WBY - Gone (part three)
Sam woke again, his head pounding even louder than before. Pounding wasn’t even a good adjective, but it was all he could think of at the moment.
Cell phone? Did he have his cell?
It would be in his right front jean pocket, but it wasn’t there, he couldn’t feel the familiar shape against his upper thigh. Damn. Dad wouldn’t be able to GPS him.
So the idiot took his cell phone, but left his knife?
Dumb ass.
John glanced in his rear view mirror just to make sure Dean wasn’t following in the Impala.
He better not be.
Still, Dean had a reckless edge when it came to Sam.
He looked at the map briefly on the passenger seat. He knew where he was going. It was a warehouse district not too far out of town. Far enough that screams wouldn’t be heard, close enough to Melrose that whatever asshole had his kid would be able to make the drive without too much problem.
He thought of the man. His voice had been cultured with a slight accent that John couldn’t trace. Brit maybe? Welsh? But a long time gone from home. John could be wrong. He wasn’t a linguist, but there was more than a feeling that the guy wasn’t native.
Who had he pissed off from England?
He couldn’t think of anyone at the moment. He was a small town sheriff who hunted things that hunted his town. He’d never set foot out of the States.
Their town wasn’t a vacation destination for anyone, let alone someone from another country.
The only really non-native person was Mac, a Scot who lived on a small farm just on the edge of town, but he was a good man and the only disagreement he and John had ever had was over Scotch or Jack Daniels.
John reviewed the plan in his head.
Scope out the warehouses, find a likely one and use every ounce of hunter wiles and sheriff smarts to find his kid. He already contacted the station and had his deputies running through surveillance videos, most of the area had been pretty covered with cameras. So far he hadn’t heard anything from the office, but he really wasn’t depending on it. He couldn’t be sure that Sam was there, but it was as good a place as any to start. It would mean parking far enough away that he wouldn’t be noticed and hoofing it in. He’d gotten rid of his uniform. It was perfect for woods and official duty, but this was clearly a time for stealth. He was all in black, so it would be easier to slink around a warehouse.
He looked at the coordinates one more time before leaving the Jeep. Then started in.
John was good at recon. He’d been good in the Marines and had only gotten better as a hunter. Of course, recon when it was your kid involved, amped up the need for stealth and speed.
It also cut through the bullshit quicker than a hot knife through butter. Observation was hard wired in him; it was half of what police work was all about. Hunting too, really. All of the warehouses were possibilities, but there was one that didn’t have a light out front, as if it had been disconnected or shot out.
Kids had been known to shoot a light once in a while, but if they had why not all of them?
No, it was dark for a reason.
Part four
http://wildblueyonder6.livejournal.com/49810.html