Free Claw Back (Louis Kincaid) by P.J. Parrish Page B

his arm and was looking at the police wallet. When his eyes came up to Louis they were hard.
                  “Louis Kincaid,” he said, pronouncing his name Lou- ee . “Okay, what’s your story Lou- ee Kincaid. ”
                  Louis pulled in a painful breath and launched into a quick summary of the panther case. When he was finished, the man shook his head and smiled. 
                  “So you figured that some hunters killed your cat and you came out here to bust us, huh?”
                  “I don’t know what I figured,” he said. “You got some water?”
                  The man didn’t move. “You know, it was stupid of you to come out here alone,” he said. “I could have shot you.”
                  “I know,” Louis said, pa tti ng his swollen lip. “I should have told Katy I was coming here.”
                  “Katy? Katy Letka ?”
                  Louis looked up. “Yeah. Do you know her?”
                  “Yeah, I know Katy.”
                  Louis stared at the man –- he was smiling at the mention of Katy’s name –- as his fogged brain trying to make sense of this.
                  “You ’re a friend of Katy’s?” the man asked.
                  “Yeah.” Louis hesitated. “Are you?”
                  “Shit, yeah.”
                  The man’s eyes swept over Louis then he turned and went to his swamp buggy parked under the trees. He returned with a canteen and held it out to Louis.
                  Louis took it and drank greedily.
                  “So tell me about these guys who jumped you,” the man said.
                  “Not much to tell,” Louis said. “Like I said, they were hiding out in the cabin and jumped me when I came in.”
                  “Someone’s been using our camp,” the man said. “I’ve been coming out here to check every couple days.”              
                  “I don’t think these two are your guys,” Louis said. “They were on the run from something they did over in Fort Lauderdale. They didn’t seem too bright.”
                  The man nodded. “Whoever’s using my camp has been coming and going for months. We noticed it when we realized some canned food was missing.”
                  Louis took another drink of water, trying not to gulp. His head was slowly clear ing .
                  “One of my buddies got a glimpse of him once, but couldn’t track him,” the man said.
                  “What did he look like?”
                  “Stocky, dark-skinned, long black hair. He just disappeared into the swamp. He seems to know what he’s doing out here. We call him the phantom. The only thing he leaves is cigarette butts.”
                  “Cigarettes? You know what kind?” Louis asked.
                  “No , but the butts are probably out in the trash.”
                  “Can you show me?”
                  Louis followed the man out to one of the small outbuildings and waited until the man unearthed a heavy black trash bag. Louis opened it, grimaced at the smell, but dug through it until he found a butt.
                  He squinted, unable to see a brand name on it without his reading glasses . “You see a name?” he asked, holding it out the man.
                  The guy came took it. “Viceroy.”
                  Louis let out a painful breath.
                  “That mean something?” the man asked.
                  “Maybe. The guy who abducted the panther smokes Viceroys.”
                  The man tossed the butt back in the trash and secured the lid. “Your ribs broken?” he asked