CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cracker got in his truck. He could feel the girl up on the deck watching his every move, along with her growling dog. That black-haired hellion in a yellow bikini—Mona Bomba, sister of Conor Monroe’s comatose friend, Sully—had once been Monroe’s girlfriend, but she’d be no help in finding him.
Cracker started his truck and backed down the drive.
The way she’d talked, she’d just as soon cut Monroe’s throat as look at him.
She’d spit all kinds of venom about Conor being responsible for her brother Sully being brain dead.
She’d acted like it was revenge for Sully that made her mad, but Cracker could tell it was something else.
He knew jilted when he saw it. The way he figured it, Monroe had gotten himself some new tail, and Mona wasn’t gonna let that stand.
Cracker scratched the back of his neck. Good for her. Mona was a fighter.
The brakes on his truck squealed as he stopped in the street.
He heard barking. Mona’s big old boxer had gotten away from her and was barreling down the driveway.
Cracker rolled down his window and whistled, holding his hand out the window.
Mona wasn’t far behind the dog, running in her bare feet.
Lord, she was put together. How Monroe had given her up was beyond Cracker, which could only mean that Monroe’s new girl had to have some kind of magical hold on him.
If he could get his hands on that girl, it would surely bring Monroe out of hiding.
The truth was Monroe’s new girlfriend was most likely his only shot at getting his hands on Monroe because the man appeared to have no friends or family.
Derek Ryder filled him in. Said his running buddy, Fitz, had mysteriously disappeared.
Conor’s father was a homeless bum he hadn’t talked to in years.
His mother had left Monroe and his daddy about fifteen years ago.
Conor Monroe had no brothers or sisters.
The only other person of note was his friend, Sully Bomba, and he was taking a long nap in the hospital.
Monroe was a ghost. His apartment had been clean as a tomb.
The whole idea of using someone to find him seemed like a complete bust, and Cracker had even entertained the thought of telling Duck that this Monroe boy was ungettable.
But then, on a hunch, Cracker had broken into the apartment next to Monroe’s.
Neighbors were often friends, and sometimes more than that.
Monroe’s neighbor, bless her, turned out to be of the ‘more’ variety.
The painting in her apartment showed someone that looked just like Monroe, according to the photo Derek had given him, and he was holding hands with a girl on a beach.
And there was a name on the bottom of the painting.
Julia Terranova. That made things pretty damn easy.
All it took was Cracker going to the apartment manager’s office and saying he had a package for Julia Terranova.
The landlord pointed him to the same apartment where the painting was located, but he told him she hadn’t been there for a few days, that she’d put in notice on her lease, and that he’d best check with her employer, Sacred Heart Church.
Which was where he’d been headed when Derek had called and filled him in about this Mona girl, how she’d been Monroe’s squeeze not too long ago.
So, he’d driven here and checked Mona out, which brought him to his current situation of watching Mona’s boxer coming for him like he was wearing a pork chop necklace.
Cracker snapped his fingers at the big boxer, who was a stride away now, running full bore.
The dog leaped, all fangs and slobber. Cracker moved in a blur, catching the dog by the throat in mid-air.
He twisted his hand around its collar and lifted.
The dog’s legs kicked and clawed the side of his truck.
Eyes bugged out, its tongue turned blue as it twirled in his grasp.
It made a gagging sound. Cracker held it up in the air until its eyes dulled.
He would’ve held it a bit longer, but Mona was almost on top of him, spitting and screaming.
He didn’t have time for this nonsense. He dropped the dog.
Its head hit the asphalt with a clunk. He put the truck in gear and drove away, glancing in his rear view.
The dog struggled to its feet. Mona stood in the road, one hand on her big ole beautiful hip, the other pointing at him as she yelled.
Cracker turned his attention back to the road.
Monroe had himself a hard-ass hottie in Mona.
If Julia Terranova was half as hard, it was gonna be a real pleasure trying to hold on to her long enough for Monroe to come in and fight.
He stuck his hand out his open window, riding it up and down in the wind.
It was bound to be fun finding Julia and messing with her. Nothing was any good unless it took effort.
* * *
Walking in the afternoon heat was getting on Cracker’s nerves.
He’d knocked on doors at two of the three Sacred Heart school buildings, but they were locked, and nobody was home.
He needed to talk to somebody who could tell him where he could find Julia Terranova.
He walked across an asphalt playground toward the church.
Somebody had to be in the church. A priest appeared around a corner, making his way up a grand set of stairs that led to the church’s front entrance. Cracker ran toward him.
“Hey,” he shouted. “Excuse me. You have a minute?”
The priest put his hand on one of the big entrance doors, stopped, and turned, waiting as Cracker ascended the stairs.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“I hope so,” said Cracker, holding out his hand.
The priest shook Cracker’s hand. “I’m Father Sal. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a Julia Terranova. Heard she worked here.”
“And you are?”
“A friend,” said Cracker. “A very dear, old friend.”
The priest tried to pull his hand away. Cracker tightened his grip.
“I have important news from her daddy,” Cracker drawled. “If you could just point me in her direction, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“It was my understanding that she didn’t know her father,” said the priest, looking down at his hand. “And, even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. She doesn’t work here any longer.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Cracker, squeezing the priest’s hand. “I get things mixed up. Not her daddy—a relative from a long-lost branch of her family. Someone she isn’t properly acquainted with.”
The priest paled. Cracker could see a slight sheen of sweat on the man’s forehead.
“Can you please let go of my hand?” said the priest.
Cracker bore down. The priest’s knees buckled and he let out a gasp.
Shouldering the door on the church open, Cracker hustled Father Sal inside, keeping a tight grip on his hand.
“Looks like you need to sit down,” he said, dragging the priest inside.
* * *
Cracker started his truck. He let the air conditioning run while he looked over Julia’s employment application.
The priest had said he didn’t know where Julia had gone, and Cracker believed him.
Hard not to believe a man who’d pissed himself.
But the holy man had gone the extra mile to be helpful, giving Cracker a copy of Julia’s employment application.
All kinds of good information was on this piece of paper—places she’d worked and lived before coming to Brannigan.
And references. People you used as references were people you stayed in touch with.
Like, for example, this here Angela Duncan girl, who Julia listed as a co-worker and personal friend.
Cracker punched in the phone number for Angela on his cell, and then pulled out of the church parking lot. The phone rang as he reached into a plastic grocery bag to grab a protein bar. He took a bite as a woman answered.
She sounded sleepy. Damn near one in the afternoon and the girl sounded like she’d just woke up.
Cracker stopped chewing long enough to ask if he was talking to Angela Duncan.
When she asked who was calling, he asked if she knew Julia Terranova.
That got her talking, asking him where he’d gotten her number.
How he knew her name. She didn’t sound sleepy no more.
She sounded mad and a little flustered. But he had to hand it to her, she never said a word about Julia.
He hung up, shoved the rest of the protein bar in his mouth and chewed. Angela knew something about Julia, otherwise she wouldn’t have gotten all jumpy. And according to Julia’s application, he just had to go to a little town called Massey to visit Angela and get to the bottom of her jumpiness.
A little face-to-face talk with Angela would move things right along. He was gonna find this Julia to get Monroe to come out of hiding. Then he was going to beat him to death. Then Mr. Duck would pay him. It was gonna be a good time for all involved.
Cracker turned onto the off-ramp for the interstate, heading toward Massey.
He searched for some country music on the radio, stopping when he heard an old Johnny Cash tune.
Johnny was good. He played simple, straightforward music and sang the same way.
Cracker turned up the volume and got himself another protein bar, taking a big bite. He chewed and hummed along.
* * *