Page 40 of JoyRide

“Nope. They ran for the parking lot pressing Clay’s key fob. His truck beeped and they jumped in the pickup and burned out of here.”

“They only took the one wallet and changed vehicles and left?”

“Yes, sir. Gone. That’s when I called you.”

“Okay, thanks. What kind of pickup did Clay drive?”

“Red Chevy Silverado, about two years old. Nice truck and Clay kept it spotless.”

“Thanks. I’ll look up the tag and get a BOLO out on it. We’ll talk to Clay in a couple of minutes. Which way is the Medical Center?”

Mark waved his arm towards the west. “About a block behind Main Street on Pine Avenue. You can’t miss it. Open twenty-four seven.”

I turned to Ted. “Go back to the station and get your tow truck. Come hook up Savanna’s car and tow it back to the shop. When you get there, have Molly call Savanna, and tell her we got the car.”

“Copy that. Going for the truck.”

Tammy gave Mark one of our cards and we ran for the squad.

I figured I’d hyperventilate behind the wheel. “You hear that, Tam? Mark said my name—Linley. Those juvie kids were going to meet a kid named Linley.”

“I heard it, and it didn’t blow by me, Harlan. I recognized your old name. Might not be your brother at all. Lots of people have the same name.”

“Linley isn’t too common a name,” I said. “What if it’s my brother and he’s turned out bad—like real bad?”

“No. He couldn’t.” Tammy started to cry. “No. Virgil will be a nice kid. Just like you.”

“I haven’t seen him since he was four years old,” I said. “He’s sixteen and could be anything by now. Could be a fuckin killer.”

“You’re a cop, Harlan,” said Tammy. “We can find out if he was ever arrested or if he spent time in detention. Call Molly.”

“No. I’m not calling her now. We still have work to do, and it will freak me out. I’ll talk to her when we get back from the shop.”

Tammy reached over and patted my leg. “Don’t think the worst. It will work out.”

“Like your life worked out for you?”

“Yours will be better. I promise.”

“I hope that’s a promise you can keep, Tam.”

Shelby Medical Center.

We rushed into the waiting area at the clinic and found out from the nurse at the front desk that Clay Little was in exam room three. The nurse wouldn’t let us in to talk to him until the doctor finished treating his wounded leg.

When we were allowed in, Clay seemed to be in a lot of pain. His pants were cut off at the knee and below the cut-off he had a fresh snow-white bandage. In his right hand, he held a written prescription.

“We’ll give you a ride home, Mister Little,” said Tammy, “and on the way, you can tell us your version of what happened at the lumberyard.”

He nodded, a lot of pain in his eyes.

The nurse came in with a pair of crutches and Clay had a time getting sorted to walk down the hallway on them.

I helped him into the front seat of the squad and Tammy rode in the back. “We talked to Mark at the lumberyard and got his statement,” I said. “We’d like to hear your story, just to compare.”

“Two kids with a lot of attitude,” said Clay.

He rubbed the side of his head and closed his eyes for a minute before he continued talking. “Smart ass punks with weapons. A dangerous combination.”

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