Page 6 of Daybreak

“Where are you taking me?” Dan asked.

“Where do you want to go?” Gunner asked.

Dan shrugged. “Home. I want to go home. But it doesn’t exist anymore. Just take me back to where there are places for people like me to hole up at.”

“I know some people. They run a decent homeless shelter. You need somewhere to be so that your foot can heal. Are you up for it?”

Dan nodded, and for a few minutes said nothing as Gunner sped through the streets. When they came to a stoplight, he glanced at the cop.

“Why do you care what happens to me?” Dan asked.

Gunner didn’t hesitate. “The way I see it, you were minding your own business when you became a witness to a crime. We’re the ones who dragged you further into it. And now I’m taking you out of it.”

The relief on the old man’s face was evident. “Much appreciated, officer.”

Gunner almost smiled. “No problem, dude. I’d share a sausage biscuit with you anytime.”

Dan laughed, and the moment passed.

By the time they reached the shelter, Gunner had already been on the phone with Wilson Trainer, the director, and as they neared the shelter, saw Wilson waiting for them outside the door.

Gunner pulled up to the curb and pointed. “That’s Wilson Trainer. He’ll get you settled in.” Then he gave Dan his card and a hundred dollars. “Get a shave and a haircut, dude. They’ll give you clean clothes and a place to sleep. And if you’re willing, they’ll help you find work. You never know when the opportunity for something better will come knocking. Be ready to meet it head on.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Dan said.

“No thanks needed,” Gunner said, then waited until the men were inside before returning to the precinct to write up the report.

Cliff was gone when he returned but showed up an hour later, and just in time to answer the phone ringing at his desk.

“Detective Beale, Homicide.”

Gunner hit Save, then glanced up as Cliff pointed at him, and then the door, indicating they were getting a new call.

Gunner nodded, grabbed the jacket hanging over the back of his chair, and waited for Cliff to finish the call.

“What’s up?” Gunner asked.

“Somebody’s dead,” Cliff said.

Gunner grinned. “No shit, Sherlock,” and threw a wad of paper at him.

Cliff caught it in midair and laughed as he dropped it in his wastebasket. “Let’s go, and I’m driving. You drive like you’re running from the devil,” Cliff said as they headed for the parking lot.

“Maybe I am,” Gunner said and kept walking.

* * *

Burgess Dixon was having breakfast at his estate outside of Dallas, enjoying waffles and the morning news, when he caught his name being mentioned. He turned up the volume just in time to hear the commentator speaking…

“Federal authorities have identified the body found in the warehouse as Freddie Welsh, the missing witness from the FBI safe house.”

Dixon frowned. What the hell? I told Garza and Letourneau to bury the body, not leave it lying around out in the open. He picked up the phone and called Beau Whistler. Whistler was his chauffeur, bodyguard, and the man who disappeared Dixon’s enemies when the need arose.

Whistler was outside in the six-car garage, getting the limo ready for Dixon’s morning ride to the office in downtown Dallas, when his cell rang. “Morning, Boss. What’s up?” he asked.

“Tell Garza and Letourneau to get their asses over here ASAP. They screwed up, and I want to know why. I’ll be in the library.”

“Yes, sir. Calling them now,” Whistler said, wondering what screw-up they’d done now. But when he pulled up Garza’s number and called, Letourneau answered the phone.