Free Dead Ends by Don Easton

will do. There is also the other problem. Varrick is scheduled to appear in court for his meth lab trial in April. If he gets slam-dunked then, we’ll really be left in the cold.”
    Bob slowly nodded and replied, “Well … I said your affidavit was weak … but maybe not impossible.” He grinned and added, “Your victim was a priest. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a Catholic judge.”
    â€œI’d appreciate you trying. Otherwise we’ve got nothing.”
    â€œIf we do get this signed, you better pray that you do get something within the next sixty days because I guarantee you won’t get an extension otherwise.” He looked sharply at Connie and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to wait and see what else you might dig up?”
    Connie glanced at her cellphone and saw an incoming call from Jack. “Give me a sec,” she said apologetically to Bob.
    â€œWe’re on him,” said Jack. “Westbound on 99 in a black pickup.”
    Connie smiled and turned to Bob and said, “No, I don’t want to wait. I want this son of a bitch!”
    * * *
    Connie got her wiretap order signed that afternoon. She immediately called Jack who told her that Varrick simply went to a bottle recycling depot and dropped off several dozen cases of empties, along with a few boxes of liquor bottles before going to a liquor store and restocking the booze supply at Headstones.
    â€œIf they’ve got him doing menial chores at Headstones when he is a cook for a meth lab, it is costing them money,” noted Jack. “They’re worried and are laying low.”
    â€œHow long do you think they’ll keep him on ice?”
    â€œI’m surprised he isn’t back to work already,” replied Jack. “Although trained lab rats are valuable, they’re not club members and are still expendable. My guess is they’ll wait a week or two to make sure there is no heat before putting him back to work. Maybe they’re looking to rent a new place for a lab.”
    â€œHope so. The clock is running,” added Connie ruefully.
    â€œDid you hear the news on Faith?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œGabriel’s kid … cancer.”
    Connie paused to let out a sigh before asking, “How bad?”
    The pause gave Jack time to feel the rage simmer through his veins — his tendons and muscles going taut. For a brief second he allowed himself to fantasize that his hands were around Varrick’s neck, choking the information out of him.
    â€œDid you hear me?” asked Connie.
    â€œI heard you,” sighed Jack. “It’s bad. Could be terminal but they don’t know yet.”
    â€œI really, really want to nail these guys.”
    â€œTrust me, we will catch them. Justice will be served,” he said coldly.
    Connie’s emotions were in turmoil when she hung up. She was saddened over the news about Faith, but at the same time, knowing Jack’s reputation, she believed the culprits would somehow be identified. Identified, perhaps. But with what evidence? And Jack’s definition of justice … hope to God it is not Jack whom I have to testify against.
    * * *
    The next month dragged by without any progress. Varrick continued to do menial chores around Headstones. Occasionally other men helped him and Jack and Laura photographed any of them who were new faces. Connie showed the photos to Gabriel and Noah, but none were recognized.
    Sixteen days after Faith’s cancer had been identified, she underwent surgery. Phyllis called Jack to let him know that the surgery was partially successful.
    â€œPartially?” asked Jack.
    â€œThey got most of it, but some wrapped around her spinal cord had to be left. The doctors are optimistic that radiation will get what they missed.”
    â€œThink it would be okay if I paid Gabriel and her children a visit?” asked Jack.
    â€œGive her a little more time,” said