CHAPTER 71 Cross
Cross
ALEX CROSS DRIVES SLOWLY past a row of fast-food restaurants and laundromats. Not a great neighborhood. The Horace Williams Airport has been closed for years, but some of the run-down stores and shops still have aviation themes: Cockpit Lounge. SkyView Cleaners. Pilot Diner.
From what he can see, none of them are doing much business.
He passes a small oval park with a statue of a grim-looking Confederate soldier, musket on his shoulder. By coincidence, the stony Southerner is staring directly at the Bracken Motel.
Alex slows down and pulls his rental car to the curb across the street.
This place was probably bustling when the airport was in operation.
Not anymore. The overhead sign announcing brACKEN MOTEL has a few holes in it, from either bullets or rocks.
A placard on the end of the building says DAILY, WEEKLY, MONTHLY RATES AVAILABLE.
The parking lot’s asphalt is cracked and sprouting weeds.
Two Jeeps and two pickup trucks are the only vehicles in the lot.
The building is shabby and worn, with peeling paint.
Alex counts ten rooms. Room 105 should be the one right in the middle.
He continues driving until he spots a warehouse with a utility road leading behind it. He pulls in to the back of the building, parks facing out, and gets out of the car.
It’s hot outside—and quiet.
Alex walks toward the motel, his hand gently patting his right hip, where his holstered Glock is nestled under his jacket. He knows how reckless this is—confronting a criminal gang based on nothing but what Drake Cannon thought he heard. The conversation might not have been about Damon at all.
Alex had thought about calling Detective Gail Bailey in Chapel Hill but doesn’t want to get in trouble if this turns out to be a wild-goose chase. He’s wishing he had John Sampson along for some extra muscle, but John has his hands full in DC, especially with that third bomb going off this morning.
Alex feels for his gun through his jacket again, then slips along the row of rooms to 105, hoping to hell two guys named Larry and Brett are inside.
Time to find my son.