Final Table

by Carolina Mac

  A big smile broke across Herman’s wrinkled face. “That’s him. That’s the guy. How did you do that?”

  “I’m gifted.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I guess we’d know his name if we could find his card.”

  Varmint Camp. Apache Mountains.

  PARKER grinned as Hondo and Gage stopped at the gate. Snow was piled high on both sides of the trail and Parker leaned on the handle of a snow shovel. “So fuckin glad to see you guys. You have no idea.”

  “Why, what’s been going on?”

  “After the storm, a lot of the guys were fuckin froze to death in their trailers with no heat and no electric—most ran out of food. For two days the road was drifted over so high we couldn’t get out of here to get groceries, beer—nothing. As soon as they dug their way out, they packed up and took off back to the city. Couldn’t take it out here no more.”

  Gage smiled at Parker. “But you’re one of the tough guys who dug in?”

  “I guess. Wish there was gas for the generators.”

  Hondo raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t there any gas?”

  “Nope. Been out for three days.”

  “I’ll fix things. Starting right now.”

  Parker opened the gate and Hondo and Gage revved up their engines.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE parked beside the house, scooted around to the passenger side of his truck and picked up the huge glass fishbowl. He carried it into Lily’s office and placed it on her desk, imagining what she’d say if she was there.

  Bone tired, he trudged upstairs to his room, stripped off his clothes for a shower and sat on the side of the bed.

  I have to fix this thing with Misty.

  “Hey, Mist, it’s me. Do you fell like going to Tulleys’ for crab cakes?”

  “Of course, I do. I’d go anywhere with you, sweetheart. I love you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sunday, November 11th.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE smiled as he watched Misty cross the kitchen to refill his coffee mug. She seemed to float, her long filmy nightdress swishing around her gorgeous legs. Dinner at Tulleys’ the night before had been fun and a welcome change after the stressful week he’d had.

  At least one thing had been put to rights—he and Misty had made up. Maybe it would last and then again, with Misty being Misty, and him always short on patience, there was no telling.

  “Morning, people,” said Travis as he limped into the kitchen in search of coffee. He placed his vial of pills on the table, then turned to go for a mug.

  Carm pointed at the chair, “I get it, Travis. Sit.”

  “Thanks, Carm.”

  “How do you feel after working yesterday?” asked Blaine.

  “Not bad,” said Travis. “A little tired, but I like being involved in what y’all are doing. Now I’m wondering what I’m gonna do all day today.”

  “I’ve got a project for you,” said Blaine. “It’s sitting on Lil’s desk with your name on it.”

  Travis frowned. “Sounds like a shit job, boss.”

  “It is a shit job, but one you can do sitting on your broken ass, and I need it done ASAP.”

  “So nice to have a quiet Sunday,” said Misty as she settled in next to Blaine.

  Blaine smiled at her. “Let’s pick a show on Netflix this afternoon and do a marathon.”

  Misty squealed. “Oh, I so love doing that.”

  I know you do. I hope you pick one I can tolerate.

  Thoughts of how much he hated watching TV were interrupted by a call from the Chief.

  “Hope you weren’t planning on having a restful Sunday, son.”

  “Something happen?”

  “Here’s the address.”

  Lost Creek Area. Suburban Austin.

  BLAINE parked on the road. The only choice with the short drive belonging to the victims’ residence plugged with police vehicles.

  “Chief give you any details?” asked Farrell. Blaine had rousted his brother out of bed and Farrell was noticeably testy having missed breakfast. He clung tight to a travel mug of black coffee.

  “Nothing but the address. He sounded half asleep.”

  “Enjoying Sunday morning like the rest of us should be.”

  “Hey, Misty slept over, and I didn’t want to leave either.”

  “I’m glad you two patched things up.” Farrell tapped on his window pointing to the crime scene van and took another sip of coffee. “Sue is here already.”

  “She knew you’d be coming and she jumped right out of bed and put on something super sexy,” said Blaine with a chuckle.

  “Shut up. I think you’re wrong about the Sue thing.”

  Blaine shrugged, grabbed his notebook and keys and headed for the door.

  Gridlock in the foyer—four large Rangers in uniform—first on the scene. Blaine knew a couple of them and called them by name. One of them pointed to a room on the right, French doors led into a sitting room done up in shades of beige and brown. A lady in her forties, wearing a pink robe sat on one of the loveseats, her face buried in a handful of tissues. Her husband had an arm draped around her shoulder—the homeowners—Mr. and Mrs. Ted Lupin.

  Blaine moved closer, “Mr. Lupin, I’m Blaine Blackmore from Violent Crime. Would you be able to answer a few questions for me?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet,” he choked out the words. “Did you see her? Did you see the dead girl?”

  Farrell shrugged and went looking. Blaine turned and saw Farrell waving from the other side of the front hall. When Blaine got close enough, Farrell whispered, “She’s in the kitchen, bro, and we know her.”

  “Fuck,” said Blaine, “who is it?” He charged into the all-white gourmet kitchen that was now a Jackson Pollack rendering of red splotches on white.

  The medical examiner knelt beside her. Half her head missing, a Glock clutched tightly in her dead hand.

  The breath left Blaine’s body as he recognized her. “Juanita Andrews,” he mumbled.

  The ME looked up. “You know her, Mr. B?”

  “One of our suspects. She’s out on bail.”

  “Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make it look like suicide,” said the doctor, “but it’s not. Too many things are wrong. I’ll prove it in autopsy.”

  Blaine nodded.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  TRAVIS and Misty worked at the task they’d been given by Blaine before he and Farrell left for the crime scene.

  “Navaro,” said Misty, “Is that a first name or last?”

  “That might not be the dude’s name at all. The boss is trying to connect the dots.”

  Misty sorted through another pile of business cards.

  “This is like counting the jelly beans to win a prize,” said Travis. “How many business cards are in the fuckin fish bowl?”

  “I wasn’t counting when I took them out,” said Misty, “I just grabbed a handful.”

  “Yahoo,” hollered Travis, “I’m a winner.” He held the card in the air and waved it back and forth.

  Misty giggled. “Let me see it. I’ll hold it for a minute while you call Blaine.”

  Lupin Residence. Lost Creek Area.

  BLAINE’S cell rang as he and Farrell sat with the Lupin’s getting a list of what they thought was missing. They were so upset about Juanita being dead in their pristine kitchen they could barely speak, let alone concentrate on what had been taken in the robbery.

  “Yeah, Travis, did you find it?”

  “I think so. Check out this address, boss.”

  Blaine repeated it to Farrell and he wrote it down. “We’re on our way there now.”

  “Misty is holding the card,” said Travis. “I’ll call if there’s anything to tell you.”

  “Okay, thanks.” To Farrell: “Give one of the uniforms Mrs. Andrew’s address and have them do the notification.”

  Farrell shook his head. “No, boss, we should do it. Mrs. Andrews knew about th
e robberies. Now Juanita is dead, and when we lay this on her, she might crack and give us something.”

  “Okay, you’re right. It might be worth taking the time if she opens up. Let’s swing by there first.”

  Varmint Camp. Apache Mountains.

  HONDO banged down the gavel and called the meeting to order. The Varmints were a sorry looking bunch, huddled around the table in a building with no heat, each man wearing all the clothes he possessed in an effort not to freeze to death. “How many members present?”

  “Thirty-one, boss,” said Roberto. “A lot left during the deep freeze after the storm.”

  Parker tossed out a question everybody wanted an answer to. “What happened to Pig and Walt? Why didn’t they come back with y’all?”

  “Santana killed them,” said Gage.

  “Then you capped him?” asked Parker.

  “That’s the way it went down.”

  Hondo left the membership mulling over the lie and moved on. “Tell me about the lab.” He pointed the end of the gavel at one of the members who processed the meth.

  “We shut down for two days when that asshole, Sheriff Dobson, was nosing around so the smell would be gone. Put us way back on production.”

  “But you’re up and running now?”

  He nodded. “Still behind. Gonna be some unhappy people in the city.”

  “We can deal with that,” said Hondo, “but I want to know why the sheriff came up here in the first place. We ain’t easy to find and that’s the way we like it. How did he know where to look?”

  “Said the bitch at the diner told him Sheriff Newcombe was heading up into the mountains on his last day.”

  Hondo rolled his eyes at Gage and Gage nodded.

  Another of the lab guys spoke up. “We want to be paid, boss. We do all the work around this ass-freezing dump and we ain’t been paid in a couple weeks.”

  “I’ll get all that caught up today,” said Hondo, “but first I need y’all to vote me in as the new president now that Santana is dead.”

  Gage got to his feet. “Let’s see a show of hands. All in favor of Hondo moving into the president’s chair?” He counted and said, “Carried.”

  A cheer went up, congratulations offered, and it was official.

  Andrew’s Residence. East Austin.

  FARRELL rang the bell while he and Blaine shivered on the front step of the Andrew’s rowhouse. “Be glad when this fuckin cold front passes. Hate being cold.”

  “Wear warmer clothes,” said Blaine.

  Mrs. Andrew’s opened the door, glanced at the creds Blaine was holding up and inhaled a big gulp of oxygen. “What’s Juanita done now?”

  “May we come in?” asked Blaine.

  “No, y’all can tell me from there.”

  “It would be better if we stepped inside,” said Blaine. “This isn’t good news.”

  “It’s never good news when it’s about Juanita, is it?” She took a step back and allowed just enough space for them to step into the narrow front hall. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Blaine started, “but your daughter is dead. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Mrs. Andrews put her hands over her face and choked on a sob. “No. No. I knew this would happen when she got mixed up with him.”

  “With who, Mrs. Andrews?” asked Farrell.

  “I can’t tell you. I tried to make Juanita stay away from him and he… told me to stay out of his business.”

  “Was she mixed up with Navaro Diaz?” asked Farrell.

  Mrs. Andrews began trembling and her face paled. “I can’t say.”

  “Don’t you want the man who murdered your daughter to go to prison?” asked Blaine.

  “I do, but I don’t know who killed her.”

  Blaine grabbed her arm and propelled her into the small living room and sat her on the sofa. “Is there someone you can call to stay with you?”

  She nodded. “I’ll call my sister.”

  Navaro Diaz Residence. East Austin.

  FARRELL drew his SW and took the back of the low rancher while Blaine took the front door. Diaz lived on a street of similar style one-storey houses built in the sixties. The Colorado cut through south Austin one street away and the smell of the river floated on the frigid air.

  “Police, Mr. Diaz. Open the door.” No answer. Blaine checked the window at the side of the attached garage and there was no vehicle inside. He wasn’t here.

  Farrell came back around from the rear. “He ain’t in there.”

  “Did you lock up?”

  Farrell nodded.

  “Have we got ears on?”

  Farrell nodded.

  Varmint Camp. Apache Mountains.

  HONDO shouted out orders as the men set up the poker tables in the half-finished clubhouse. “It will warm up in here soon now that the tarps are in place and the generator is going again to run the electric heaters.” To Roberto: “Why the hell didn’t you send somebody into town for more fuel when y’all ran out?”

  Roberto shrugged. “Too much snow for the bikes. No money and nobody wanted to go in the cold.”

  “So, you sat on your lazy asses and froze?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Bunch of assholes.”

  An hour later when the game was up and running and the boys were celebrating the return of heat and good times with a fresh supply of beer and whisky, Hondo gave Gage the nod and he slipped away.

  Angela’s Diner. Apache Springs.

  GAGE parked his ride behind the diner just about closing time. He walked in the front door, inhaled the greasy smell, and scoped the place out. Empty. No other customers, only him. He sat in a middle booth against the wall and ordered pie and coffee when Angie came to serve him.

  She smiled at him and he looked her over. Too old—Gage liked them young—nineteen or twenty—but this was a job, so he sucked it up. Angie wasn’t bad looking, if the lights weren’t too bright, and if he had another couple beers or a joint to smoke. But he didn’t.

  He smiled at her and got the ball rolling. “You live in town?”

  “I live upstairs.” She slid into the seat across from him and watched him eat his cherry pie.

  “Good pie.”

  “I like to bake.”

  “Anything else you like to do?”

  Angie giggled. “You coming on to me?”

  “Maybe.” He waved an arm around indicating the empty restaurant. “Just you and me here.”

  “You’re a good lookin guy, Gage. Lots of muscles, and I like long hair on a man.”

  “You know my name?”

  “I heard somebody call you that.”

  “Uh huh.” He finished his coffee and Angie got to her feet. “It’s okay, I don’t need a refill.”

  “Time for me to lock up.”

  Gage watched her lock the door, clean the grill and turn everything off in the kitchen. “You gonna invite me upstairs?”

  “I thought maybe you were just kidding around.”

  Gage leaned on the kitchen doorway and shrugged. “I’m not busy tonight and I’m game if you are.”

  “You’re not one of those biker guys who likes it rough are you?”

  “I’m just an ordinary guy.” Gage flashed her the smile that always got him what he wanted. “Joe Ordinary.”

  Angie grinned and pointed the way down the hall. “The stairs are near the back.”

  Gage stared at her ass all the way up the narrow staircase. When they got to the top, he grabbed her, pulled her tight against his muscled-up body and kissed her.

  She kissed him back, pushed her crotch against his erection and seemed eager. Maybe she hadn’t had sex for a long time.

  “Which way?”

  She took his hand and led him into her bedroom. Without turning on the light, she undressed quickly and lay down on the bed.

  Gage took off his boots, dropped his jeans and was on her in a flash. It had been a while for him too, living out here in butt-fuck, Texas. He didn�
��t bother with foreplay, or any play—just put the condom on, rammed it home and made himself happy—at least for a couple of seconds.

  Angie was moaning and saying stuff, nothing he was listening to. He sat up, drove his right fist hard into her jaw and knocked her cold. He reached down beside the bed, pulled the knife out of his boot and slit her throat. One quick motion—he had the strength for it and years of practice made it easy.

  Gage zipped up his jeans, pulled on his Harley boots and left by the back door.

  Navaro Diaz Residence. East Austin.

  JESSE and Farrell held a vigil down the block from the Diaz rancher for hours, but Mr. Diaz never showed.

  “Our relief should be here soon, Jesse. Bet you’re tired.”

  “Haven’t done an all-nighter for a long time, Farrell. I’m out of practice.”

  “Travis is back on half days, but he can only do surveillance or sitting down jobs.”

  “He’s young,” said Jesse with a serious look on his face. “He’ll make a comeback.”

  Farrell chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Travis is the same age as you, boss.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Monday, November 12th.

  Angela’s Diner. Apache Springs.

  SHERIFF DOBSON pounded on the door for the second time. “She’s not open,” he said to the two other locals who were lined up for their usual mediocre breakfast. “No lights on.”

  “Maybe she’s sick,” said old Fred McCormick. “Leave her be. I’ll go home and make toast.”

  “What’s happening, gentlemen?” Karen Moon stopped her truck at the curb and hollered from the driver’s seat.

  “Angie ain’t open this morning.”

  “Maybe she’s sick,” said Karen. “Let her sleep. Y’all come to the motel. I’ve got coffee on and muffins in the oven.”

  Sheriff Dobson grinned. “Mighty nice, Miss Moon. Might take you up on that.”

  Travis County Morgue. Austin.

  JUANITA ANDREWS was first up this morning in the morgue. She was washed and laid out on the stainless-steel table when Blaine and Farrell arrived.