Wolfman - Art Bourgeau Read Online Free PDF Page B

full. On the ground, next to a rock, he
saw an empty Miller Lite bottle. He shined the light back up the can
and saw several others heaped loosely at the top. Probably it just
rolled off from there and hit the rock — then he heard the second
noise.
    It also came from the area of the garbage can but
further back. In the woods where his flashlight beam would not reach.
It was not a single noise like the first but a series of shuffling,
scuffling sounds, as if someone or something was headed down the hill
toward the creek. As he walked toward the can he figured that it was
probably nothing more than someone's dog all set to have a little
sport with the can until he had been disturbed. A far cry from the
kind of noises he’d known when he worked undercover.
    He bent down and picked up the bottle, placing it
back in the can and directed his light into the woods behind. The
noise stopped. He moved the light from left to right but couldn't see
anything. The darkness and woods were too thick.
    "Go on home, boy. You’ve got no business out
here in the rain on a night like this." From the way he said it,
it wasn’t clear whether he was talking to the dog he imagined out
there in the darkness or to himself, but suddenly the rain didn’t
feel good to him anymore.
    He wondered why the presence of the police car hadn't
caused some activity in the BMW. Maybe asleep. He started back toward
it.
    About fifteen feet from the car his light picked up a
dark shiny stain on the ground, roughly circular in shape and two
inches in diameter. A couple of feet closer he saw another one, this
one slightly larger, then a third still larger. Someone’s car has a
bad oil leak, he thought.
    He raised his flashlight to play on the black BMW.
Still no sign of movement inside its dark, rain-streaked windows. He 
moved to the right so he could come up on the driver’s side from
the rear, transferring the flashlight to his left hand as he did. His
right hand touched the snap on his holster. As he did he thought of
Rudy Gunther and pulled his hand back.
    " Don't be so jittery," he muttered to
himself.
    He approached the car and shined his light at the
back window but couldn't see through the window’s dark tint. He let
the light play up the side of the car. The other windows were
similarly tinted. No wonder he didn’t see any movement inside the
car. He shook his head. Most cities had ordinances against windows
tinted this dark. Why didn’t Philly? He stepped closer and tapped
the window on the driver’s side with his flashlight.
    "Hello in the car," he called out.
    No response.
    He thought for a moment about moving up and shining
his light through the windshield, decided that was stupid, he'd be
giving someone a clear head-and-chest shot.
    "Hello in the car, this is the police," he
called out and rapped the window harder with his flashlight.
    Still nothing.
    Mercanto shrugged his shoulders to relieve the
tightness. It was a movement like a fighter would make. Maybe the
car’s empty, he thought, but who would park a BMW in a deserted
spot like this? That was just asking for someone to steal it or trash
it.
    Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly ki
style, he transferred the flashlight back to his right hand and
reached for the doorhandle with his left. If there was a problem
behind those windows he was going to be in trouble with both hands
occupied like that. Might as well be holding two bags of groceries.
    "Let’s get it over with," he muttered,
and pulled the doorhandle. The door did not budge. Locked. He felt a
sense of relief, and anger. Someone did leave it parked here. Stupid
ass.
    But to be sure he moved around the rear of the car to
check the passenger side. Which was when he saw the door ajar. It
wasn’t open much, maybe six or eight inches. He shone the light on
the ground. Near the door were more stains. He moved the light back
to his left and reached for his gun. Presenting as little target as
possible he reached out and shoved