oh, are you going to start obeying the letter of the law all the sudden?

Let’s make that happen, Top. Maybe you and I can share a cell and have some quality time together before they give us the chair.”

Dew said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” Murray said. “You know what? The kid’s no different from us. He just doesn’t have a badge.”

That one hit home. Was Dew actually like Perry? Willing to do whatever it took to get the job done? No, they weren’t alike for one key reason Dew didn’t want to admit—he’d killed a lot more people than Dawsey had.

“He wrecked that car,” Dew said. “He wants another one.”

“So get him another one. It’s only taxpayer money. Enough b.i.t.c.hing about this kid already. Dew, we need a live host.”

“Why the f.u.c.k do you think I’m b.i.t.c.hing about him? How am I supposed to get a live host when Dawsey is running around killing them like a f.u.c.king wild animal?”

Murray was silent for a second. “What the h.e.l.l happened to you?”

“Oh, Christ,” Dew said. “Are you firing up a rah-rah speech?”

“Just shut the f.u.c.k up and listen,” Murray said. “And that’s an order. Your job used to be getting men to follow you, because if they didn’t, they’d wind up dead, and you probably along with them. This isn’t any different. Find a way to get the job done. Do it in the parameters set before you. I don’t want to hear about your obstacles or any kind of pressure you’re under.”

“How about you see this s.h.i.t firsthand and then you talk to me about pressure?” Dew said. “I’ll switch places with you in a heartbeat.”

“Vanessa Colburn would eat you alive,” Murray said. “You wouldn’t last five minutes here, just like I wouldn’t last five minutes there. What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you? You get your partner killed and you think you’re excused from finding a way to get the job done?”

Dew took a slow breath. “You’d best be real careful how you choose your words from here on out, L. T.”

“Oh, can the tough-guy drama,” Murray said. “Malcolm is dead, Dew. Deal with it. You want payback, right?”

“You’re G.o.dd.a.m.n right I do.” That was exactly what he wanted. More than anything else, save for a magic potion that would bring Malcolm back from the dead.