by Carolina Mac
Lexi ran to the door barking seconds after Blaine hung up the phone and it was Mary. Jack had let her through the gate.
“Hey, Mary, come on in. We’re having coffee and Carm is baking one of her zucchini breads.”
Mary took her red coat off and hung it on the back of a chair in the foyer. “Didn’t know if I’d make it all the way. It’s like winter in Alaska out there.”
“Yeah, Alaska winter,” said Blaine. “That ain’t our weather.”
Farrell tensed up when Mary crossed the kitchen and sat down across from him. “Mary, nice to see you.”
She smiled at her ex then turned to Travis. “How’s your recovery going, Travis?”
“Better now that I’m here and not at the hospital. Much better.”
“Have any of the election results come in yet?” Mary directed her question to Blaine.
“I’ve got it on in the other room if you want to watch, Mary. From first reports, it seems that voting is light because of the storm. If the snow is worse in the rural areas that will be bad for Edwards. He’s not too strong in the cities.”
“What are you saying, bro?” asked Farrell following them across the hall. “If voting is light, is the Cat gonna win?”
“Not a prediction I want to make, but that’s the way it looks to me. A nightmare and we’re all wide awake.”
Ross Harley Davidson. East Austin.
MACK STURGESS pushed his welding mask up and turned off the torch when he heard the door open. Four bikers he didn’t recognize came in through the side door and swaggered across his garage.
Mack managed the back end of the dealership for Annie, his mentor and his employer. She’d rescued him from a bike gang down in Victoria when he’d made a run for it holding his baby daughter, Lucy, in front of him. Since that day, Annie had raised Lucy as her own and given her a life Mack never could have provided. He owed Annie everything.
The four scuzzy looking guys headed towards the bike that Annie and George’s brother had brought in for service. “Guy that owns this bike coming back to pick it up soon?”
Mack eyed the cuts and didn’t recognize the Varmint logo. “Don’t know when he’ll be back. Didn’t say.” Mack took a stance in front of the bike. “How’d y’all know it was here?”
“He mentioned it,” said the dark-haired one who seemed to be running the show.
“Uh huh. Want to leave him a message?” asked Mack.
“Where’s he at?” asked one of the others.
“Couldn’t tell you. Sorry.”
“Best not to screw with us,” said the muscle.
Lucky and Nevada came back from lunch, felt the air and stood close to Mack. “Problem here, boss?”
“Don’t think so,” said Mack. “These boys are on their way.”
After the Varmints left, Mack swept Santana’s bike and found the tag. “Those assholes are after Santana. He handed the tag to Nevada and called Blaine.”
“Hey, bro, this is Mack here at the garage.”
“Problem? I know Annie is away.”
“No problem with the dealership. It’s another kind of problem.” He explained about the tag and the Varmints.
“Hang onto the tag until I talk to Annie and let her know what’s going on. The last thing I want is those jerks going near the ranch.”
“Right,” said Mack. “What should I do if they come back here?”
Blaine chuckled. “Discourage them.”
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE walked away from the flat screen wondering what would happen if Catherine Campbell became Governor. It was a scenario he wasn’t savoring—not one little bit. He refilled his coffee mug and tried to concentrate on work.
“Farrell let’s hear about the other installers, Austin Pros or whatever they’re called.”
“That outfit is run by a babe with a lot of tats and earrings. I don’t know if you could take her.”
“Fuck off. There ain’t a woman out there I couldn’t take.”
Farrell gave Blaine a hand signal and carried on with his report. “Every installer on their list is female. Tana Nichol discriminates against men.”
“Did you get that print from Sue yesterday?”
“The system hadn’t matched it when I was there.”
“She would have called,” said Blaine, “and she didn’t.”
“Let me check my messages,” said Farrell. “She called me the last time.” He pointed at the screen. “Sorry, bro. Here it is. Juanita Andrews. She did time for armed robbery.”
“Is her name on the list?” asked Travis.
“Yep,” said Farrell. “Second from the bottom.”
“I want to talk to her,” said Blaine. “Pronto.”
Austin Security Pros. Downtown Austin.
THE snow had melted a little and the slippery conditions of the early morning had morphed into mass road rage. Cars not towed were abandoned at the curb, delivery vehicles were double parked. Horns blasted, and traffic cops were on their last nerve.
Blaine strode into the ‘Pros’ office and asked to see Juanita Andrews.
“She’s on a job and won’t be back until quitting time,” the receptionist said.
“Where’s the job?” asked Blaine.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential information.”
“Could I speak to Ms. Nichol, please?” asked Blaine.
A moment later, Tara Nichol clanked down the hall, chains on her boots sounding a lot like his own. “What’s the problem, Super cop?”
I hate it when they call me that.
“I need to speak to Juanita Andrews.”
“She’s on an installation. I’m not letting you embarrass me in front of a client, so I’m not telling you where the hell she is. She hasn’t done anything—y’all are rousting her because of her record.” The pointed a finger with three rings on it. “That’s it, ain’t it?”
“We need to speak to her,” said Blaine, struggling to hang onto his cool.
“Drop by here at six and you can talk to her. Best I can do.”
“Thanks.” Blaine turned and walked out with the boys behind him.
“We gonna vote, boss?”
“Sure, that’s y’all’s right and duty. I’ll drive to a voting station then we’ll come back for the girl.”
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
AFTER dinner the results started to trickle in. Voting was reported to be light in the hinterlands because the snow and wind were making the roads treacherous. People were staying home.
“Shit,” said Blaine, “this is gonna be my worst nightmare.”
Hammer and Farrell had gone to pick up Juanita when she finished work and take her to headquarters for questioning. Blaine sat in the parlor in front of the flat screen having a cold one with Fletch, Travis, Lily and Carm.
Blaine chugged his Corona and waved an arm around the room. “Y’all know what this means, don’t you?”
Lily smiled. “What, boss? Are you getting a deeper spiritual meaning from the stratosphere?”
“It means, Lil, if the red-head wins, all of us, and I’m talking no exceptions and no excuses, we all have to go to campaign headquarters and congratulate her Governorship.”
Fletcher curled a lip. “Don’t want to, boss. Did the dinner last night. Can’t do a two-fer.”
“No free passes, Fletch. She’ll want to plant those red lips on your mouth and give you her tongue.”
Fletch made a face. “Jesus, boss, you’re freakin me out.”
“You better have another beer and get ready for it.”
EZ-Rest Motel. Airport Road.
HONDO sat at the table in the corner of the cramped room with a beer in his fist, his sandy hair flopping into his steel blue eyes. Only three feet away from the others, but he hollered at them anyway. “His ride is at the dealership but where in hell is Santana? He came here with the black-haired bitch. He must be around here somewhere.”
“He must be,” said Gage, “but how can we find him? We wer
e counting on the tag. Austin is a big city.”
“There must be a way,” said Hondo. “I’ll think of it.”
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
FARRELL parked his truck at the loop and Hammer hopped out of the shotgun seat and opened the back door. Juanita Andrews kicked at him and cursed at the top of her lungs in Spanish as Hammer hauled her out of the truck, up the steps and inside the building.
Farrell joined them in interrogation room three. He turned the recorder on and placed it on the corner of the table, then sat down. Hammer leaned on the wall near the door.
Under the tats and the piercings and the wild black hair, Juanita was a pretty girl. Maybe mid-thirties, but prison had a way of adding years to a person.
“Which one of you assholes is the good cop?”
“That would be me,” said Farrell. He tilted his blond head towards Hammer. “Don’t fuck with him. He’s meaner than a …Honey Badger.” Neil had told him how mean those little fuckers were.
Juanita picked at her chipping nail polish and ignored both of them.
“This is my problem,” said Farrell, “your print turned up on a panel where a robbery was committed, and I need to know how it got there.”
“Probably there from when I installed the panel. Simple explanation. Can I go?”
Farrell studied the invoice the homeowners had supplied. “That particular panel was installed two years ago, and according to your boss, Ms. Nichol, you didn’t work for Austin Pros two years ago.”
Juanita sneered but didn’t comment.
“In fact, Miss Juanita, when this panel was installed you were a guest of the State at Woodman.”
“I got nothing to say. Get me a PD.”
“As soon as you’re booked, Miss Juanita, I’ll be more than happy to get you legal representation.”
“You ain’t the good cop. You lied to me.”
Farrell smiled all the way to booking.
Panamonte Hotel. Boquete. Panama.
ANNIE gazed around the familiar vintage hotel dining room, a room she adored. A small fire crackled on the hearth at the end of the room under a mantle that held a display of antique cruets. Sepia portraits lined the walls and gave the place a historic feel. The tables were covered with crisp, white cloths and set with china, crystal and silver, and each table was decorated with a generous bouquet fresh from the hotel’s lavish garden.
“Dos Atlas, por favor,” she said to the waiter and Santana raised a black brow.
“I can order beer,” Annie whispered, and he smiled. He hadn’t smiled much all day after seeing the state his beloved mother was in.
After the drinks came, they ordered dinner then Santana verbalized what he’d been thinking. “I can’t leave her like this, Annie. I want you to go home because Jackson has to go to school, and I’ll stay until I’m satisfied that she’s in good health.”
Annie nodded. “I thought you might want to stay. If that’s your plan, then we’ll move you to the house in the morning. You don’t need to pay for a hotel.”
Campaign Headquarters. Downtown Austin.
CAMPBELL supporters were losing their minds as Blaine and the crew arrived for the celebration. Cat had called his cell, fairly screaming with excitement, and that said it all—she was number one in Texas and she was…out of control.
The newly elected Governor of Texas greeted them at the door with hugs and kisses. Fletcher hung back in case Blaine’s prediction came true and the Governor tried to tongue him.
“Bar is over there, boys and girls,” hollered Cat to be heard above the racket. A band played in a corner of the room, people screamed and yelled, and the noise was deafening.
“Is this what politics looks like?” asked Fletcher.
“Politics spells crazy-ass,” said Farrell. “Just say’n.”
Media people crowded in from the street with cameras rolling, trying to get a word from the new Governor.
Mary Polito ran across the room and grabbed Farrell in a surprise hug. “Isn’t it exciting?”
“Sure is, Miss Mary,” said Farrell, “You doing the story?”
“One of them,” she said, “Only one of hundreds that will come out tomorrow.”
“Yours will be the best,” Farrell whispered to her.
She smiled up at him. “I love you, Farrell.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wednesday, November 7th.
Boquete. Panama.
ANNIE and Jackson had breakfast with Santana at the hotel, then dropped him off at Bianca’s little blue house with his luggage before they left for the airport.
He hugged them both and said, “I’ll be fine. I can walk to the hospital from here.”
“I have a health plan in place for Bianca,” said Annie. “Let me know if you need me to send more money.”
“I don’t need money,” said Santana. “But thanks.”
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE held the morning meeting at the kitchen table, so Travis could be included, and doled out the assignments.
“We need a warrant for Juanita’s residence to search for stolen goods and for the gun that killed Mrs. Melanchuck. The Chief is having it written up. Farrell, you pick it up, then take it to Cat for a signature. Once it’s signed, see who you can round up to help you toss the place.”
Farrell nodded and took another biscuit from the basket.
“Lily, you and Hammer take the flea market vendors at Fogarty’s. Take copies of the lists of stolen goods and see if anybody is ticking the boxes.”
Farrell asked the question Blaine waited for every morning. “What are you gonna be doing, boss?”
Blaine leaned in closer and winked at his brother. “Let me explain it to you, bro. I checked into Miss Juanita’s known associates and it seems she has a boyfriend. Fletcher and I will be picking up Pedro Vasquez and bringing him in for questioning.”
Farrell smirked and pointed at Travis. “Long as y’all aren’t sitting here drinking coffee all day with this bench warmer.”
“Nope. Major Bristol is the only one on the bench. He’s confined to quarters, but Carm will be keeping a sharp eye on him and his meds.”
Travis grinned. “I’m doing a helluva lot better since I got here with you guys.”
I-Hop. Airport Road. Austin.
THE VARMINTS put away stacks of pancakes and double orders of sausages and bacon while they argued with each other and sorted out their dilemma.
“How long are we gonna wait for Santana to come back and pick up his ride?” asked one of the hot prospects.
The guy was filthy, and everybody called him ‘Pig.’ He’d been with the club for six months and never changed his shirt. Hondo could never remember his real name. Maybe he didn’t have one, but if he fucked up on his blood-in, Gage would eliminate him. “Long as it takes,” snarled Hondo. “Eat your fuckin breakfast and shut up.”
“Yessir, boss. Just asking.”
East Cesar Chavez. Austin.
“THIS Pedro dude lives close to your place, boss,” said Fletch.
“That’s because I don’t live in high end Austin. Lots of Hispanics, Latinos and gangers in my neighborhood and I like it because I fit right in.
Fletcher smiled. “You don’t look much like a cop, boss. But you’re right, that might be an advantage.”
Blaine parked at the curb and scoped out the building. “Six apartments. Two on each floor. Let’s take a walk around behind and see if there’s a back way out before we roust him.”
The brown bricks on the back of the building were covered in black spray paint. Some swirls were intended to portray something, but the art just wasn’t there.
“Emergency exit,” said Fletch. “Be a push bar on the inside.”
Blaine pulled his Leatherman out of his pocket, fiddled with the lock for a couple of minutes then nodded at Fletcher. “Let’s go get Pedro.”
There was no security at the front of the building. A panel that hadn’t worked in a while hung loosely from the right
-hand wall, two remaining screws barely holding it, two names left in the slots. The inside door was broken, and the latch didn’t close properly anymore.
Fletcher pushed the door open and wrinkled his nose as they crossed the filthy lobby. “Smells like shit in here.”
“If it smells like shit, you know what they say,” said Blaine as he pointed at the stairs.
Second floor at the back, Blaine positioned Fletcher to the side of the door before he knocked with his Beretta in his hand. “Police, Mr. Vasquez. Open up, I want to talk to you for a minute.”
At first, no sound from inside.
Blaine tried again. He pounded on the door. “I’m not going away, Mr. Vasquez. Open the door.”
“Got nothin to say to cops,” said a voice from the other side of the door.
Blaine stepped to the side and hollered. “If you don’t open the door, I’m gonna break it down.”
“Fuck you.”
Bang.
A shot blasted through the door chest high. Wood splinters flew across the hall and like lightning, Blaine kicked hard with his Harley boot. The door flung open and Blaine fired.
“Jesus Christ, you shot my arm you, asshole.” Pedro Vasquez was on his knees holding his bleeding wrist, his gun on the stained tile beside him.
“Bag the gun,” said Blaine as he whipped flex-cuffs around Pedro’s ankles and cuffed his good wrist to a chair.
Fletch whipped on a glove and bagged the SW. “That was a helluva nice shot, boss. Can’t believe you made that shot on the fly.”
Blaine grinned as he wrapped an almost clean kitchen towel around Pedro’s bleeding arm and called it in. As soon as Rocky comes for Mr. Pedro, we’ll have a nice look around.”
“You can’t look without a warrant,” hollered Pedro, kicking at Blaine with his ankles tied together.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Pedro. You shot at police officers in this apartment and that makes it a crime scene. Now I can toss it without your permission.” Blaine grinned. “Thanks for that.”
Pedro spit in Blaine’s direction. “I kill you, you fucking ganger super cop.”
