Behold the Child by Harry Shannon Page A

really how they see it?" Kenzie felt guilty but couldn't help himself. He really wanted to know.
    "Damn straight, partner," Talbot mumbled. He was beginning to fade. "So what do you do all day out there in the boonies, pop rabbits?"
    "Jack, listen to me, okay? Jack?"
    "Yeah, I'm here."
    "I want you to do something for me, man. I want you to call a guy."
    "Okay, Sam. Lemme get a pencil." A few seconds went by. "Shoot."
    "His name is Greenberg. He has an office in Sherman Oaks. He's a shrink. I want you to make an appointment to see him."
    Silence. "This is a joke, right?"
    "Jack, you're drunk in the morning and while you're still on duty. Your career is in trouble, you're obviously depressed. And I don't want to read about my friend eating his gun in some hotel room, you read me?"
    "I gotta go now," Talbot said. He seemed deeply offended. "I'll look into that obscene phone call stuff and get back to you when I have time."
    "Jack, don't be pissed."
    "Yeah. Right."
    Kenzie went back into the house and returned the phone to its cradle. He stood in silence, feelings decidedly mixed, remembering the good old days. Then he returned the coffee mug to the kitchen and went out the door to work. He did not lock the door behind him. He saw no reason.
    The State Police had faxed him a warrant for one Gilbert Henry Harrison of Newark, New Jersey. Gilbert (also known as Gills, Rhino and HH in certain circles) was a member of the Road Hogs, a nomadic biker gang believed to be traveling through northern Nevada on its way down from Utah. The gang was probably bound for the warmer climes of Nevada. It seemed Gilbert had broken the jaw of a garage mechanic who had scratched the paint on his Harley. He'd pled not guilty and then skipped out on a ten thousand dollar bail bond.
    Kenzie wiped the windshield and sped away. He whistled as he drove, and listened to some country music; the tiny station was broadcasting live from Elko. The announcer said there was more snow on the way, and that the temperature was already falling.
    The State Police didn't think it likely that Gilbert and the Road Hogs were still in the area, but they had faxed Kenzie on the basis of a telephone tip the gang might be holed up in a deserted trailer park that was located almost exactly between Twin Forks and Dry Wells, about thirty miles south down 91. Kenzie drove slowly and carefully, clinging tightly to the wheel. The round trip was bound to take a couple of hours. He knew he'd soon have to put chains on his vehicle, but didn't want to be bothered just yet.
    When he got to the trailer park it seemed empty, with nothing out of the ordinary. Kenzie loosened the flap on his Glock 9 and drove slowly down the long, cracked stretch of pavement. A few trailers were standing empty; the windows were shattered and the metal doors kept flapping open in the moaning wind.
    One trailer at the back of the property seemed buttoned up tight. Someone had decided to escape the bitter weather. Kenzie paused, thought: Could the strange phone calls have come from here?
    Kenzie parked the cruiser. He took a long, slow breath and tried to sense what was ahead. His instincts told him not to panic. After all, there was no sign of the biker gang, or any vehicles. Nonetheless, he kept the side arm handy as he stepped out of the car and approached the blue trailer.
    "Hello?"
    No one answered, but something moved.
    Alarmed, Kenzie flattened against the outside paneling and slid down the front wall of the trailer. He stopped at the door, knocked and then moved a few feet away before someone within could open fire.
    "Police, open up."
    "Okay, okay. Don't shoot me."
    The door creaked. Kenzie barked: "Let me see your empty hands, both your hands, come out of that door. Do it now!"
    The hands that emerged were trembling and festooned with tufts of white hair. Kenzie relaxed a bit. "You're doing fine, sir. Now come down the steps, please. Keep your hands where I can see them."
    "I just needed a place to