Aftermath by Michael Kerr Page A

said.
    “No idea, boss.”
    “Johnson or whatever his real name is.  He accused me of having Jennings hit, and putting out the contract on his wife and daughter.”
    Sammy blinked a few times and looked puzzled.
    “Thing is, Sammy, how could he have known my name, or had a fuckin’ clue that I had anything to do with your friends Naylor or Mendez?”
    “He tortured Naylor, Boss.  So I guess he got my name from him.  Maybe he asked who I worked for.”
    “I think your right, Sammy,” Jerry said.  “And because of your big-mouthed friend we have a serious problem.  I want you to go and have a word with Naylor.  Find out exactly what he told this maniac from nowhere, and then kill him.”
    “Kill Roy?”
    “Yeah.  He’s put both you and me at risk, Sammy.”
    “You think this Johnson will come after us, boss?”
    “Not if you’re right, and Mendez takes care of business.”
    “He will.”
    “Then we’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about, have we?”
     
    Logan ignored the command or request, and got up.  Walked past Sharon and went to where the discovery was parked in front of the cabin.  Sharon followed him.  He got down on his knees at the rear of the vehicle and put his hand up the inside of the fender to his elbow.  Felt around for a minute and then withdrew his arm.  Went to the other side and repeated the exercise.
    “What are you looking for?”  Sharon asked him.
    Logan said nothing.  Just stood up and went to the front of the SUV.  Found the tracker way up under the offside wheel arch.  Handed it to Sharon and checked the nearside.
    “What is it?”  Sharon said.
    “A cheap little global positioning device,” Logan said.  “I should have looked a lot earlier.”  Your mother was followed up north by one of the hitters.  She will have stopped once or twice for something to eat, or to get gas, or use a restroom, and this was attached to the car.”
    Sharon put her hand to her mouth.  “So they’ll know where we are?”
    “Not necessarily.  This will relay a signal to a remote computer or phone.  It isn’t continuous, and probably isn’t very reliable in terrain like this.  I would think that the guy will only have a rough idea of the area we’re in.”
    “So we’ll have to move, won’t we?”
    Logan smiled.  “No.  This gives us an edge.”
    He took the small, black, lozenge-shaped tracker back from Sharon.  Went into the cabin and picked up the Discovery’s keys.  Rita stopped cooking supper and looked at him quizzically.  Sharon came in behind him.
    “Sharon will explain,” Logan said.  “Do either of you know how to shoot a handgun?”
    “I took lessons, but it was years ago,” Rita said.
    Logan took the 9mm pistol from his pocket and checked the load.  He had removed the silencer after dealing with Naylor at the lake.  He handed the gun to Rita butt first.
    “It’s loaded,” he said.  “I doubt that you’ll need to use it while I’m away, but if you do, thumb the safety off, aim at the body and keep pulling the trigger till it’s empty.  Remember the safety.  Lots of people don’t.”
    Rita held the gun pointing at the floor; kept her finger outside the guard.  Logan noted that and nodded.
    “Where are you going?”  Sharon asked him.
    “Not far.  I’ll be back in time for supper.”
    He drove out to the highway, made a left, and after a few minutes on the looping mountain road he came to a truck stop called The Gap.  He parked next to a big truck in the lot at the rear and checked that no one was around.  Walked to the rear of the truck and quickly knelt down and clamped the tracker to the inside of a wheel arch.  The metal was clean and the grip was fine.  He would have liked to go inside for a cold beer, but didn’t.  Last thing he needed was to be seen in the area.  Back in the Discovery he waited.  Fifteen minutes later a guy with a bushy walrus moustache and wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, ankle boots and a