Four

Alex hadn’t seen “Jeff from Spring City” for himself, but Maggie had described him in such a way that Alex was left genuinely curious about Tenny’s skills with disguises. Now, though, he was grateful that Tenny had crammed a John Deere cap on his head, and left off anything more theatrical.

They left Café du Monde on foot, dropped Ava back at the hotel, and then took the Jeep to the precinct. Alex drove. When they drew close enough to see the low-slung concrete building, Tenny turned to face him, glare barbed against the side of Alex’s face.

“You’re not going to park in the parking lot,” he said, more order than question.

“I am, actually.”

“Right. So they can get us on camera, and take down our plates.”

“You have extra plates. Swap ‘em out afterward if you’re worried.”

Tenny gathered a breath like he meant to say more, then hissed, “Fucker,” and flopped back into his seat.

The truth of it was, in this instance, Alex trusted Dandridge. Maybe not to have any useful information, but he didn’t believe he would sic his deputies on them, whether their faces and license plate ended up on camera or not. A man who’d wanted to keep Mercy out of jail was definitely a man who would want to help find his son.

To appease Tenny, though, he backed the Jeep in against a hedge. “There? Happy?”

“Not in the slightest,” Tenny said, and climbed out before he killed the engine.

He’d settled, though, by the time Alex joined him on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively casual. With just a few adjustments, he’d made himself shorter, and less confident, and though a small sort of disguise, even that was impressive.

Curious, Alex said, “Are you going to use your real accent?”

“Undecided.”

“Hm, well. I’ve only got the one. I’ll leave it up to you.”

He got a grunt in response.

Inside, the desk sergeant sitting in the bulletproof reception cubicle didn’t seem to recognize him. He indicated the metal detector with a bored tilt of his head. “Empty your pockets into the bin and walk through.”

Shit. Alex had left his gun in the car, but had Tenny thought to do so?

A moot point, it turned out, because a voice off to the right hailed, “Alex! Hey, don’t bother with that. Come with me.” To the sergeant, Dandridge said, “It’s alright, Jerry, they’re here for me.” Then he waved Alex toward the side door he’d propped open with one hand.

Relieved to be clear of the metal detector, Alex headed his way at a ground-covering walk, and trusted Tenny to keep up.

The door let out onto a small, concrete patio ringed with hydrangeas and sand-filled ashtray stanchions. An airless space, without a breath of breeze, but no windows, either. A gap in the shrubs offered a view of the sidewalk and parking lot beyond – and ensured no one would walk up on them unnoticed. There was a metal table ringed with benches, and Dandridge lowered onto one right away, fanning his flushed face with the file he carried, sweat beaded on his brow.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked, gaze going to Tenny.

“Just a friend.” Alex settled across from him, and motioned for Tenny to follow suit. Instead, he started slowly pacing the width of the courtyard. Alex shrugged and turned back to Dandridge. “He’s helping me.”

He was older, sterner in some ways, much looser than others, and lacked the Boy Scout brand of charmless honesty the other man wielded alongside his badge, but Dandridge reminded Alex a little of Vince Fielding in Knoxville. Different builds, different approaches to what amounted to being in the Lean Dogs’ pocket, but very different from the federal officers Alex had grown accustomed to. Even the ones on the right side of justice – an ever-shrinking estimate thanks to recent events – had a certain dispassionate air when they tackled cases. A sense of superiority, even if it was unconscious. But these local boys policed their own communities; it was important to them, beyond a solve rate and satisfaction in a job well done. It mattered. Both of them were crookeder than a dog’s hind leg – Dandridge well-settled in the role, Fielding still chafing and tragic – but they cared in a way no agent ever could.

Dandridge’s gaze flicked between them, and he paused in his fanning, eyes narrowing. He had a sweat ring on his collar, and a spot of mustard on his breast pocket, but his gaze was fox-wily. “Helping you with what? You said you couldn’t say over the phone.”

Alex pulled out his phone, pulled up the picture of Remy, and passed it over. He could tell from the low grunt that emitted from Dandridge’s throat that he recognized him – or at least his bloodline – right away. “Shit,” he muttered.

“That’s Felix’s oldest,” Alex said. “Remy. He’s been abducted.”

When Dandridge lifted his face, Alex watched the color drain from it in real time. His eyes bugged. “Felix…? Wait, but–”

Alex sighed. “A lot’s happened since I left here last time.” And, revealing as little as he could, he told him the gist of it.

“Good God.” Dandridge sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Felix’s…” Color flooded back into his face, angry red. “It was Boyle, wasn’t it?”

Alex nodded. His gut clenched in the way it did every time he thought of Boyle now, half-fury, half-eagerness for bloodshed. A little tingle of the thrill down his spine straight to his tailbone, everything in his lower body tightening up like he had food poisoning. “All signs point to yes.”

Dandridge snarled, and glanced back down at the phone, hand clenching into a fist where it rested on the table beside the phone. “It was him. That son of a bitch .”

“What we aren’t sure of is whether or not he bought the funeral. Does he think Felix is still alive? Or does he think he’s dead, and he’s taken Remy anyway?”

“Goddamn.” Dandridge shook his head, staring at the phone screen another long moment, then pushed it back toward Alex. He was furious and baffled when he lifted his head again. “What kinda sick fuck is he? What the hell does he want ?”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Alex said, with no small amount of bitterness.

“‘We,’” Dandridge repeated, and his gaze shifted to Tenny, still pacing the courtyard, hands no longer in his pockets, but propped on his hips, his posture tall and characteristic once more. Slow and calculating as a leopard’s, Dandridge’s eyes slid back to Alex. “Who’s we? You hook back up with the two who’ve been working the Grendel case?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Tenny mumbled, in his true accent, to Alex’s surprise, and threw himself down onto the bench beside Alex. He pulled his sunglasses off – they were either real Dior, or knockoffs, going by the gold label on the side – and met Dandridge’s startled gaze. “ We are Mercy’s people. Alex is working with us – or attempting to, at any rate. He seems to think you can help us find Remy. If you can, then you’re welcome to contribute.” He spread his hands in an inviting gesture at odds with his pinched-mouth expression. “If not, I’ll kindly remind you of the many illegal things you did back in February in the name of helping Mercy, we’ll call it even, and all walk away from this table no worse off than when we sat down.”

Dandridge gaped at him a moment, and then, slowly, his eyes sparked with amusement. Perhaps a little approval. “Mercy’s people, eh?”

Tenny let out a long, bothered sigh through his nostrils.

“That means you’re a Dog.”

“I’ll be your worst nightmare if you fuck us around, old man.”

Dandridge’s brows lifted, but one corner of his mouth hitched up in a grin when he looked back at Alex. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re running with the devil now, huh, Bonfils?”

“Dale,” Alex said, pleading. “Can you please just be helpful? Otherwise, this one’s only going to get more annoying.” He hooked a thumb at Tenny, who muttered something doubtless profane and insulting under his breath.

Dandridge rubbed absently at his jaw and made a considering face.

“Dale–” Alex started again.

“Hush, it’s alright, I’m thinking.” Which he proceeded to do some more, brows twitching inward and out a few times, so that the lines on his forehead looked like the dots and dashes of morse code. One brow flicked up, finally, and stayed there, gaze landing on Alex. “You talked to Bob Boudreaux?”

“We’re going to. Someone – in our party – is familiar with him.”

Dandridge snorted, but nodded. “He’ll know more about where Felix used to hang out back when he lived here.” The brow went up again. “And that’s what Boyle’s trying to do, yeah? Draw Felix out in the open?”

“We guess so. He wants something with Felix. We just don’t know what.”

“We know he grew up here,” Tenny put in, and both of Dandridge’s brows flew up.

“Did he now?”

Alex nodded. “He was born in Baltimore, and lives there now, but his mom moved him down here when he was four or so, and he spent all his formative years in New Orleans.”

“Shit. And he’s…what? Forty?”

“Forty-three,” Alex said, grimly, “same age as Felix.”

Dandridge let out a low whistle. “Well. That changes things. Did they go to school together?”

“Mercy was home-schooled.”

“Shit, that’s right. What about Colin? That’s Mercy’s – well, yours, too, I suppose – half-brother.”

“Yeah,” Alex said, drily, “we’ve met.”

Tenny snorted.

“And that’s the sort of thing I’d need access to a school database to confirm,” Alex said, lifting his own brows.

“Shit. Right.” Dandridge rapped his knuckles on the table. “I’ll look into it.”

Alex nodded his thanks. “If Boyle grew up here, he left some sort of trail. When we figure out what the hell he wants with Mercy, maybe we’ll figure out where to find the bastard.”