Page 6 of Jager's Prey
Dressed in my,Yo Mama,t-shirt, I looked at myself in the partially cracked mirror. Once I was satisfied with how I looked, I pulled on my leather jacket, grabbed my phone and helmet, and headed for the door.
Mack lived in a small house with a lot of land. It seemed to be out of the way—about fifteen minutes, pedal to the floor, from his nearest neighbour. There were no flowers in the front yard, but the lawn was immaculate. The driveway was asphalt—easy to keep up, practical—but there wasn’t a vehicle parked there.
With nowhere close to park my cycle, I rode back the way I’d come, found a place to hide my ride, then walked back toward the house. I arrived with no vehicle passing me and dipped across the law to peer in a window. There was no movement inside and when I looked through the glass on the garage door, it was empty except for the usual.
I could break in and wait for him, but I figured that wouldn’t be cool, especially if we were going to be working together for some time. Plus, Swede and Kujo said I had to be nice.
I called Swede.
“You got a location for Mack?” I asked him.
“What kind of question is that?” Swede asked. “You know better.”
“Gimme.”
Swede laughed. “Sending it to your phone. And go easy.”
“Roger, that.” I grinned. “Keep the whips and handcuffs hidden until it’s too late for him to back out.”
“Oi, why do I even try?”
“‘cause you adore me.” I replied.
Swede laughed.
Back on my cycle, I rode to the location Swede had sent me. I parked between a white, windowless van and a Ford F150, removed my helmet and jogged up the front steps. It was a community center, of sorts. I could hear whistles and children laughing down the hall to my left as the smell of Chlorine filled my nose.
I glanced to my right and saw the office.
“Excuse me.” I called to the woman sitting there. “I’m lookin’ for Mack Salazaar.”
“And you are?” She demanded impudently.
“A friend.”
“Your name?”
I wanted to reach across, grab the back of her neck and introduce her face to the desk, but instead I pulled out my phone.
Her questions were irritating me. I didn’t see what my name had to do with anything. I didn’t like leaving a trail—maybe it was my years on missions—I felt it was unnecessary to give everyone a name. I held my breath to get a hold of my shortening temper and cleared my throat.
“You do know I was only askin’ to be polite, right?” I leaned forward, ensuring I had her full attention.
“Yes, mama?” Swede answered.
“Where in the building is Mack?”
After a few seconds and the sound of Swede’s fingers dancing over his keyboard, his voice filled my ear.
“Corridor in front of you, go through the first set of glass doors and up a flight of stairs.” Swede advised. “It’s the first door on your left.”
I turned to follow his directions.
“Hey!” The woman hollered. “You can’t go in there unless you sign in!”
“Call the cops!” I replied.
“Making friends?” Swede asked.
