Rivered

by Carolina Mac

  “I’m gonna try hanging around on Friday,” said Neil. “You can come with me if you want.”

  “Shit, I don’t want to, but I may have to.”

  “The drug guy said she drives a pink truck.”

  “A pink truck?”

  Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.

  ANNIE PARKED close to the wide steps leading up to the wraparound porch that fronted the Quantrall mansion. She’d had Teddy install Jackson’s car seat in the back of her truck for Charity.

  Jesse sat in one of the white wicker chairs on the porch with Charity on his knee, a mug beside him on the table. At almost ten months old, she was an adorable child. Dark curly hair that Jesse hadn’t allowed anyone to cut, and big brown eyes like Jesse. She was beginning to talk and recognize people on sight.

  Annie walked up the steps with Jackson and Charity held out her arms.

  “Mama,” she said, and tears burned behind Annie’s eyes.

  She took Charity from Jesse’s knee and he used the glass side table to support himself as he got to his feet.

  Annie noticed. “Are you strong enough for the trip, sweetheart?”

  “I’ll be fine, Ace. I have to see Ty.”

  “Did Brian say when he could come home?”

  “Couple more days. It was a tricky operation and the surgeon doesn’t want him to move his arm until he’s sure it’s going to heal properly.”

  “Mommy put my car seat in the truck for Char, Jesse. I’m too big for it.”

  “You sure are, Jacks, you’re almost seven.”

  “Mommy said maybe me and Charity would have one big party in October because our birthdays are four days apart.”

  “Hey, that’s a fantastic idea. Your Mom is smart.”

  “Yep. She is smart, but nobody is smart as my brother Blaine.”

  “That’s the gospel.” Jesse grinned as he watched Annie buckle Charity into the car seat.

  “Let’s go see Ty,” said Jesse to the baby.

  “Ty,” said Charity and clapped her little hands.

  Cherokee Junction.

  HARLAN SANDED one of the last two stolen cars they had left to repaint. It was so fuckin hot in the shop, he’d stripped off his shirt, but with the sander working close to his body, he was covered in paint particles and metallic dust stuck to his skin.

  Mason came in with a Coke in his hand and sat behind his desk. “I need your truck tonight.”

  Harlan turned off the sander to hear his brother. “Why? Did the governor woman’s security make you?”

  Mason shrugged. “Just leave me the keys when you go home.”

  “Fuck that,” said Harlan. “Sure as God made apples, you’re gonna get caught, Mason, and it ain’t gonna be my truck in the impound yard. Go screw yourself.”

  Harlan’s phone rang, and he grabbed it off his belt. “Hey, Bec.”

  “Nate is worse, sugar. We have to do something.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Mason.”

  Harlan pressed end and turned to his brother. “Becca says Nate is worse. We have get him some help.”

  “Not my problem.”

  Harlan pounded the metal desk and Mason’s Coke can tipped. Coke ran across the desk and dripped onto the floor. “It is your fuckin problem. This car-jacking gig was your idea and Nate almost died helping you.” Harlan pointed a finger at his brother. “You do something, and do it today, because if Nate dies, you’re dead too.”

  Grandview Apartments. East Austin.

  TRAVIS KNOCKED on the door of two fourteen. He’d called and found out the reporter had taken the day off to recover from his injuries.

  Lang Burton opened the door and Travis held up his creds. “Travis Bristol, Mr. Burton.”

  Burton opened the door wider. A slight man in his early thirties with sandy hair and a poor attempt at growing a moustache. He was holding himself stiffly, as if he was in pain. “Deputy Bristol, come in and have a seat. I just made a pot of coffee.”

  “Coffee would be great,” said Travis. “I didn’t take time for any at headquarters.” He sat on the tan colored sofa. The living area was small, but nicely furnished in neutral colors. A huge canvas of an eagle hung on the wall over the dining table. Travis stared at the detail in the feathers.

  Burton brought two mugs of coffee and a cream carton and set them on the coffee table. He noticed Travis staring at the painting. “I’m a reporter to pay the bills, but painting is my passion.”

  “That’s amazing,” said Travis. “You have a lot of talent.”

  “Thank you.” Burton sat down and added cream to his mug. “What can I tell you that wasn’t in my statement to the police?” He took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t understand why you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I can’t get into specifics, especially because of your profession, but I’ll explain it best I can,” said Travis.

  “I can keep a confidence,” said Burton, “I don’t go around printing every rumor I hear.” He smiled. “After all, I’m on the political beat and most of it is rumors.”

  “Okay, this is me skirting around it best I can,” Travis said with a grin, “Everyone knows that Doctor Rodriguez dealt with life-threatening situations earlier in the summer while she was on the campaign trail.”

  “Of course, I wrote about Laredo and Sonora myself,” said Burton, “A lot of people in political circles were astounded she didn’t throw in the towel after that happened.”

  Travis nodded. “Because of previous incidents, those close to her are concerned for her safety.”

  Burton raised an eyebrow. “And you are one of the people close to her?”

  “I was her bodyguard during Laredo and Sonora and for a period of time afterwards. We’ve remained friends.”

  “Okay.” Burton nodded. “You’re here on a more personal level.”

  “More personal, but still official. I work for the Blackmore Agency.”

  “Blackmore is synonymous with violent crime.”

  “Right, and in the interest of preventing a crime, I need to hear what happened to you last night.”

  Burton sat quietly for a moment analyzing what Travis had said and not said and he tried to read between the lines. “So you don’t want to come out and say it, because I’m a reporter, but you think there is a very present danger to the number one candidate?”

  Travis ignored the question. “Could you tell me exactly what you saw last night?”

  “Yes, I’m anxious to help you Deputy Bristol, if something more serious is going on. Here I’m thinking some bozo wanted my press pass more than I did, but I was hurt and pissed off and it didn’t go farther than that in my mind.”

  Travis pulled out his copy of Burton’s statement. “Start from when you got out of the van.”

  “Okay. No point standing in front of the hotel for hours. I thought I’d wait in the van and get some writing done until just before Doctor Rodriguez came outside, because I knew she’d agreed to give an interview to Channel 10. I checked my watch, grabbed my notebook and pen and stepped onto the sidewalk. And bang. He was there waiting. A big guy with a bashed in face and an Astro’s ball cap on. He flattened me in a second with a choke hold of some type.” He pointed to his neck, “The police took pictures of my neck for the assault charges—if they catch him. He applied pressure and I can remember panicking because I couldn’t breathe, then nothing. That was it. Nothing more until I woke up wondering where the hell I was. He had shoved me under my van, I guess so nobody would see me lying on the sidewalk.”

  Travis made note of the Astro’s cap. It wasn’t in Burton’s original statement.

  Weird. This guy and one of the car-jackers both had Astro’s ballcaps and a bashed in face.

  “Would you give me a chance at the story if there is one?”

  “I’ll have to check with my boss. Blaine works with Mary Polito. She’s our press liaison, so you’d have to work something out.”

  “I know Mary. She writes crime for the Statesman.”

  “Thank you for you
r time, Mr. Burton. I appreciate it.” Travis shook his hand and left the apartment. On the way to his truck Lily called.

  “Any luck on the tag, Lily-girl?”

  “The Camaro is wearing stolen plates ripped off a Toyota pickup a few weeks ago.”

  “Shit. Another dead end.”

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE TOOK A BREAK from his research. He hadn’t found a damn thing he could use to find the car-jackers, and he was at a complete dead end on Edison Emmerson, the floater in Lake Travis.

  I hate it when I’ve got nothing to work with.

  He wandered outside, lit up a smoke and watched the crew he’d hired work on installing the six-foot wrought iron fence around his newly expanded property.

  Carm came out the back door waving his cell and shouting to him in Spanish. He’d missed a call.

  “Who was it?”

  “Travis.”

  “Gracias.”

  “Got something from the reporter, Trav?”

  “It was weird, boss. He described the guy who took him down as a big guy with a bashed-in face wearing an Astro’s ballcap. That’s exactly the same thing Tyler said about one of the car-jackers, wasn’t it?”

  “Jeeze, it was. Almost word for word. Holy fuck, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, but Lil just called and said the tags on the Camaro were stolen off a Toyota pickup.”

  “Double fuck. Who are these assholes?”

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  NEIL WAS BACK from Austin when Annie returned from the hospital with Jesse and the kids. He had called her before leaving the park, said he was sorry he made her worry, and he’d explain everything when she got home.

  Annie came through the kitchen door carrying Charity with Jackson at her side carrying the baby’s diaper bag. Jesse brought up the rear, shuffling along, gripping the door frame and then the harvest table for support.

  “You okay, Jesse? Can I get anything from the truck for y’all?”

  “That would be great, Neil. Thanks.” Jesse didn’t get any farther than the table and he collapsed onto one of the pine chairs.

  “Be right back, Jesse,” said Annie, “I’ll get the kids settled in Jackson’s room.”

  Neil came in with two suitcases and carried them down the hall. “Where do you want these, Mom?”

  “Put them in my room, honey. Thanks.”

  She returned to the kitchen and got Jesse a beer. “Want a Coke, sugar? I want to hear your story.”

  “Sit down, Mom, and I’ll tell you.” Neil ran his hand through his blond mop of curls. “I hope you’re not too mad at me. Honestly, I didn’t mean to worry you.” Neil paced back and forth in front of the granite island as he told her about the drug dealer and how he found out his mother had been there the Friday before when they’d gone to Austin for the tickets.

  “You believe it’s her, sweetheart?”

  “I do, Mom, and even though Farrell believes it too, he’s totally against like trying to meet her and say hi and like that.”

  “He’s afraid for you, sugar pop. You could get hurt so easily and Farrell sees that. He could too, and you can bet he’s not going to open himself up to that pain.”

  “What if it’s not like that, and she’s so happy to see us?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Let’s talk to Farrell before you do anything else, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom,” said Neil, “and I should’ve told you where I was going this morning, but I thought you would say not to go, and I had to.”

  Jesse nodded. “You had to find out, son. I understand that feeling.”

  “Thanks, Jesse.”

  Cherokee Junction.

  BECCA KEPT an eye on Nate while she got ready for work. He was in and out and she couldn’t tell if he was conscious or sleeping because of all the pills Harlan had given him. She wanted to change the bandage, but there was no one to help her turn him over. She hoped Harlan would be back soon from the shop.

  She left her makeup by the sink as she ran to open the door when she heard the knocking. Thinking it was Harlan, she didn’t bother to look out the window first. She undid the slide bolt and Mason pushed into the apartment past her.

  What had she ever seen in him? Nothing but a mean bully.

  “Help me get Nate up,” he shouted at her.

  “He can’t get up. He’s too weak.”

  “Harlan told me to do something to help my brother, and I’m doing it. Now help me, you miserable cheating bitch, or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Where’s Harlan?”

  “Finishing his work.”

  “Where are you taking Nate?”

  “None of your damn business. Help me get him on his feet.”

  “No. You leave him right there, Mason. Don’t you touch him. He’s too sick.”

  Mason took a swing at her and she ran to the bathroom and locked the door. She picked up her cell phone from the tiny vanity counter and called Harlan.

  “Almost finished, babe. Be home before you go to work.”

  “Mason is here and he’s taking Nate.”

  “I told him to help Nate, but I didn’t mean to move him. Hold on, Bec. I’m coming.”

  The next thing Becca heard was Harlan yelling. “Becca where are you?”

  She unlocked the door and came out of the bathroom. Nate was gone from the sofa and Harlan was staring at the spot where his brother had been.

  “I thought you were gone with Mason and Nate because your truck’s gone.”

  “What?” Becca ran for the door and peered over the railing. “That mean asshole stole my truck.”

  Saint David’s Hospital. Austin.

  FULL DARK when Mason reached Austin. He cruised by the emergency entrance to the hospital and there were several cars parked at the loop. Nate lay in the back seat. He hadn’t moved or made a sound since they left Cherokee Junction.

  Mason waited and watched people come out and leave, then more people parked and went inside. He waited a while longer and it was a constant in and out. He’d never get a chance to get Nate out of the truck without someone seeing him. Not at that door.

  He cruised through the parking lot to see if he could get around to the back of the hospital to find another entrance, but he couldn’t get through. He left the way he’d come in, circled the block and that worked out a lot better. The hospital had receiving docks with access from the street behind.

  Over to Mason’s right, was a big sign saying the parking area was for doctors only. The doctors came in from this street too, and at the end of the building was a door that said, ‘Doctor’s entrance.’

  Perfect. A doctor will see Nate and help him.

  Mason drove as close as he could to that entrance, pulled Nate out of the back seat and rolled him in front of the doctors’ door.

  He smiled, pleased with himself, as he jumped back in Becca’s truck and headed for Virginia’s house.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tuesday, August 14th.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE AND FARRELL sat at the breakfast table with Carm drinking their third coffee of the morning. Farrell went over the story of Neil going to the park to find out about their mother and Blaine translated into Spanish so Carm would know what was going on.

  “What do you think I should do?” Farrell asked Blaine, “Your honest opinion. In a way, I want to see if she’s okay—not that she gave a shit about me and Neil all these years—but she’s my mother. On the other hand, common sense tells me to keep Neil away from her because her lifestyle is bound to be foul, and he’s gonna get messed up bad.”

  “Do you think she ever tried to see you guys after she left y’all with your daddy?”

  “Never thought about it. Always pictured her high, or out of her head on meth and not giving a shit for anybody but herself. That was always my picture of her.”

  Blaine nodded, “Picturing her as an addict made things easier for you in a way. If you pictured her pulling herself together and look
ing for her sons, you’d have had a harder time of it.”

  “I think my picture of her is the most accurate,” said Farrell, “and I don’t want Neil to see her like that.”

  “But Neil is determined to go to the park on Friday?”

  “Says he’s going whether I go or not.”

  “You better go with him, in case he can’t handle it—that’s if she turns up at all.”

  Blaine’s cell rang at his elbow and he checked the screen. “Morning Sheriff Sanchez, any cooler way up there?”

  “Nope, not a bit,” he chuckled, “and I’m not that far away from y’all. Not sure if I should be calling you direct, or going through the Chief, but I caught something this morning that I thought might be of interest to you. Not a similar COD to the vic in Lake Travis but this guy put me in mind of the other fellow all the same. Both travelling in the same direction on the Paint, coming from somewhere farther north.”

  “This victim wasn’t shot full of holes?”

  “Nope, and that’s why I didn’t know if he would be of interest or not. This old guy was beaten to death, by the looks of it.”

  “I’m interested,” said Blaine. “Definitely need to see the corpse. I’m at a dead end on Edison Emmerson. If I can get anything from this new vic and connect the two of them somehow, it will be a step forward.”

  “Come on up. I’ll put a hold on everything until y’all get here. I’m parked at a big bridge south-east of Marble Falls.” Sanchez gave him the directions and Blaine scribbled on his yellow pad.

  “We got a lead, boss?”

  “Maybe. Another guy floating down the river. Let’s get ready.” Blaine grunted as he forced his battered body up off the chair. He got as far as the bottom of the staircase and his cell rang again. “Morning, Sue. Good news for me?”

  “Maybe, Blaine. I’ve got a dead bleeder left on the doorstep of Saint David’s. Gunshot wound to his upper left back. Somebody dumped him in the night. I think he could have been alive when he arrived at the hospital, because the doctor that pronounced him thought he’d only been dead about an hour or two.”

  “Is he being brought to our morgue?”