Their parents were long gone. They died together when Ray Sr. got drunk one night and drove his pickup truck into a bridge abutment while going over eighty miles an hour.
The boys had been saddened by their mama’s passing but were glad the old man was in the dirt. Since then, they used the farm as a place to hide stolen goods for friends and for a while there they operated a chop shop out of the barn. If it was illegal and made money, they were up for giving it a go.
Lee Kirkpatrick stood in the open doorway on the back porch and stared over at the kennel where they kept the hunting dogs. The dogs had caught the scent of something in the damp air that was making them restless. It wasn’t unusual for a critter to wander too close to the kennel and set them off, although it didn’t usually happen during a rainstorm.
Ray Jr. stared past Lee’s shoulder. Like his brother, he had a prominent brow ridge, small eyes, and a wide mouth. “Them dogs smell something that ain’t right. I’m gonna go check it out.”
Kirkpatrick grabbed a black rain slicker off a hook. “I’ll come with you.”
Ray nodded, then handed his brother one of four shotguns that were mounted on a wall.
White had climbed over a wire fence that had a sign on it warning that it was electrified. The sign was a lie. He had used a multi-tool with a hard-plastic handle to see if there was any charge. There was no spark when he touched a metal part to the supposedly hot wire weaved throughout the fence. It was just a normal fence with a wire running through it. The sign itself probably helped to keep trespassers out.
A full moon was hidden behind the clouds but still managed to brighten the sky enough to see by. It wouldn’t have been difficult to find the house on a rainy night anyway. There were lamps on in windows on each of its two levels that made it stand out like a lighthouse.
Before reaching the home, he spotted a smaller structure that had no lights. It was a good size dog kennel. Sitting near it was an old chicken coop that was empty and unused. For a farm, there didn’t appear to be much activity of farming going on.
White had tried to stay downwind of the kennel but apparently his strategy didn’t work. The hounds began barking when he was still a hundred feet away. He had smelled them first, the scent of wet dog.
He had been headed to the house to see if he could get a look inside. There were several windows that had no blinds or shades. Through one of them he had spotted an enormous flat screen TV. There was a football game showing on it.
If he’d found an unlocked window, he might have taken a chance and entered the home. With the dogs causing a ruckus, White decided to move on and try the house again later. There were bound to be outer buildings such as barns or sheds that he hadn’t come across yet. Perhaps Kent Ballou was camped out in one of them.
While walking over a hill, he had spotted lights down in a depression where there were large trees. It looked like someone had a recreational vehicle parked down there amid the oaks.
The dogs stopped their barking as the wind shifted again. With that change in the direction of the breeze, White became aware of a new scent. It was a chemical smell similar to ammonia. He had smelled something like it before while he and Jessica had been touring a crime scene in Maryland. The detective they were with said that she thought it was a methamphetamines lab.
They had tracked the odor down to an apartment building. The meth lab was discovered to be in the apartment of an elderly resident who had recently passed away. Her only living relative, a great-grandson, had used the apartment to cook drugs in. The old woman had collected spoons. They were still hanging in glass cases on the walls.
By the time he reached the RV, White was certain that he was smelling meth. Someone had a radio playing inside the trailer. Between the music and the rain beating on the vehicle’s tin roof, there was no way that anyone inside could hear his approach.
He found a gap in a blind covering a rear window and peeked through it to see a man pouring something into a large beaker as a younger man stood beside him watching. They were both dressed in jeans and white T-shirts. There were no weapons showing.
White was disappointed when he saw that neither of them was Ballou. White thought that they must be Lee Kirkpatrick’s brothers, given their resemblance to the man and each other.
On his walk to the house, he had trod across fields and was surprised to see that they were covered in long-established weeds. Now he knew it was because the Kirkpatricks weren’t farmers, they were drug dealers.
He sensed movement behind him, then heard the low rumble of a guttural growl. When he turned around, he saw one of the dogs headed right for him.
Ray Jr. had stopped at the kennel to see what the problem was. There were no fresh animal tracks in the mud that he could make out, as he scanned the ground with a flashlight. He moved out farther and was just about to tell his brother that they should head back inside when he spotted a boot print. He didn’t recognize it, and unlike the work boots that he and his brothers wore, the sole of the boot had left no tread marks behind. Kirkpatrick had come up beside him. He’d shone his own flashlight around to follow the tracks.
“Shit, Ray. Those tracks are headed toward the lab.”
Kirkpatrick had taken a step forward when his brother grabbed him by the arm. “Let’s bring Bruiser with us.”
Bruiser was a big dog that weighed over a hundred pounds. White had known there might be a dog on the property before he set out and was prepared for it. He brought up the tranquilizer gun he was holding and shot the dog. The dart hit the canine in the chest. Bruiser struck White in the same area after leaping at him.
White lost his balance on the slick surface of the wet grass and fell backwards. The dog’s growls lost volume before morphing into a whimper. It had opened its mouth to bite him but released drool onto his chin instead, as the dart did its work.
“Drop that gun or I’ll blow your damn head off.”
Those words came from Ray Jr. He and Kirkpatrick had shotguns pointed at White.
White released the tranquilizer gun. It didn’t matter what he did with it. It was only good for firing one dart at a time. He had brought a firearm with him but had been hoping to come and go without being seen. Kirkpatrick relieved him of the gun as Ray kept a shotgun pointed at him.
Now that he was without a weapon, he knew he had to disarm the men before him and even the odds. He rose from the ground slowly while clutching his side with one hand and feigning injury. His other hand was pointed at the dog, Bruiser.
“I think that dog broke one of my ribs.”
Kirkpatrick grinned. “We’ll be breaking the rest of them.”
Ray Jr. cradled the shotgun in one arm and looked White over with a flashlight. “Are you a damn cop?”
“He ain’t a cop,” Kirkpatrick said. “Look at those eyes. Ain’t a cop anywhere that’s got eyes like that.”
The door on the trailer opened and Jimmy and Carl looked out to see what was going on. With the door sitting open, the ammonia smell was stronger. Light from inside the trailer spilled out, dissipating the darkness.
“Who’s this dude?” Jimmy asked. He was the youngest, and unlike the rest of his brothers he had long hair and tattoos running up his arms.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Kirkpatrick said.
The other brother, Carl, rushed down the steps and over to the dog. “Is Bruiser dead?”
“Nah,” Ray said. “This asshole shot him with a dart gun of some kind. It knocked ol’ Bruiser out like a light.”
Seeing his dog disabled angered Carl. He rushed toward White with his fists raised to deliver a blow. White ducked an overhand right and sent a hard right of his own into Carl’s soft middle. The blow caused Carl to exhale harshly and go limp. Before anyone else could react, White used his extraordinary strength to lift Carl up and toss him toward Kirkpatrick and Ray. Carl slammed into his brothers and they landed in a pile on the wet ground.
Four quick steps brought White over to them, where he claimed the shotguns that
had been dropped. He also took his gun back from Kirkpatrick. After tossing one of the shotguns off into the darkness, White stepped back and aimed the other one at the three brothers who were trying to get to their feet.
He shouted to Jimmy. “Come down here and join your brothers.”
Jimmy looked as if he were considering his options. He glanced back inside the trailer, then realized that if he ran in there, he would be no better off. There was no back door to flee through. He hung his head and headed down the stairs to walk over to his brothers.
Ray Jr. had been a defensive tackle back in high school. Even at sixteen he was six-foot-four and weighed over two hundred pounds. He had swatted aside the offensive line like they weren’t there and tackled many a quarterback. Someone forgot to tell him that he was no longer as fast as he had once been and that his days of being a small-town football star were long gone.
Ray rushed at White with his head down with the intention of sacking him like a quarterback. White waited until the last instant before stepping aside. Ray Jr. kept going and collided with a tree. The top of his head hit the trunk with enough force to break off a small piece of bark. The oldest Kirkpatrick brother settled facedown at the base of the tree. Judging from the way he lay in an unmoving heap, White wondered if the fool had broken his neck. He went over to check on him while keeping the shotgun aimed at the others. The brothers eased closer as they too wondered if Ray had killed himself.
Ray Jr. was bleeding from his scalp and was senseless. White sent a boot at his backside and Ray released a moan while rolling onto his side. He was unconscious, would probably have one hell of a headache, but he wasn’t paralyzed.
White turned his attention on the others. He was standing so that he could also see Ray in his peripheral vision if he moved.
“All three of you sit down on the grass.”
“It’s wet,” Jimmy said, stating the obvious.
White shifted the shotgun so that the barrel of it was pointing at Jimmy. Jimmy got the message and sat. Carl did the same, but Kirkpatrick looked defiant.
“I ain’t sittin’ on wet grass. What the hell do you want, asshole?”
“I want to know where I can find Kent Ballou.”
Kirkpatrick didn’t react, but Jimmy and Carl did. Ballou’s name had made them sit up straighter while exchanging looks with each other.
“The last I heard, Ballou was still on the run from the Feds,” Kirkpatrick said.
White cocked his head to gesture at the trailer. “You tell me everything you know about Ballou or I’ll let the cops know about your setup here.”
Kirkpatrick knew if he were found anywhere near the meth lab, he could count on being sent back to prison. He spoke to White through clenched teeth.
“Ballou came here but he didn’t stay.”
“Where is he now?”
Kirkpatrick shrugged. “I don’t know. Hell, that was almost two years ago. We let him stay here for a few days, gave him some money, and sent him on his way.”
“You probably know him better than anyone. Where would he go?”
“We were locked up together, man. It ain’t like we were best buds and all.”
“He knew about this farm, and he knew that you would help him. I bet that goes both ways and that you know a lot about him too.”
Kirkpatrick was shaking his head. “Ballou never said a lot about himself. I wouldn’t know where you should start looking for him.”
White took out his phone. “That’s too bad. Maybe the cops will have more luck questioning you.”
“Colorado!” Jimmy shouted. “Kent Ballou might be in Colorado.”
Kirkpatrick sent a kick at his youngest brother. “Snitch!”
“You’re damn right I’ll snitch on Ballou. If we don’t, then this guy will call the cops on us. I ain’t going to prison for Ballou, Lee.”
“Why would he be in Colorado?” White asked.
“A woman,” Carl said, joining the conversation. “We was all watching TV one night when the news came on and there was a story about this lady in Colorado who had won an award for being Teacher of the Year. Ballou got this weird look on his face and moved closer to the TV.”
“Why was he so interested in the teacher?”
“He said that he knew the lady he was looking at when they were kids.”
“And he planned on going to Colorado to see her?”
“He didn’t say that,” Jimmy said. “But man, if you had seen the look on his face, you knew he wanted to hook up with her again. And the bitch was hot for a woman that age.”
“It was two years ago,” Kirkpatrick said. “Even if Ballou went there it don’t mean he stayed. And a guy like him ain’t going to be shacking up with no Teacher of the Year. If he did walk up to her, she’d probably tell him to get lost.”
White thought Kirkpatrick was right about that. He also thought that there was a good chance that Ballou had made contact with the woman.
“What was the teacher’s name?”
Kirkpatrick shrugged again. “I don’t remember. And he never talked about her until that night. But Jimmy’s right, Ballou was staring at the screen like he was looking at heaven. So take your ass to Colorado, but I’ll bet you that Ballou has moved on even if he did go there.”
White spoke to Jimmy. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Ballou?”
Jimmy furrowed his brow in concentration. When something occurred to him, he looked up at White.
“Ballou likes fried shrimp. I mean he really likes it. The dude must have eaten thirty of them one day. I guess they don’t feed you stuff like that in prison.”
Kirkpatrick guffawed. “Yeah, check out every place in the country that sells shrimp. You’ll catch Ballou in no time.”
White had them walk in front of him as he went back to the fence. They left Ray Jr. and Bruiser lying out in the rain.
He guided them toward the spot where he had entered. Jessica and the car were parked about a half mile away. White knew that if he had been gone too long that Jessica might have climbed the fence herself to come looking for him. She had a weapon of her own and wouldn’t be shy about using it.
He left the Kirkpatrick brothers with a piece of advice. “If Kent Ballou ever makes contact again, call the police and tell them. And if I find out that you knew where he was all along, I’ll be back.”
Kirkpatrick gave him the finger. White took the shells out of the shotgun and tossed it over the fence. After climbing over himself, he made his way back to Jessica.
As he climbed into the car, Jessica looked him over for signs of injury. “Any luck?”
“Ballou might have been in Colorado at some point. There’s a woman there that he’s interested in.”
White went on to tell Jessica about his run-in with the Kirkpatrick brothers.
“A meth lab.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you report it by calling in a tip to the police?”
“I said I wouldn’t if one of them gave me information. They did.”
“I never said that I wouldn’t call.”
“No, you did not.”
Jessica smiled and took out a burner phone they had gotten from Lawson. The Kirkpatrick brothers were arrested the next day while moving the RV to another location. At the time of the arrests, Jimmy was at the farm feeding the dogs. The other brothers would be arraigned on serious drug charges and Lee Kirkpatrick would find himself back behind bars.
On the day of the arrests, Mr. White and Jessica were flying to Colorado and one step closer to tracking down Kent Ballou.
Chapter 8
THREE YEARS EARLIER
Kent Ballou was conflicted during the months following his third successful armored car robbery. He had over a million dollars and could live very well for the rest of his life if he were wise and didn’t spend extravagantly.
But a million dollars wasn’t what it once was and could buy far less than it had back when he had been doing burglaries. The money he had take
n from him by the cops back then, although less than a million, actually had more buying power than the loot he’d stolen from the armored cars. That inflationary trend would no doubt continue. Ballou didn’t want to find himself sixty years old and counting pennies because of inflation.
Two more robberies. Just two more. That’s what he told himself. After that he would quit no matter how much money he had.
After killing a cop in his latest robbery, the pressure to identify and arrest him increased. The only image law enforcement had managed to capture of him was an overhead shot from a camera showing a hooded figure in a long coat holding a shotgun. There was no way he could be identified by anyone using that photo.
The cops came by to question him again and once more left after he answered their questions politely and proved that he was gainfully employed. The absentee owner of the rooming house told Ballou by phone that he had been contacted.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth. You’ve never been any trouble and you do your job well.”
“I just want to be left alone, Mr. Kiley. I don’t ever want to wind up behind bars again.”
“I hear you. And don’t worry. As long as you keep your nose clean, you’ll always have a job with me.”
Ballou had almost laughed aloud at that. Kiley thought he was doing him a favor by paying him starvation wages and letting him live in a crappy basement apartment. The thing was, if he had actually been trying to go straight and start over, Kiley’s dead-end job would have been about the best he could have hoped for. Now that was sad.
Ballou was a patient man. He knew it was that quality that had led to the success that he’d had so far. If he were impetuous, he wouldn’t have let enough time pass between the robberies. That might have resulted in him being nailed by a task force out to get him. And there was a task force. It was comprised of state police officers and federal agents. Despite their best efforts, four months passed without them getting any closer to finding him. They had his DNA from the blood loss he suffered after getting wounded, but they didn’t have fingerprints or a workable description of him. If the cops ever did ask him to give a DNA sample, that would be the day he’d dig up the money and head south. Barring that, he would stick to his plan and hit two more armored cars.
Past Imperfect Page 7
