Read Claw Back (Louis Kincaid) for Free Online

with the sheriff’s office logo embossed across the top. Underneath, it read: The courtesies and law enforcement authority of this office have been temporarily extended to Louis Kincaid. It was signed by Sheriff Lance S. Mobley.
                  “I do keep my word, Kincaid,” Mobley said. “Now go find that damn cat. Alive.”
     
     
    CHAPTER SIX
     
    After leaving Mobley, Louis felt the need to burn off the extra adrenalin of the day so he stopped by Gold’s Gym and did a quick hour in the weight room.
    That wasn’t enough so he swung by Fowler Firearms and killed another hour target shooting with his Glock . It was Friday - Ladies Shoot Free! - and the place was packed with women laying waste to paper Zombies with pink Sig Skeeters .
    He didn’t mind being the lone male. He had been avoiding going to the Lee County Gun Range lately because he didn’t want to run into any cops who might get curious about why he was sharpening his shooting skills. Not yet at least. Not until he was sure he had a permanent deputy badge on his chest.
    Eventually he’d have to break down and go to the Lee County range. He was going to have to do the tactical training course, test his accuracy shooting at the computer-controlled moving targets that mimicked what a cop might encounter on the street. It was one thing to shoot at static paper silhouettes. It was something else entirely to make split-second decisions on random moving targets.
    He hadn’t done tactical training since the academy. He knew he was rusty. Just like he knew his body had gone a little soft and his credit needed cleaning up. It didn’t matter. He was willing to do whatever it took to get back inside.
    It was past five by the time he got home. He fed Issy , peeled off his sticky clothes and took a long cool shower to get rid of the film of sweat and Avon Skin So Soft.
    A breeze was blowing in from the Gulf when he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, so he didn’t bother to turn on the air conditioning. When he went to the refrigerator to get a Heineken he caught the faint scent of gunpowder. His Glock was lying on the kitchen counter where he had left it.
    He had planned to go through his mail and phone messages but all that would have to wait.
    He pulled what he needed from a kitchen drawer, tucked the towel tighter around his waist and sat down on a stool at the counter.
    The ritual was always the same. And there was something oddly calming about it.
    He grasped the Glock firmly and dropped out the magazine, setting it aside. Next he made sure the chamber was clear. He’d never accidently fired a weapon while cleaning it but he once knew a cop who did. The stray bullet had killed him.
    Dismantling the Glock had taken him some time to master. It wasn’t like the old model 10 revolvers or the simply assembled shotguns he’d used as a rookie. The Glock was a little like one of those wooden block puzzles where each movement had to be done in the correct order to open it up.
    First, he pulled the trigger until it clicked back into place. With a claw-like grip on the top of the gun, he pressed a tab and the slide came off.
    He squirted a little Hoppes oil into the three pieces – the spring, the slide and the barrel - then wiped each dry with a piece of an old t-shirt. The Glock’s frame was polymer but he always took the time to blow away the gun powder residue from the crevices.
    As he reassembled the Glock , he thought suddenly of Bud. He was his firearms instructor back at the academy, a small soft-spoken bald man whose quiet reverence for guns had earned him the name of the Buddha. He could still hear Bud’s words.
    Take care of it and it will take care of you. For those of you who ride alone it is the only partner you’ll have .              
    Louis reassembled the Glock , slid it back in its holster and set it on the counter. The phone messages were still waiting. He hit the rewind button.
    “Hey Rocky, how the