“Muk?” Mahoney asked.
“Short for mukluk,” Bo said. “It’s like the N word of the North — pretty rude thing to say, really. Anyhow, just as we peddled by, one of the guys took a swipe at the old gal’s shirt and ripped it half off. Things went from bad to worse in a hurry. They started to grope her and she cut loose with a terrible howl. I remember, it about the scared the pee outta me. Everything was way the hell out of hand — and then my brother flew in from his home planet of Krypton…”
Jericho scoffed.
“I was just a kid, you understand,” Bo went on. “Didn’t know what to do. But my big brother jumped off his bike in a heartbeat, wading into among those college boys like they were nothing more than three mosquitoes—”
“As I recall, you waded right in there with me.”
“ ’Course I did,” Bo scoffed, more serious than before. “But I had your example.”
“I just enjoyed a good fight back then.” Jericho shook his head. “That Eskimo woman provided me with an excuse.”
“You still like to fight.” Bo’s eyes gleamed at the memory. “You know what I remember most, Jer? When you’d finished with the first two and had that biggest son of a bitch on the ground, pounding his face bloody with your fist… that boy was sobbing and slingin’ snot something awful by then. I expect he was afraid you were gonna kill him. He said something like, ‘Why are you doing this? Who cares about a drunk Eskimo?’ You remember what you told him?”
“What?” Mahoney leaned forward in anticipation. “What did you say?”
Bo snorted. “ ‘Who cares about a drunk Eskimo?’ the kid says, and my big brother just keeps hittin’ him and says, ‘It’s my job!’ Can you imagine such a thing? A fourteen-year-old kid telling someone that saving a woman was his job… like he had some sort of God-given calling to look after other people…”
“That’s about enough storytelling,” Jericho said. “I was in it for the fight and you know it.”
“Whatever you say, big brother.” Bo smiled, looking at Megan with a long sigh. “I gotta tell you though; I think I started to worship him from that moment on.”
Cujo’s nasal voice squawked across Bo’s BlackBerry, rescuing Quinn from any further roasting.
“Boss”—the biker was breathing hard—“You’re not gonna believe this… but it’s rainin’ rag heads out here.”
Mahoney sprang to her feet. Jericho sat up, away from his scope.
“Say that again, Cuj,” Bo said.
“Aye-rabs!” Cujo said. His voice was jubilant as if was shouting BINGO! “We got us two in custody.”
CHAPTER 45
Bo offered up the phone. “I think we’re into your bailiwick, Jer.”
“Hey, Cujo, this is Jericho,” he said. “What do you mean ‘in custody’?”
It was clear from the muffled grunts in the biker’s voice that he was on the move as he spoke.
“Moon spotted two guys sneakin’ up the back alley a couple houses down from you. We was able to work our way up a deep creek bed to get in behind ’em. Then we waited under a magnolia tree and conked ’em on the head as they tried to sneak by. Jacques checked ’em out. He says it’s not the guy you’re after, but they’re definitely the bad guys.”
Thibodaux’s drawl broke squelch on Jericho’s radio. “Neither one is Zafir, beb,” he said. “Both got all their fingers and toes… so far at least.”
“And you’re sure they’re Arabs and not from Mexico or Central America?”
“Chair Force,” Thibodaux grumbled into his radio. “You’re killin’ me, pal. I have spent a day or two in the Sandbox my own self. Neither one of ’em has an ID, but they were ‘Allah Akbar-in’ me to death ’til I gagged their sorry faces… And, lest you get too worried we smacked some poor member of the local mosque, one of ’em has a copy of Zafir’s martyr photo folded up in his back pocket. They’re either the SOB’s backup or they belong to his fan club. Either way…”
Jericho peered through the rifle scope across the street at Navarro’s front door while he thought. “Get them out of sight as fast as you can. Zafir’s out there somewhere and I don’t want to tip him off.”
“Where’s Moon?” Bo said two minutes later as Thibodaux and Cujo huffed in from the backyard, each carrying a bound and gagged Arab over his shoulder. A wave of heat and humidity rolled in with them when they opened the door.
Thibodaux dropped his prisoner unceremoniously in the middle of the living-room floor, well away from Bo’s Harley. “Moon stayed behind to keep his good eye peeled in case Zafir shows up. Sorry we couldn’t call earlier, Jericho. We sort of had our hands full.”
“Moon’s okay then?” Bo asked, checking out the front window.
“He’s fine, boss.” Cujo looked around the room, still holding his Arab over a broad shoulder. “I left the sawed-off with him.”
A prodigious beer belly rolled over the top of the biker’s jeans, completely hiding his belt buckle. He wasn’t as tall as Thibodaux, but he was every bit as muscular and the extra weight around his middle didn’t seem to hold him back at all. Completely bald, each side of his polished scalp was tattooed with matching black lighting bolts. He sneered, showing a gold front tooth.
“Where you want this one?”
Jericho pointed to the wall opposite the man Thibodaux had brought in. He took a deep breath, considering his options. The real problem was not how to interrogate the captives; the problem was doing what needed to be done in front of Mahoney.
“I need someone on the rifle scope,” he said, looking at the doctor. “If Zafir shows up, we don’t want to miss him.”
Mahoney nodded, taking a seat in front of the gun. Her mouth was set in a sort of nervous half grin.
“You shouldn’t have to shoot anyone,” Jericho consoled her. “Just keep an eye on the front of the house. Sing out if you see Zafir. Remember, we still have Ugly and Mean Jim up the street.”
“I’m fine with watching out for Zafir,” Mahoney said. She stared hard at the two Arab men, studying them with the eyes of a scientist. “What are we going to do with them?”
Awake now, both men peered over the top of their duct-tape gags with dark, sullen eyes. One of the men was considerably older than the other, well into his forties. The younger of the two was barely twenty. Both were clean shaven and wore simple cotton T-shirts and blue jeans. At first glance, most Texans might believe the men were Mexican.
“Shouldn’t we ask them if they know where Zafir is?” Megan said.
“That is exactly what we have to do.” Jericho shot a quick glance at Thibodaux, then turned back to Mahoney. “There is a near hundred-percent chance he’s only a block or two away. Right now, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eyes on that scope.”
“I understand,” she said, though he knew she didn’t… not yet.
He stepped closer, directly beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the suddenness of his touch.
“Listen to me,” he whispered. His body was directly between her and the younger Arab. “You’ve told us over and over how deadly this virus is. We have to do whatever it takes to find Zafir and stop him. I can’t have you making eye contact with that kid against the wall.”