by Carolina Mac
More than an hour passed, closer to two, before headlights shone down the road and Mason pulled the Camaro into the driveway. Mason shut off the engine, opened the driver’s door and got out of the car, and Harlan was ready for him. He stepped out of the darkness and clocked his brother over the head with a tire iron. Not hard enough to kill him, but hard enough to put him down.
“Taking Bec’s goods back, you thieving asshole. You come around my place again and your ass is good as dead.”
Mason groaned on the gravel drive and with a grunt, rolled onto his back. That was all the encouragement Harlan needed. He booted his brother in the nuts.
CHAPTER FIVE
Saturday, August 11th.
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE SAT ALONE in the kitchen consuming his first pot of caffeine. The boxes in his office were calling to him like ghosts from the past, but he was ignoring them for now. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours and the upset to his routine wasn’t something he enjoyed.
Why hadn’t he factored in the emotional aspect of searching for his past? It had never occurred to him. Was he so much a scientist that he’d learned to block out his feelings day to day? No wonder he was such a skid in the romance department. The only one he truly loved was Annie.
His miserable melancholic state was interrupted by his cell and he was glad for it. “Hey, Chief, how goes it?”
“Not worth a shit, Blacky. Got this dumped on me this morning and I know y’all are on leave, except for the car-jack murders, so I wondered…?”
“You wondered if I had solved the car-jacks overnight and had free time this morning?”
The Chief chuckled. “Something like that.”
“Lay it on me, Chief. What got dumped on us?”
“Floater at the north end of Lake Travis. He washed up on State property and the sheriff’s department up there won’t touch him.”
“Way up at the north end?”
“Write this down.” The Chief rhymed off directions.
“Shit, that’s almost to Marble Falls.”
“Nice drive for you in your air-conditioned truck.”
“Farrell can drive,” said Blaine, “Tell the sheriff I’ll be an hour and a half at the earliest. I have to put clothes on.”
“Thanks, son. Clue me in when you’ve got something.”
“Yep.”
Farrell leaned on the kitchen door in his boxers. “Where’s Farrell driving to?”
“North end of Lake Travis.”
“When?”
“Now.” Blaine turned to Carm. “Mi Corazon, breakfast tacos to go and traveler mugs of coffee.”
“Si.” She opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of eggs. “Que esta muerto?”
“Don’t know yet,” he answered in Spanish. “He drowned.”
Carm made a face and chopped up a green pepper.
TRAVIS CAME through the front door as Blaine and Farrell were leaving. “What am I missing?”
“Floater in Lake Travis,” said Blaine, “Farrell and I have got it. You help Lil call the paint shops, and if she gets a probable, go and interview them.”
“Yep, can I use your office to call?” asked Travis.
“Sure. Don’t touch the stuff I’ve got sorted on the rug.”
“I won’t.”
Wonder how long Blacky will stay pissed at me?
Travis poured himself a coffee and settled in Blaine’s leather chair in the big office with the list Lily had given him. His cell rang before he made one call. Gene Wyman.
“Gene, something happen at Ginny’s?”
“Not really, but I caught sight of a red Camaro. Might be the one or might not. It drove by. Nothing else.”
“Didn’t slow down?”
“Not that I noticed. I got a couple letters from the tag—only had a second and they might not be right.”
“Hey at this point, anything will help.”
“Thought I saw an M and a W. Hope I’m right.”
Travis strode down the hall to Lily’s office with the scrap of paper in his hand. “Gene Wyman saw the red Camaro that’s been watching Ginny’s house and he got a couple letters from the tag.”
“Good,” said Lily. “That will narrow us down by a few thousand.” She stared at the paper. “M and W? Doesn’t sound like a regular Texas tag. Custom plate, maybe?”
“Even better,” said Travis. “A lot less of them.”
“Thousands less,” said Lily.
Coulter-Ross Ranch.
ANNIE WATCHED Neil pick at his breakfast. “Do you want me to make you something else, sugar pop?”
“No, Mom, I love fried ham and biscuits, but I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve been upset since we went to Austin yesterday. Farrell is upset too and he’s bullying you. He always does that when he’s protecting you from something. I know my boys. Tell your Mom what’s going on.”
Neil let out a long breath then stared at the table while he talked. “When I ran across the downtown park yesterday to get to the ticket place, I saw a blonde woman on one of the benches and I thought she was making a drug buy.”
“Okay. And that upset you?”
A tear trickled down Neil’s cheek and he brushed it away with the back of his hand. “I thought it might have been my Mom, you know, my birth Mom.”
Annie reached over and hugged Neil. “Oh, my God, baby, you thought you saw your Mom. No wonder you’re coming undone.”
“Course Farrell says no way in hell it was her. He said she’d be hooking in San Angelo and be high on meth.”
“Do you have a clear memory of your mother?”
Neil shook his blond curls. “Not so much, but when I saw the lady on the bench, something registered in my head. I don’t know how I knew, but when I stood in line and thought about it, I was pretty sure.”
“How old was the woman?”
Neil shrugged. “Around forty, I guess. She looked older than you.”
“Farrell’s twenty-three,” said Annie, reasoning it out, “I guess it’s possible.”
“I don’t know stuff like that,” said Neil, “like how old my mother was when I was born. And I know less about my Dad. Farrell said Billy-Don Donovan was the devil himself and we should never look back.”
Billy-Don Donovan? Why does that sound familiar?
“So that’s why Farrell is upset? He doesn’t want you hoping to find your mother and then getting your heart broken?”
Neil nodded. “He told me to forget it and do nothing.”
“He’s afraid for you, sweetheart. He loves you and doesn’t want you to go through that kind of trauma.”
“I told him I wouldn’t try to find her, but I don’t think I promised or pinky swore.”
North end of Lake Travis.
FARRELL UNLOADED Neil’s ‘mother story’ on Blacky as they drove north to the crime scene.
“How long has it been since Neil saw y’all’s mother?”
“He was seven when she beat it and never came back,” said Farrell. “I was twelve and I survived two years with my brutal drunk dad beatin on me, then I took Neil and left.”
“I guess if he was seven he could remember her,” said Blacky, trying to picture his own mother. “I wouldn’t know. I was born when I was fourteen—at least in my memory.”
“I think he saw a woman in the park who looked a bit like he remembered, then the more he thought about it, he convinced himself that it could be her.”
“He wants to find her?”
“I told him to forget about it. If we found her and she was the mess I remember, Neil would go insane and he would want to fix her up and make her into something she can never be. He’s way too sensitive for something like that.”
“I see the problem.” Blaine pointed. “Here’s our park.”
Farrell cranked the wheel. “It’s a campground? Shit, the place will be full to bursting with tourists in August.”
“Yep, that’s what I’m guessing. Our corpse is at the nort
h end, like he came south on the river current from somewhere up country and hit the shore once he floated onto the calm water of the lake.”
Farrell showed his creds at the park entrance and turned left. “Guess we’ll see the tape where he hit the shore.”
“The county sheriff has the scene secure according to Chief Calhoun.”
“Good enough,” said Farrell. “There it is. I see a couple of squads through the trees.” Farrell pulled in behind the medical examiner’s van and parked. The campsite where the body had washed up was vacant or had been cleared of civilians.
“Sheriff Sanchez, I’m Blaine Blackmore and this is Deputy Farrell Donovan.”
The Sheriff stuck out his hand. “Nice job y’all did on the gang war. Good thing you had a vest on.” The sheriff was tall for a Latino, straight black hair and piercing black eyes. He appeared to be fit and had an iron grip.
“Broke my ribs, but I ain’t dead,” Blaine said with a smile.
The Sheriff grinned. “Bonus.”
They made their way to the shore of the lake where the corpse was covered with a plastic tarp.
“We didn’t bag him yet. Figured you might want to have a look before we moved him.”
“Thanks, for that,” said Blaine. “Any ID?”
The Sheriff shook his head. “Nope. Nothing on him.”
Farrell leaned down and pulled the tarp back so Blaine wouldn’t have to bend. “Jesus, he got ventilated, didn’t he?”
“I counted eight bullet holes,” said the Sheriff. “Somebody emptied their gun at him.”
“Who found him?” asked Blaine.
“Lady at the next campsite. She brought her kids over here to swim because the water was shallower and there he was tight up against the shore.”
“She upset?” asked Blaine.
“Extremely,” said the Sheriff. “I interviewed her and took her statement. Luckily, she saw him first before the kids did. She said as soon as she saw it was a dead body, she grabbed the kids and ran back to their own campsite.”
“Want me to talk to her, boss?” asked Farrell.
Blaine shook his head. “No point.” He stared down at the corpse. “Only upset her more, and she can’t help us. This guy has been in the water for several days, judging by the bloating. Wonder how far he came downstream?”
“No telling,” said the Sheriff. “The Paint rises up near Brownwood and flows fairly steady all year round. Some places are pretty narrow and in others it widens out and the current is strong. Couldn’t say how far he could’ve come.”
“Anybody missing in your county, Sheriff?” asked Farrell.
“Nope, but I can run MP’s in surrounding and see if anything comes up. I can email y’all.”
“Thanks, Sheriff,” said Blaine, “that would be helpful.”
“No problem. Where do you want him?”
“Send him to the morgue at DPS,” said Blaine, “I’ll copy you on the file.”
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
TRAVIS FINISHED CALLING the list of numbers Lily had given him and strolled down the hall to her office to see if she’d hit on anything. “I got nothing,” he said.
“I’ve got two shops that painted Camaros in Candy Apple,” she said, “but both of them were last year, and they had no idea of the tag numbers. No turquoise pickups. “Here’s the addresses. Other than that, I’m about finished in Austin and moving farther out of town.”
“Nice work, Lil. Something to start on. Don’t want the boss to think I’m slacking off. My ass is pretty much on the line right now.”
“How’s your romance with the doctor?” Lily’s voice took on an edge and she didn’t make eye contact when she posed the question.
“Shit, Lil, are you pissed at me too?”
“All the shit you pulled, jerking the boss around and leaving the team short? Jesus, Travis, you left Farrell with no partner. Do yourself a favor and get your head out of your ass.”
Travis snatched up the addresses and turned for the door. “Thanks for the advice, Lil. I’ll work on it right away.”
Cherokee Junction.
BECCA WOKE with a throbbing headache. Her throat was parched and so sore she couldn’t swallow. She tried to wake Harlan and couldn’t make a sound. She staggered out of bed and across the room to the kitchen sink, tears rolling down her cheeks. She filled a glass and sipped it, feeling the water trickle down her throat. It gave some relief but not much.
Harlan woke and called to her, “You okay, baby?”
She shook her head but couldn’t answer. He was beside her in seconds holding her in his arms and stroking her hair. “What’s wrong?”
Becca pointed to her throat.
“You can’t talk?”
She shook her head.
“Let me see.” Harlan examined the fist-sized blue mark on her neck. “Mason throat-punched you. I should have killed him last night.” He pointed to the bag on the table. “I got your drugs back for you.”
Becca smiled and kissed him.
“How about hot coffee? Would that fix your throat?”
Becca shrugged.
Not bothering to get dressed, Harlan started the coffee maker, then opened his tool box and started on the lock. “Once I get this done and you’ll be safe from Mason, I’ve gotta go to the shop.”
Austin.
TRAVIS COVERED the first paint shop and had virtually no luck. Working out of a small cinderblock building, the owner was a one-man operation, messy and disorganized with poor record-keeping. He could vaguely remember painting a Camaro bright red. He thought the car had been in good shape body-wise, but that’s all he remembered. No names or dates.
Waste of time.
The second shop was out near the airport. The building was bigger with a custom sign over the double doors, and Travis thought this one might have customer files at least.
He went in the side door to the office and introduced himself to the guy behind the counter. A small space with a couple of chrome chairs, a table holding a coffee maker and a supply of Styrofoam cups, and a flat screen mounted high on the wall.
“I’m Travis Bristol. My agency called and spoke to,” he glanced at the note Lily had given him, “Tom Proctor. Is he around?”
“You’re looking at him.” Tom stuck out his hand. He was tall and slim with a small moustache and short hair. His dark blue coveralls were splattered with all colors of paint. “Lady on the phone said y’all are looking for a Camaro.”
Travis nodded. “Yep, a bright red Camaro and we think it might be a custom paint job.”
“Bright red? Okay, think I might have fucked that up. I don’t hear so good and I didn’t catch the ‘red’ part on the phone. I do have a good Camaro story though, and it happened a couple of weeks ago.” Tom pointed at the coffee and Travis fixed himself a cup.
Travis took a sip and set his cup on the counter. “Lay it on me. I could use a good story.”
“Guy comes in with a silver Camaro he got a deal on. It needs a lot of body work and we give him an estimate. He says okay to the price we quoted, and we start on the car. Fix it up perfect. Nice and solid. Get that done and it’s ready for paint. He wants black—always wanted a black Camaro—and who doesn’t? We paint it black, and does that baby ever turn out beautiful. Gorgeous.”
“The guy was happy?” asked Travis.
“Happy? The guy was about jumping up and down. “He drives away with a huge grin on his face and we’re feeling good too, we made him so fuckin happy.”
Travis waited for the punch line. “And then?”
“Two days later—I mean only two days—the guy is back, and he says the car is gone. Stolen.”
“And he didn’t get it back?”
“Nope, not that I heard.”
“Where was it stolen from? Did he tell you?”
“Nope. He stood right there where you’re standing now, and the poor son of a bitch cried like a baby.”
“Jesus,” said Travis. “Got his name and address?”
>
“Course I do.”
Tom was still talking as he walked Travis to his truck. “Are those bullet holes?” He pointed to a couple of spots on the F-450.
“Yep, need to get them fixed when I get a minute.”
“You a cop?”
“Uh huh. Violent crime.”
“Violent crime, eh, like the Latino kid? The Super cop?”
“He’s my boss.”
“He’s one smart son of a bitch, ain’t he?”
“That’s true.”
“I can fix those bullet holes for y’all,” said Tom. “Never know they were even there.”
“Soon as I get a day off, Tom, I’ll bring her in.”
Cherokee Junction.
HARLAN MET NATE at the shop. The carrier was parked out back and Nate was helping the driver load up the three cars they had repainted and were ready to ship. Harlan watched as the last one was loaded and secured.
“They look fuckin fantastic, don’t they?”
“Sure do,” Nate said proudly. “Gorgeous.”
The driver left with the load and Nate and Harlan were headed back inside when Mason showed up with a ragged piece of white cotton sheet wrapped around his head.
“What happened to you?” asked Nate. “Finally get what’s coming to you?”
“Something like that,” mumbled Mason. He gave Harlan the stink-eye as he sank down into the ripped vinyl chair behind his desk. Mason cleaned up the metal desk after he brought it to the shop from the county dump, but he never got the stink of rotting garbage off of it. He turned to Nate and growled, “We’re making another run tonight into the city.”
“No bloody way,” hollered Nate. “Things are too hot. We’ll get paid for the three we just shipped and that will last us until September.”
“Might be enough for you,” said Mason, “but I need more money.” He glared at Harlan. “Without Becca paying the bills at the trailer, I’m short. I say we’re going.”
