Page 37 of Race With The Devil

“Oh, I remember that scene. He ran through hell and high water, men murdering each other barehanded, just to get to his love.” What a man. And an explorer to boot. I used to fantasize about Daniel Day-Lewis in that film, all decked out in his leathers, shooting a deer with a cap and ball rifle.

“Well, right. This guy wasn’t my love, don’t get me wrong. But I was sort of his protector. We trained Puppies Behind Bars together. I don’t care a continental what anyone thinks.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were involved with another man. You’re still you. The most virile, lusty man I’ve ever known.”

Before Tanner could react, he said, “Did you leave your door open?” He’d gone ahead of me up the stairs, and now he held out an arm to stop me.

“No, of course not. Shit!”

He withdrew his new piece from his waistband and said, “Stay here.” He crept almost sideways up the rest of the stairs.

I heard nothing for a few seconds, so of course I didn’t stay there. Wolf had taken Beetle back with him to Lytton’s house where he lived. He’d returned Lavinia’s dog Diesel to Tutti Morgan because my little deck was nowhere for a dog to stay. I peeked around the corner of the door. In the vestibule, Tanner was standing over a prone figure, leveling the barrel of his piece at the guy’s head. A three-quarters empty bottle of White Ace was on the floor next to him.

But the guy wasn’t moving, so I guessed it’d be unfair to shoot him.

Stepping over, I said, “It’s Corey. Why is he passed out?”

Tanner said, “I’m guessing he was sampling his own product.”

“Fentanyl?”

“No. Ford told me that instead of firing Tutti, they stopped ordering fentanyl from him. So my guess is it’s that synthetic marijuana he was trying to ship out of FedEx. Ah, can you go through his pockets while he’s passed out? Or would you rather hold the gun?”

That was a dilemma. First, I took some photos of him to send Santiago Slayer. By then, Corey started stirring and moaning, so I quickly dropped to my knees and went through the pockets of his hoodie. Used Kleenex, toothpicks, a lighter, a crumpled pack of two cigs, a dollar bill rolled into a snorter, and an open sort of condom-looking package with a red dog on the front. Scooby Bites.

I held the fake weed package out to Tanner. “Holy shit,” he said. “At the ranch we have dog treats named Scooby Bites.”

Corey opened his eyes with a start and a sudden intake of breath like he’d been jump-started. He leaped into a sitting position. “What the fuck!” His hair was spiky with dirt, not fashion, and he seemed a feeble cohort for the Fentanyl King of Flagstaff. But I didn’t want to underestimate him, so I moved behind a corner of the apartment and watched.

Tanner didn’t lower his piece. “What do you mean ‘what the fuck’? You’re the one who broke into my girlfriend’s apartment, you ballhead! Quit beating the devil around the stump.”

But it seemed Corey couldn’t remember. “I did?” He looked around himself, so I had to duck my head behind the corner. “Whose apartment is this?”

“Unity Mitford, and you fucking well know it. You’re on a bunch of that fake weed, that K2, Spice.”

“Oh . . . yeah . . . “ It sounded like it was all coming back to Corey, so I peeked again. “Where is she? You’re just that dog guy from St. Louis.”

“What do you want with her?”

“Let me explain.” Corey got crookedly to his feet, and that’s when I saw the revolver jammed into his jeans waistband. It must’ve been my years of “training” with Gary, but instinctively I yelled out,

“Gun!” and took three long-legged steps to tear it from Corey’s pants.

I cocked the hammer and stuck out one trembling arm to point it at Corey.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” he protested, holding up his hands and backing into the wall. “Oh, so you’re Unity.”

“Why’d you break into my house?” I barked.

Corey tried to laugh casually. “It’s all a total misunderstanding. See, ever since you accosted me in front of my apartment, I’ve been imagining you’re following me. I can’t understand why, so I thought coming in here might give me some light on the subject.” He was trembling almost as badly as I was, but I don’t think his was from nerves. Sweat dripped from his chin, although it was only about fifty degrees out and I never left the heat on when I went out.

Tanner pressed him even harder against the wall just by waving his barrel. Corey turned his head to one side and emitted pained groans. He kind of snorted through his nose like a decomposing walker. What the hell did this K2 do to you? Why would someone prefer it over real weed? Just because you could get it at a 7-11? “Are you Tutti Morgan’s chemist? Do you make this shit?”

“It’s all legal, yo!”

Tanner shoved the barrel up Corey’s nose, like he was picking it with the metal tube. “Did Tutti send you here?”

“Yo!” cried Corey, strangled. “He was pissed that the Bare Bones didn’t make any fentanyl order, so he decided to put all his eggs into this Scooby Bites biz!”