Page 10 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

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 wasdefinitelya 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 slowlypacing 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 theycaredin 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 abitch.”

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