The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,136
if he’s cutting corners and being a cheap-ass son of a bitch, it’s got to cost a lot of money to feed all those animals.”
“That’s one of the major problems with animal hoarders, actually. Very few of them can actually afford to provide nutrition and veterinary attention. Some of them can see the problem, but they still keep collecting. Psychologically, they can’t let go of the animals, even if a part of them recognizes that they aren’t providing adequate care and quality of life. That’s one of the ways you can tell it’s a mental illness.”
“So he’s strapped for cash. That’s why the house is empty and he’s eating those gross Takis.”
“You like Takis.”
“Not the chili-lime ones. God, pay attention. Ok, so he’s got no money, he needs to be off the grid, and he’s operating in Utah, where everybody’s nose is halfway up everybody else’s anal canal. So he’s squatting.” Jem sat back on his heels and pointed with the pen. “Here, here, or here.”
“Wait, what?”
“Do you know Glendale?”
“Not really.”
“West Valley?”
“Just when I’ve been to visit you and go to Benny’s place.”
“This part,” Jem sketched out a section with the pen, “belongs to Los Bastardos, and they’d be all over Leroy if he was in and out of there, fucking Canada geese or whatever he’s doing.”
“Dear Lord, I hope that’s not what he’s doing.”
“And this part has a lot of activity. It’s close enough to the airport that companies want to use the buildings, but there’s a high turnover. Especially with the airport expanding, there’s no way a property manager or owner would have a building sit vacant long enough for Leroy to set up shop.”
“Jem, you’re really good at this.”
“I know. Try not to bone up. So here are some possibilities. This area has a few industrial parks with warehouses that might be empty. And I know that there’s one over here that’s completely abandoned because—put on your politely interested expression—I spent a couple of years here. They have this sweet little office on a platform overlooking the warehouse, and the power was still on. Space heater and mini fridge. It was awesome.”
“What happened?”
“Some douche decided he wanted it, and I was nineteen and didn’t want my guts spilled all over the floor.”
Tean could hear the unsteadiness in his voice. “Oh. Ok.”
“And this last one,” Jem said, “backs up to a canal, and it’s been closed for years.”
“It feels like we’re guessing,” Tean said.
“Kind of,” Jem said. “But we’re making educated guesses. If they’re all wrong, what’s the worst that can happen?”
“I hate that question.”
36
The first location turned out to be a bust; the grounds were well maintained, with grass that was obviously watered and freshly mulched flowerbeds. Near the road, a shiny new sign proclaimed the administrative offices of Follicle Funk, Ltd. In a jaunty script at the bottom, the company slogan read Not enough bush by your tush? Put our funk on your junk!
“I don’t want to know,” Tean said as he flipped around.
Jem, twisting to look back at the sign, said, “I do.”
They drove to the next place that Jem had suggested—where he had lived for two years, Tean thought; two years in a warehouse, and he’d been happy to have a space heater and a mini fridge—and this time, things looked a little more likely. The building was relatively small for a warehouse, painted cinderblock, and the gate was chained shut. They parked on the shoulder, and Jem gave Tean a leg up. On the other side, weeds grew up through cracks in the asphalt—spindly millet grass, big yellow clumps of St. John’s wort. A moment later, Jem landed next to Tean, the chain-link gate chiming behind him, and they headed toward the building.
It was late afternoon. The air smelled like prairie dust and sun-warmed cement, with a hint of Jem—whatever he’d used at Tinajas’s house to shower. The day was warm without being hot, and the sky was robin’s egg blue, a few clouds scruffy on the ridge of the Oquirrh Mountains. The only sound was their footsteps, sometimes muffled where they had to trample weeds, sometimes ringing out against the pavement. Halfway around the building, Jem broke left and moved into the mixture of weeds and buffalo grass beyond the curb. He made a face and came back. Then an eddy stirred, and Tean smelled something like an open sewer.
“What’s that?”
As they resumed walking, Jem planted his hand on Tean’s face, forcing him to look away, and then said, “That’s the bathroom.”