Read Online First Night of Summer by Landon Parham - Free Book Online
Authors: Landon Parham
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every time and religiously played while Casey surfed the Net or clicked on her cell phone.
He drove into the alley behind the row of houses. One backyard down from where Bailey was, a telephone pole rose out of the ground next to a junction box. He stopped directly beside the electrical equipment, got out, and opened both backdoors. He set a tool belt full of screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches on the bumper. The setup had to look real, just in case.
The sun was high, hot, and stifling. Shade from ancient oaks and maples smothered the alley and the backyards. They towered above the half-century houses. He thought of the old TV series, Leave It to Beaver . People here felt such security. It was a weakness. And like liquid over glass, he moved forward without a ripple.
A blue shirt complete with fake nametag, navy pants, and work boots made up his disguise. A white hard hat perched on his noggin topped it off. Only a few paces were between him and the doorway to destiny. He cradled the pup, Kansas, in his arms. It was time for the fur ball to earn his keep.
The neighborhood yards backed up to the alley. Shrubs planted along the inside of their fence lines gave residents privacy. A gate opened from each yard to access the trash dumpsters. They were the only spaces not blocked by hedges.
Hidden behind the bushes, right next to the gate entrance, he extracted a bottle of cayenne pepper and unscrewed the lid. He poured it onto Kansas’s nose.
The puppy whimpered from the burn, not sure what it was. He licked it and yelped when the pain didn’t go away. He squirmed and pawed at his face, trying to get rid of the unpleasant scorch. But the harder he fought, the worse it hurt. The liquid pepper spread to his eyes, and he cried over and over.
Ricky set him down outside the barrier and directly in Bailey’s line of sight. Like any typical seven-year-old, she immediately noticed the racket and ran to help. Her intention was to open the latch, coddle the tiny butterball, and take it to see Casey. She wanted nothing more than to bestow innocent love on the unfortunate little beast. But when she opened the gate, her hands never made it.
He jerked Bailey into the alley and behind the row of shrubs. Her back was tucked against his belly, a ropy arm holding her still. He quickly placed a dampened handkerchief over her face, holding it tightly to keep her from screaming. She went limp, and he swung her around his shoulders and onto his back. He leaned forward to keep her from flopping back, and curled both of his arms beneath her thighs. To the casual observer, it would look as though she were getting a piggyback ride. At the van, he dumped her into the open cargo doors, calmly closed them, and walked around to the front. So far, all was quiet.
As he drove to the end of the alley, turned onto the street, and headed out of town, there was absolutely no visual reason for suspicion. It was nothing but a uniformed man driving a service vehicle with Kansas plates. They didn’t match the inspection sticker, but no one ever looked that closely. As soon as he crossed into Missouri, he would drop them into the first river, put on his Colorado plates, and keep cruising. And above all else, every speed limit sign was strictly adhered to.
“Shit!” he blurted. He pulled his foot off the accelerator to think. “Oh, shit, shit, shit.”
He didn’t know what scared him worse—the fact that his mind was slipping enough to leave Kansas the puppy behind, or the fact that the dog was evidence. Messy criminals were incarcerated criminals. That was just how it worked.
The flashlight drop in Ruidoso and now this. It’s sloppy . He coasted along the road for a second longer, and contemplated the potential fallout. Is there any way they can track the pup back to me?
The dog was from a lady giving them away in a convenience store parking lot. No names were exchanged. There were no registration papers for the mutt and no transactions of any kind.
He drove into the alley behind the row of houses. One backyard down from where Bailey was, a telephone pole rose out of the ground next to a junction box. He stopped directly beside the electrical equipment, got out, and opened both backdoors. He set a tool belt full of screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches on the bumper. The setup had to look real, just in case.
The sun was high, hot, and stifling. Shade from ancient oaks and maples smothered the alley and the backyards. They towered above the half-century houses. He thought of the old TV series, Leave It to Beaver . People here felt such security. It was a weakness. And like liquid over glass, he moved forward without a ripple.
A blue shirt complete with fake nametag, navy pants, and work boots made up his disguise. A white hard hat perched on his noggin topped it off. Only a few paces were between him and the doorway to destiny. He cradled the pup, Kansas, in his arms. It was time for the fur ball to earn his keep.
The neighborhood yards backed up to the alley. Shrubs planted along the inside of their fence lines gave residents privacy. A gate opened from each yard to access the trash dumpsters. They were the only spaces not blocked by hedges.
Hidden behind the bushes, right next to the gate entrance, he extracted a bottle of cayenne pepper and unscrewed the lid. He poured it onto Kansas’s nose.
The puppy whimpered from the burn, not sure what it was. He licked it and yelped when the pain didn’t go away. He squirmed and pawed at his face, trying to get rid of the unpleasant scorch. But the harder he fought, the worse it hurt. The liquid pepper spread to his eyes, and he cried over and over.
Ricky set him down outside the barrier and directly in Bailey’s line of sight. Like any typical seven-year-old, she immediately noticed the racket and ran to help. Her intention was to open the latch, coddle the tiny butterball, and take it to see Casey. She wanted nothing more than to bestow innocent love on the unfortunate little beast. But when she opened the gate, her hands never made it.
He jerked Bailey into the alley and behind the row of shrubs. Her back was tucked against his belly, a ropy arm holding her still. He quickly placed a dampened handkerchief over her face, holding it tightly to keep her from screaming. She went limp, and he swung her around his shoulders and onto his back. He leaned forward to keep her from flopping back, and curled both of his arms beneath her thighs. To the casual observer, it would look as though she were getting a piggyback ride. At the van, he dumped her into the open cargo doors, calmly closed them, and walked around to the front. So far, all was quiet.
As he drove to the end of the alley, turned onto the street, and headed out of town, there was absolutely no visual reason for suspicion. It was nothing but a uniformed man driving a service vehicle with Kansas plates. They didn’t match the inspection sticker, but no one ever looked that closely. As soon as he crossed into Missouri, he would drop them into the first river, put on his Colorado plates, and keep cruising. And above all else, every speed limit sign was strictly adhered to.
“Shit!” he blurted. He pulled his foot off the accelerator to think. “Oh, shit, shit, shit.”
He didn’t know what scared him worse—the fact that his mind was slipping enough to leave Kansas the puppy behind, or the fact that the dog was evidence. Messy criminals were incarcerated criminals. That was just how it worked.
The flashlight drop in Ruidoso and now this. It’s sloppy . He coasted along the road for a second longer, and contemplated the potential fallout. Is there any way they can track the pup back to me?
The dog was from a lady giving them away in a convenience store parking lot. No names were exchanged. There were no registration papers for the mutt and no transactions of any kind.
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