Rigged

by D P Lyle

  He reached into the toolbox and pulled out another piece of equipment. He handed it to me. A pair of headphones and a pistol-gripped wand-like gadget.

  “Shotgun mic,” Pancake said. “I made a few modifications. Moved the processor into the grip, attached it to the mic. All one piece now. Easier to use. Simply point at your target, press the trigger to activate the mic, and listen.”

  “Amazing,” Moody said.

  “Okay. Let’s saddle up,” Pancake said.

  He pulled out a Glock and stuffed it in his pants. Ray hung the HK assault rifle over one shoulder. Warren and Moody each checked their service weapons. I felt naked.

  “Do I get a gun?” Nicole asked.

  Pancake smiled. “Only if you promise to shoot Jake if he screws up.”

  “Deal.”

  I didn’t bother to ask for a weapon. Would’ve been a waste of time.

  “You guys don’t need guns,” Ray said. “Too dangerous.”

  As we walked up the road, Ray explained the situation and for some reason it made sense. He said four people with guns was more than enough. We’d be coming from different directions and a cross-fire situation, or worse, a circular firing squad, could result. Made sensing what was down range at all times an absolute necessity. Otherwise friendly fire could be devastating. Said that sort of attention to detail required skill and experience. The point being that Nicole and me didn’t. Like I said, it made sense.

  Not that I didn’t understand down range. But for me it meant firing a split-fingered fastball over the catcher’s head—down range as it were. Nothing good ever followed. Could simply be embarrassment. I mean, really, a major league pitcher chucking one into the sixth row? Or it could advance any base runners, even let a guy on third score. A wild pitch letting in the tying, or leading, or God forbid the winning run was a pitcher’s worst nightmare. That and giving up six hits in the first inning. Been there, done that.

  Bottom line? I didn’t get a gun. Fortunately, neither did Nicole. I felt much safer.

  CHAPTER 60

  SOON WE WERE level with the house, its lights barely visible through the sparse stand of trees. Fortunately, the wispy clouds that lolled in from the west muted the nearly full moon. We congregated in the deeper shadows, several feet back from the tree line.

  Pancake lifted the binoculars. “They aren’t in the living room anymore.” He scanned the house, the property. “Reed’s truck is out back, near the barn. There’s a tractor there, but I don’t see any other vehicles.”

  “There.” I pointed.

  The two men returned to the living room, from this distance clearly visible through the side window. Reed paced back and forth while Kenneth dropped onto the sofa. Reed stopped his movement, looked at his uncle, making a point, arms waving. He started pacing again.

  “Take a listen,” Pancake said to me.

  I slipped on the head phones, aimed the mic at the window. The voices popped into focus, amazingly sharp. Uncle Kenneth’s raspy voice made it easy to determine who was talking.

  This is what I heard:

  KENNETH: “I don’t like it.”

  REED: “I don’t have much of a choice.”

  KENNETH: “Sooner or later they’ll come by and talk to me. What am I going to say?”

  REED: “Nothing. Say you haven’t seen me in weeks. I’ll be in New Orleans by then. Gone and soon forgotten.”

  KENNETH: “I don’t think they’ll just quit. Not with what you did.”

  REED: “I got friends in New Orleans. I can disappear.”

  KENNETH: “You sure?”

  REED: “Yeah. Look, I’m sorry to drag you into this. It’s not fair. But I needed somewhere to hide and figure this out.”

  KENNETH: “You know I’ll do what I can.”

  REED: “I think I should leave tonight. Right now.”

  KENNETH: “Not in the morning?”

  REED: “What if they show up beforehand? That would put you in a pickle. Besides, probably better to travel at night.”

  KENNETH: “If that’s want you want. I’ll help you get ready.”

  I turned toward Pancake and the others. “The uncle isn’t happy with him but says he’ll help. Reed says he’s going to leave right now. Go to New Orleans and try to disappear. Was going to wait until morning, but he’s scared.”

  “Okay,” Ray said. “Let’s move.” He looked at Warren. “You and Moody take the front. Pancake and I the back. Wait until he comes out and heads for his truck.”

  “What about us?” Nicole asked.

  “Stay here.”

  She frowned. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

  Seemed like a plan to me. Why get in the middle of something that could turn bad in a minute? I said so.

  “You stay here and watch the cars,” Nicole said. “I’m going with Ray and Pancake.”

  “Maybe we should simply knock on the door?” Warren said. “Give him a chance to give up.”

  “He won’t,” Ray said. “He’s beyond that. Best if we get him out of the house. You two can make sure Uncle Kenneth doesn’t pick up a shotgun or something and make things more difficult.”

  “Okay.” Warren nodded. “I agree.”

  And just like that it was decided.

  CHAPTER 61

  I WATCHED AS Warren and Moody, staying low, darted from the trees and slanted toward the front corner of the house. Nicole and I followed Pancake and Ray up the tree line, across an open area, and past the rear of the house, giving it a wide berth. We reached the barn and settled along its rear wall. Reed’s truck was thirty feet away. The back of the house was dark. We waited.

  Not for long. Reed came out the back door, followed by his uncle. Each carried a duffel bag.

  Then things happened fast.

  Ray and Pancake stepped from behind the barn. I peeked around its edge, Nicole clutching my shoulder, looking past me. Ray leveled the rifle toward the two men.

  “Reed,” he shouted. “On the ground.”

  Reed froze. Dropped the duffel. His uncle stood transfixed. Then, he also dropped the bag he held; his arms jumped toward the sky.

  “Now,” Ray said.

  The gun came from nowhere. Reed got off two shots. One hit the edge of the barn just above my head, spraying splinters. The other struck Pancake in his left arm. Reed dove behind his truck. Ray opened up, spraying the Ford. Headlamps and the windshield shattered; bullets thumped into the truck’s metal. Then, the rattle of gunfire stopped. The sudden silence seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.

  Pancake staggered back around the corner. One hand clapped over his arm, blood seeping between his fingers. “Goddamn it,” he said.

  “Let me see,” Nicole said.

  “It’s a scratch.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’ll rub some dirt on it. It’ll be fine.”

  It didn’t look fine. The bullet had frayed the sleeve of his shirt, blood soaking it downstream. Looked almost black in the moonlight.

  Before Nicole or I could argue, he moved forward to where Ray knelt. He dropped to one knee.

  I stole a quick glance around the corner, above their heads. Reed had taken refuge behind the truck. Uncle Kenneth still stood with his hands in the air.

  “Get down,” Ray shouted.

  Kenneth dropped to the ground, facedown, arms spread as if flying.

  “Reed,” Ray said. “Give it up. Don’t make this any worse.”

  Warren and Moody scurried around the front corner of the house, guns raised.

  “Put your hands up,” Warren ordered.

  Reed didn’t hesitate. He darted toward the barn. Warren and Moody fired several rounds. I could hear the bullets strike wood.

  I felt Nicole move and turned. She ran along the back side of the barn. What the hell? I followed. I caught her at the corner.

  “What are you doing?”

  “He shot Pancake. I’m going to kill the son-of-a-bitch.”

  “What?”

  I heard
a pair of gunshots. From the front of the barn.

  “Reed,” Warren shouted. “You’ve got nowhere to go. Come on out. Make it easy on everyone.”

  I heard a shuffling sound. Somewhere around the corner, along the side of the barn. Nicole did, too. We peered around the corner. Reed. Running toward us. Gun in hand. I grabbed Nicole, pulled her back. Reed veered to his left, chugged toward a stand of trees at least a hundred yards away.

  I clutched Nicole’s arm. She would have none of that. She jerked free and took off. On a straight line that would intercept Reed.

  My first instinct was to yell, tell her to get down. But that would only alert Reed. And right now, he hadn’t seen her. His only glance back was over his left shoulder, toward the front of the barn. Where Warren and Moody were.

  I sprinted after Nicole. My brain screamed prayer after prayer that Reed wouldn’t turn and start firing. There was no place to hide and nothing but our meager Krav Maga classes to defend us. Not much against a handgun.

  I saw several loose fist-sized rocks on the ground. I scooped a pair up. Not much better than Krav Maga but better than empty hands.

  Nicole closed on Reed; I closed on her. I tried to move faster, get her down, but it was like one of those dreams where no matter how hard you try you can’t get away, or reach the person you’re trying to save. It seemed things began to slow down.

  Nicole was still twenty yards away when Reed sensed her approach, his head swiveling that way. Shock caused him to stumble. He quickly recovered and swung the gun her way.

  I let loose a perfect fastball. Absolutely perfect. Maybe one of the best of my life. And missed. It whizzed by his head, just nipping his ear. But it redirected his attention toward me for a second. Now, he angled the muzzle in my direction. He fired just as I let loose the other rock. The bullet whined past my left ear. So close I could almost feel it. Fortunately, the rock caught him in the right cheek. He staggered, again recovered.

  Too slow. Nicole was on him. She slammed the heel of her right hand into his nose. Blood erupted. The gun loosened in his hand. She chopped her forearm across his. The weapon thudded to the ground. She spun and kicked him in the ribs. A gush of air escaped. He wobbled, but didn’t go down. He unleashed a wide left hook. Caught Nicole square on her cheek. She went down.

  I tackled him. Football was never my game, but Pancake would’ve been proud. We rolled and slugged and I swore he tried to bite me. I took a couple of shots, but managed to land a few of my own.

  This went on for what seemed hours but more likely only a few seconds. I heard Warren’s voice. Shouting, coming closer. Reed grabbed me by the throat. His mangled nose dripped blood over my face. I slammed a fist into his jaw.

  Then the gun appeared.

  I don’t know how he got it. We must have rolled over it in our struggles. He squeezed my throat as he raised up, the gun’s black muzzle hole lifting toward my face.

  Then, pop. His head jerked sideways. He shuddered and collapsed to one side.

  Pancake walked up, his gun dangling at his side. “Motherfucker.”

  CHAPTER 62

  BACK IN FAIRHOPE, at the ER, Pancake was top priority. He was taken into their trauma cubicle. Nicole and I were placed in a room just down the hall. After the doctor finished with Pancake, he examined us. Ordered X-rays, and when they returned, neither of us had any fractures. Me bruised ribs, Nicole a facial contusion. We’d live, just be sore for a while.

  We pulled back the curtain and entered Pancake’s cubicle. He was in his element. Two nurses fussing over him. Him smiling, soaking it all in. Calling each “darling.”

  The doctor had determined that the bullet had passed through and had hit “nothing important.” He had cleaned and dressed the wound and X-rayed the arm. Offered Pancake some morphine for pain, but Pancake allowed that pain meds were for wimps.

  “I’ll have some whiskey later,” he said.

  So Pancake.

  The doctor left.

  “The doctor said you should stay overnight,” one of the nurses said.

  “For you I would, darling. But I better mosey on home.”

  “Probably not the smartest thing,” she said.

  “Probably not.” He smiled. “But why don’t you go home with me?”

  She looked at Nicole and me. “Is he always like this?”

  “This is nothing,” Nicole said. “Wait until he really gets going.”

  “There everyone is.”

  I turned. Lauren Shultz.

  “Lauren?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  She laughed. “Chasing the story.”

  “How did you know?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I have my sources. Besides, I didn’t want to miss the party.”

  Warren walked in. She saw Lauren. “Well, if it isn’t the press.”

  “That would be me.”

  “If you found your way here on a night like this one has been,” Warren said, “I suspect you’re going to be one hell of a crime reporter.”

  Lauren beamed. “Speaking of which, I’d like to come by and talk with you.”

  Warren nodded. “My office. Tomorrow morning. Or should I say, later this morning.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Warren looked at Pancake. “You okay?”

  “Fine. Just a scratch. Nothing a couple of bourbons and a mess of Jake’s ribs won’t patch up.”

  “Sounds like some pretty good medicine to me.”

  “Everything okay up on the farm?” I asked Warren.

  “Mostly. I called in the sheriff. Wasn’t happy with us storming into his turf, but after I rolled out the story, I think he was relieved we hadn’t dragged him into it. But he still wants to have a sit-down with each of you.” She looked at Pancake. “Especially you and Ray.”

  “No problem,” Pancake said

  “I smoothed the path. Made it clear that you and Ray, hell, all of us, did what was needed.”

  “And Uncle Kenneth?” Nicole asked.

  “The sheriff didn’t take him in or anything. Said he wasn’t yet sure how to handle him, or if any laws were actually broken on his part. Said that he and Kenneth would sit down and have a talk about things.”

  Ray walked in. “All good?”

  “Seems that way,” Warren said. “I was just telling Pancake the sheriff up there wants to have a chat with you guys.”

  Ray nodded. “We can do that.”

  “I’ve got to say,” Warren said, “it’s been a pleasure, of sorts, working with you.” She waved a hand. “All of you.”

  “We appreciate you letting us inside,” Ray said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Warren gave a quick nod. “In return, you owe me a beer and a few war stories.”

  “Done deal.”

  CHAPTER 63

  WE WERE BACK in Gulf Shores. Three days later. Pancake’s arm was heeling and he had indeed been treating it with bourbon and ribs. And everything else on Captain Rocky’s menu. Someday I’ll have to send him a bill. I’ll probably forget to though.

  Speaking of ribs. Mine were still sore, but at least I could breathe normally. Coughing, and oh Lord sneezing, were still an adventure. Nicole showed little sympathy and no mercy, saying that if I focused a little more, I could ignore my ribs during sex. My ribs thought otherwise. But I soldiered on. It’s what I do.

  Nicole’s bruising got worse the first couple of days but was now beginning to recede. She covered it somewhat with makeup—something I’d never seen her wear. Didn’t need it. Maybe a swipe of blush and a touch of lipstick every now and then, but nothing else. The swelling gave her a slightly lopsided appearance, but she wore it well. As beautiful as always.

  Nicole and I were hanging at Captain Rocky’s, drinking whiskey with Pancake, when my cell rang. It was Daniel. I had tried to reach him the day after the big shoot-out, but he was on patrol. Out of reach.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  I put the phone on speaker. “I’m sitting here at my bar wi
th Nicole and Pancake. Where are you?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “I understand. I called to let you know we got the guys who did it.”

  I told him the story. A thumbnail anyway. Giving him what we knew about Reed and Whitt. About Sean’s involvement, the robbery to pay for it.

  “So, in the end, it was all about money?” Daniel asked.

  “Looks that way.”

  “I guess you never really know anyone, do you?” Daniel asked.

  “There’s truth in that.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” he said.

  “We had to earn our buck.”

  “I’d say you did. And then some.”

  “Pancake’ll never tell you this but I will.” Pancake frowned, but I waved him away. “We’re heading back up to Fairhope in a few days. To place the head marker Pancake bought for Emily.”

  “Really? I can’t believe you’d do that.”

  “It’s Emily,” Pancake replied. “Enough said.”

  I hate to hear a Marine cry. But that’s what he did.