Page 2 of Her Wolf

Hoofuckingrah

Downtown Marfa was shiny-slick with rain. A light drizzle still fell, so Kane Price put up the collar of his jacket as he jogged to the convenience store across the road. He’d stayed in town in case the black SUV returned. Although he now knew where Javier Martin lived, without backup from the DEA office in Albuquerque he could do sweet fuck-all about it.

He’d sent a detailed email to his Captain earlier today. Fredericks sometimes took a while to get through his mail if there were working a case, but he’d hoped to have heard something by now.

Kane grabbed a six-pack of energy drinks and went to the counter.

“Russian Bear,” he said, pointing at a half-pint behind the counter. “And a pack of Gunston,” he added. He had half a pack back at the motel, but he already knew he’d be up all night waiting for the Captain to reply. Might as well save himself another trip.

“Ten-thirty-five,” the clerk said, holding out his hand.

Kane gave him his credit card, staring out at the rain-soaked road as he waited.

“You got another?” the clerk asked, handing Kane back his card.

Kane frowned at him. “Why?”

Had the clerk looked down at the name on the card? He hadn’t been paying attention.

Motherfuck. Since when didn’t he pay goddamn attention?

“Declined,” the clerk said, showing him the read out on the card machine. “Should I try again?”

“No,” Kane muttered, opening his wallet. He took out two bills and handed them over to the clerk.

As soon as he had his change, he hurried back across the road to his motel.

He paused in front of his door, and detoured half a block down the road. There, he tossed the credit card into a trash can he passed before turning back.

Closing the motel room’s door with his back, Kane ran a hand through his hair as he tugged on his cigarette.

Out of cash again.

“Sonofabitch,” he muttered, pushing away from the door and dropping his shopping bag on the table. He went over to the window and drew aside the edge of the curtain to peer out.

The road was empty.

He opened his laptop and hit refresh.

No response from the Captain yet. He itched to pull out his cellphone and call the man, but he knew that would just piss him off.

Out of cash.

If he didn’t have a cent to his name, how the hell was he supposed to get anywhere with his investigation? His toys—the tech he used to get the intel he needed—were expensive. And he’d need plenty if the Captain would be a hard ass by ignoring him the whole fucking day.

Snatching his car keys from the table, Kane opened a can, drank a quarter, and topped it up with the vodka.

He started up his Jeep and pulled into the road, setting his wipers to slow as he cruised down the road. As he drove, the neighborhood became seedier. Graffiti popped up on the walls like urban lichen; an indicator that helped him find his way through any urban forest.

A few minutes later, he spotted a bright pink Dry Mac. He could barely make out who huddled under it, but a plume of cigarette smoke beckoned him like the flick of a finger.

He slowed his Jeep. The girl in the Dry Mac crouched beside the wall, her back to it and her head hanging down. It looked like she was busy on her phone. He touched the car horn with the side of his thumb.

The girl’s head jerked up at the sound. She hurriedly stashed her phone away in a pocket, grabbed an over-sized handbag from the sidewalk and tottered toward him in suicidally tall pumps.

He opened the window a crack. “Hey, honey. What are you doing outside here in the rain?”

She must have smelled a trap. Her muddy brown eyes flickered over his face before darting inside the car. He kept the interior immaculate. “My guy’s running a little late.”

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