Blood Lines

3

›› Interstate 40

›› West of Jacksonville, North Carolina

›› 1403 Hours

Charlotte was just under five hours from Camp Lejeune. After they were out of Jacksonville, the town surrounding the Marine camp, Shel headed west on Interstate 40, chasing the sun.

“If the traffic stays good,” Shel said, “we’ll be in Charlotte around seven.”

Remy nodded. He leaned back in the seat and played a PSP game. Earbuds filled his head with the sounds of battle on the brightly lit screen. He had pulled out the game system before they’d cleared the main gates at the camp.

“Is our fugitive still going to be there?” Shel asked.

“Yep.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.” Remy twisted and turned slightly in his seat as he followed the game’s shifting environment.

“And if he’s not?”

“Then maybe I saved Camp Lejeune from Shelzilla. Bad thing is nobody knows, and I don’t get a medal or a commendation.”

Shel took in a deep breath and let it out.

“That ain’t gonna work,” Remy said.

“What?” Shel asked irritably.

“Trying to suck in all the oxygen in the Jeep and hoping I pass out from asphyxiation.”

The growing irritation inside Shel almost broke free. “You planning a comedy routine?”

Remy grinned a brilliant white smile. “Nope. This is what you call natural humor. But if you want, I can use hand puppets. Might make it easier for the slow kids to comprehend.”

Shel ignored him. And he continued to do so for the next 137 miles.

›› Interstate 40

›› Outside Greensboro, North Carolina

›› 1619 Hours

Shel pumped gas at the small convenience store while Remy went to grab some burgers from the fast food franchise located inside. Max ran around the dog-walking area.

By the time Shel paid for the gas, cleaned up after Max, hit the head, and returned to the Jeep, Remy stood waiting with two paper sacks of burgers and fries and a tray containing a half-dozen bottles of water. They divvied the food, and Remy emptied one of the water bottles into a dish beside the Jeep for Max.

“Who’s the fugitive?” Shel unwrapped one of the burgers and took a bite.

“A lowlife named Bobby Lee Gant.” Remy bit into his burger, then winced a little; Shel saw him try to cover the reaction. Remy’s jaw was still swollen from the punch he’d taken.

Shel chewed, thought for a moment, then swallowed. “The biker guy who did the carjacking in Jacksonville back in April?”

Remy nodded. “That’s the one.”

The carjacking, which had involved a young Marine and his wife, had been particularly heinous. The couple had been shopping in Jacksonville. The Marine had just returned from Iraq. While they’d been stopped at a light, Bobby Lee Gant and three of his buddies had driven up beside them on their motorcycles. Gant and one of his buddies had ridden doubled up.

At the light, Gant slid off the motorcycle he had been a passenger on, crossed to the young Marine’s car, and smashed the window with a tire iron. Then he’d taken a pistol from his belt and shoved it into the Marine’s face.

Just back from Iraq and the horrors he had seen there, the Marine hadn’t reacted well to the open violence. He’d grabbed for Gant’s pistol automatically and ended up getting shot in the face. He had survived but had been forced to undergo cutting-edge reconstructive surgeries to repair the damage. His right eye had been lost, and his military career had ended at the same time.

One of the other men had yanked the wife out onto the street. Then Gant had driven off in the car while his friends followed on the bikes, leaving the couple behind. Luckily the Marine’s wife had her cell phone and was able to call for medical assistance immediately.

NCIS had been trying to get a lead on the biker for the last two months. It was the kind of assignment Shel enjoyed: danger with a hint of vengeance.

“How’d we find him?” Shel asked.

“Charlotte PD nabbed Gant’s girlfriend on a holding charge. She’s pregnant. A fall like that, she’d be inside county lockup and the kid would end up on its own. She tried to pull hardship, claimed that her family had disowned her and nobody would take care of her kid. Charlotte DA froze her out.”

“Hard.”

“Yeah.”

Despite the years of military life, wars, and what he had seen while with NCIS, Shel hadn’t hardened to the struggles of others. He empathized with the young mother. A lot of people who trafficked in crime weren’t evil. Not like Bobby Lee Gant. They were just people looking for an easy or quick way out of a bad situation.

“The girlfriend rolled on Gant?” Shel asked.

“Like a log.” Remy pushed the last of his first burger into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Afternoon sunlight glinted on his yellow gold lenses.

“Did Charlotte PD check her story out?”

“Maggie says no. They don’t have any paper outstanding on Gant and we’re not going to let them play on our court. They forwarded it to us.”

Shel unwrapped his second burger, then tossed one of the meat patties Remy had purchased for Max to the dog. The Labrador snapped the patty out of the air like a Frisbee and gulped it down.

“Don’t see how he does that,” Remy commented.

“I trained him to eat like a Marine,” Shel said.

“I kind of got that from the way he chews with his mouth open.”

Shel ignored the gibe. He wasn’t ready to play yet. “You think Charlotte PD took an honest pass on this and left Gant undisturbed?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Gant will probably know something’s up.”

“Yeah.” Shel dropped the wrapper into the bag. “So if Gant knows the police have located him, why’s he still there?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe Charlotte PD has a stealth mode like none we’ve ever seen.”

Shel folded his arms across his broad chest. “Let’s say they don’t.”

Remy grinned. With the swelling in his face, the effort was lopsided. “Gant’s daddy is in Charlotte. Maggie says he’s a bad dude. Runs the local chapter of the Purple Royals.”

“Motorcycle gang.”

“That’s the one.”

Shel sipped his iced tea. NCIS had encountered the Purple Royals before. They were a dangerous motorcycle gang fueled by meth and arms running. Most of the inner circle was made up of “one percenters,” men who were confirmed criminals.

“Me and you against a biker gang?” Shel asked.

“Well,” Remy said, “we don’t have to bring them all in. Just Gant.”

“True.” Shel warmed to the coming encounter. He tilted his head back to look at the sun. “It’s getting late.”

“Let’s roll.”

›› Interstate 85

›› Near Salisbury, North Carolina

›› 1703 Hours

“Are you going to play that thing the whole way?” Shel asked.

Remy paused the PSP and pulled the earbuds out of his ears. “You want to talk?”

“Thought maybe you wanted to tell me about Gant’s daddy.”

“We’re not planning on hooking him up.”

“In case we happen to cross paths. I noticed you were looking through a file Maggie sent you.”

Remy put the PSP away and reached into the backseat for his backpack, then pulled out the small notebook computer all the team members carried as part of their equipment. He settled the computer across his knees and brought it to life.

“Victor Gant’s in his late sixties,” Remy said. “He was a ground pounder in Vietnam. Pulled three tours.”

“Three?”

“Yeah. Put in his twenty altogether. Pulled the pin at thirty-nine.”

“Then turned to a life of crime as a biker?”

“Back then there weren’t as many openings for military-issue as there are now. Especially not for somebody who liked to stay in the bush. Today he probably would have segued directly into the private security sector. He mustered out as sergeant first class after the first Gulf War.”

“Came back to spend time with Bobby Lee and his mom?”

Remy snorted. “Not likely. Bobby Lee’s mother had already divorced Victor back in the seventies.”

“Any special reason?”

“Maggie didn’t dig deep into this. She stayed with Victor Gant’s crime side. It was intense enough. Besides that, he’s not the focus of our little trip. Not long after Victor Gant mustered out, he got into a bar fight and killed a man.”

“Why?”

“It was part of a turf war. Maggie’s notes indicate that the police investigating the homicide thought Gant should have taken a fall for murder one. The DA couldn’t make premeditation stick, so he didn’t try. Gant was convicted of manslaughter and spent seven years inside. He did his whole bit, so there’s not even a parole office in his life.”

“Not much father-son time there,” Shel observed.

“No. But Bobby Lee started hanging around anyway.”

“Is Bobby Lee a Purple Royal?”

“No. They don’t have an interest in him.”

“Except that Victor Gant’s his daddy.”

“That’s about the size of it.” Remy looked at Shel. “So what is it you hate about Father’s Day?”