Renegade (2013) Read Online Free

figured, Bubba. This is just a roust. Shake you up a little. I just didn’t know what for.”
    “Me neither.” Pike didn’t like lying to Monty, but he didn’t want to involve the man in his problems either. “I’m at the bodega. You want me to bring you anything?”
    “Yeah. A bomb. Mrs. Garcia brought that station wagon of hers back in and I gotta chase down another electrical problem. I’m beginning to think I’d be better off just getting her another car so I don’t have to look at this one ever again. I swear, I don’t need another project car.”
    “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Fresh outta bombs. Anything else?”
    “Nah, I’m good. And listen, Pike, if you need an attorney or something, I got a guy that’s real good.”
    “I don’t think it’ll come to that, but that’s good to know.” Pike said good-bye and closed the phone. He took a deep breath and stepped up to the cashier.

    The garage was located sixteen blocks from Pike’s apartment. It was an easy enough walk, and he liked being able to see for himself what was going on in the neighborhood. Every place he’d ever been had its own rhythms. Getting to know them was just a matter of time.
    He took different routes to the garage, never getting locked into any pattern, and he even got his coffee from seven different places, including the diner where Hector’s mom worked. A routine could save lives, but it could also put them in jeopardy. The Marines taught discipline and order, but the streets taught Pike organic chaos. He split the difference most days, always changing it up.
    He wore work boots with jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt from a Molly Hatchet concert, and a black nylon shell for the wind. He’d left his weapons at home. The cup of coffee kept his left hand warm. Wraparound sunglasses blocked out the morning sun.
    The two police detectives stood just inside the open bay doors of the garage. They had on suits and looked official. Pike guessed the neighborhood was buzzing with fears of ICE. Immigration and Customs Enforcement made an appearance every so often, busting illegals sometimes but mostly looking for human-trafficking operations.
    They stood a little straighter when they realized Pike was headed for them. Behind them, Monty’s boom box blasted the Hollies’ “Long Cool Woman.” Monty was an oldies kind of guy, but it was an appreciation that he’d developed, not been born into. He was in his midthirties.
    Mrs. Garcia’s station wagon was in the first bay. Monty had gotten on it quick because Mrs. Garcia ferried four grandchildren around to school, dental and medical appointments, and extracurricular activities like soccer and dance. She was helping her son who had lost his wife to cancer. Her car had to move.
    “Pike Morgan?” The older detective spoke first, taking the lead. Pike had had two other last names before that, stripped away just as quickly as they’d been given when he had been forced to move to the other two locations. They’d wanted to move him farther west. Oklahoma was as far from Texas as Pike had allowed them to move him. Getting into the Marine Reserve had caused the US Marshals a lot of headaches, but Pike had insisted, and he was still needed to testify in a couple ongoing court cases.
    “Yeah.” Pike came to a stop in front of the detectives and sipped his coffee.
    “I’m Detective Tom Horner with the Tulsa Police Department.”He was well dressed, manicured, and had a clean haircut that looked like he’d just stepped out of a salon. Everything but the gray at his temples had been touched up. He looked to be in his late forties, a guy who watched what he ate and kept himself in shape. His right eye had a squint to it, like he’d gotten popped there and the swelling hadn’t quite gone down. Horner nodded to his younger partner. “This is Detective Trey Winkle.”
    The other man was in his early thirties and balding a little, his scalp showing through his fair hair. He was full-faced and