Page 33 of Doyle

Listen, he’d gotten her out of trouble before by listening to his gut.

A guard stood at the gate, an AR-15 over his shoulder, and Doyle’s instincts rose up and called this thing stupid. But she drove right up, stopped, and raised her hands in surrender.

“I’d like to speak to Sebold.” She took off her helmet.

Doyle got off the bike and did the same. “And Kemar.”

The guard looked about sixteen, skinny, wearing cutoff jeans, ratty tennis shoes, and an oversized faded black shirt, some band name written on the front. He shouted to someone inside the gate. “Get the boss.”

Vines had crawled up the outside of the stone wall, tangling with the old bougainvillea, overgrown and spilling over the side. The scent of a campfire, meat cooking in the yard, lifted on the breeze.

Doyle spotted the Ford sitting outside the gate, parked near another entrance.Don’t worry, Duke, I’m coming for you.

The old Ford had reminded him of a vintage John Wayne movie his father loved.

Sebold showed up at the gate, holding what looked like a turkey leg. He wore a suit coat, ratty and open, no shirt underneath, and a pair of black suit pants, his bare feet in slides.

“You got my money?” He called her a name, but Tia didn’t flinch, just walked up to the gate, now opened by the guard.

“I do,” she said. “But I want Jamal. And my truck, my X-ray machine, and my ultrasound machine,”

He laughed and threw the turkey leg, and a couple of dogs pounced on it. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and walked out to her.

“Lemme see.” He extended his hand, flexing his fingers in agive it to meway.

She unstrapped her fanny pack. “Not until I see that Jamal is okay. And that my X-ray machine isn’t destroyed.”

He smiled with one side of his mouth, then glanced back at the guard and a few others who had gathered to watch.

Doyle spotted Keon standing with them, out of uniform, wearing a black T-shirt, the arms ripped off, jeans.

Sebold gestured to him. “Get me the kid.”

Doyle had stayed behind Tia and now glanced at the truck, back at Sebold. He’d dropped his pack off one shoulder, the front pouch unzipped. Just in case.

“Let him go!” Kemar’s voice preceded him as Keon dragged Jamal by the shirt to the entrance. Kemar stumbled, running after them.

Jamal clawed at Keon’s grip, fighting, then froze when he spotted Doyle. He stood, wiped his face with his hands. “Mr. D!”

“Shut up, kid!” Sebold said and reached out for him, dragging him by one arm.

“Please, Sebold!” Kemar ran up behind him, grabbed Jamal’s other arm.

Doyle saw it coming before it happened.Run, Kemar!But he couldn’t get the words out before Sebold turned and hit the kid.

Kemar fell to the dirt, bleeding, backing away, his face wrecked.

Stay down, Kemar. But Doyle jerked, ready to launch at Sebold.

His hand closed on the canister in the outer pocket of the pack.

“Show me my money,” Sebold growled to Tia.

“Not without Jamal.”

Keon had backed away, his gaze hard on Tia’s. Then he looked at Doyle, and weirdly, gave the smallest shake of his head.

Yeah, Doyle thought she was brazen too, but right now, he was team Tia,thank you.

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