They’d booked me that morning after my “lawyer” left, taking my street clothes and issuing me a lovely orange jumpsuit, some really uncomfortable jail shoes, a blanket, a single sheet, a pillow, and some basic toiletries. I was allowed to shower and shave with a disposable razor, which Big Luke retrieved when I was finished. Then the amiable giant had escorted me to the annex, as he called it, and placed me in a cell.
“Sheriff said to put you in here on account of you bein’ an ex-cop,” Luke told me. “Didn’t want no trouble from the other prisoners.”
“What other prisoners?” I asked him.
Luke grinned and shuffled his feet. “Well,” he admitted, “ain’t none right now. Sheriff Mingo, he don’t hold much with puttin’ folks in jail, less’n it’s real serious-like. The field deputies usually just take care of things, one way’n another.”
“‘Taking care of business’?” I said. “That still the official motto here?”
I could see that Big Luke was just a bit nervous; perhaps it was because John wasn’t around. I decided to try a little probe. “You ever hear of a woman named Grinny Creigh?” I asked.
Luke’s eyes flared in recognition. He looked around as if to make sure no one had heard that. “I gotta go now,” he’d said. “Supper’s down at five.”
Supper had turned out to be a bag of limp greaseburgers from the town’s one and only fast-food joint, which was definitely not one of the national chains. As darkness settled, I wondered why I’d really been moved out to this old building. If indeed there were no other prisoners, it would have made more sense to put me right next to the front office in the modern jail wing. The small building was appropriately gloomy; there was only a single overhead light in the aisle between the cells. Through the windows I heard a dog barking; it sounded a lot like Ace, who was probably out patrolling the parking lots now that night had fallen. It was no wonder the two brothers weren’t too worried about any escape attempts, not with old Ace on the job. Anyone slinking around the parking compound at night would invoke a very different set of shepherd rules.
I looked into the bag. The fries had congealed on the bottom into a starchy mass. I ate one of the hamburgers, drank some watery Coke, and then pitched the bag through the bars into a trash can in the aisle-way. I missed my nightly scotch. My liver probably did not.
After a few hours I heard some vehicles entering and leaving the compound, which I surmised meant a shift change. It was nothing like the mass movement of private and official vehicles that took place in the much larger Triboro Sheriff’s Office, but the noises coming through the tiny windows were familiar. Fifteen minutes later, all was quiet again.
I flopped down on the lumpy bed. The building was about as devoid of human comforts as a building could be. No radio, no television, no apparent ventilation or air-conditioning, no telephone, that single incandescent light, and the smell of old wood. There wasn’t even a ceiling, just a maze of wooden rafters and beams from what had to be the nineteenth century, if not older. The floor was made of thick wooden planks of random width, with well-worn tread marks down the center. The door hardware looked to be made of wrought iron, and there was even a set of supports for an inside locking bar to keep lynch mobs at bay.
I got up and examined the cell door’s lock, which was of the old-fashioned skeleton key design. If I’d had a coat hanger I could probably have worked it open. But to what end? That big oak door had to be two or three inches thick, and there was probably another one of those locking bars in place on the other side. Besides, there was no usable metal in the cell whatsoever; in that regard, it was an entirely modern jail. I sat back down, wondering if the light stayed on all night. I could see no light switch. I wracked my brain to think of some way of getting that cell door unlocked, but it seemed truly hopeless. They’d taken not only my clothes and shoes but my watch and, of course, my pocketknife; the jumpsuit had no belt and my prison shoes fastened with Velcro.
Face it, sunshine: They got you. I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke in near total darkness. Someone had finally turned out the light, and the reflected light from the sodium vapor towers around the parking compound provided the only illumination. Without a watch, I had no idea what time it was. I heard a sound coming from the end of the aisle nearest the door to the outside: metal scraping on metal. A key?
I got up off the bunk; I’d fallen asleep in my jumpsuit. I pressed my face to the bars at the front of the cell and tried to see the door, but it was too dark. Then I saw a thin vertical line of light appear and heard a hinge squeak. The line held steady and then widened until I could see a figure standing at the door. Then there were two, and from the size of them, I recognized the big brothers. Big Luke came in while Bigger John stayed by the door as lookout. Luke was holding something in his hand and, for a scary moment, I wondered if I’d been all wrong about the Big brothers. I backed away from the bars until I saw the ring of keys.
“Come on,” Luke rumbled quietly.
“We going to play with Ace again?” I asked as Luke unlocked the cell door. John was no longer visible.
“Mingo’s comin’ with his mountain boys,” Luke said. “Fixin’ to burn this place. Come quiet, now.”
That was pretty damned clear. I didn’t look back. I followed Luke down the aisle, out the door, and into the parking lot, where John had a cruiser waiting in the shadow of the old jail building. Luke opened the right front and back doors. “Git in,” he ordered. “And git down on the floor.”
I slid into the backseat and Luke shut the door quietly. I then rolled sideways and got down on my knees behind the front seat. Luke got in and John drove the car forward. I heard gates sliding, then felt the car go down a ramp and accelerate into the street. I could see the top windows of the main office as we drove by. I didn’t see anyone looking back at me.
It occurred to me that I might be going for a ride in the mobster sense. Being the sole occupant of the old jail building made it easy for someone to take me out of the complex. I began to think of my next move.
“Okay,” Luke announced. I got back up into a normal sitting position as John took a couple of turns and then headed out of town up a mountain road. From the backseat the two brothers looked like a circus act, their huge shoulders almost touching in the front seat. I could hear the static of the patrol radio, but the computer screen wasn’t on. That meant they were offline, and no one in operations should know that the car was out of the lot. I didn’t know if that was good news or bad. I surreptitiously looked to see if the back doors had interior handles. They did not.
“So what’s going down, boys?” I asked, casually, reaching for a seat belt as John sped up the mountain road.
“Like I said, Mingo’s gone to git his Spider Mountain boys,” Luke replied. “I heard one’a the front office deputies sayin’ they was gonna be a insurance fire back in the old jail and that Mingo said not to pay it no mind till it dropped.”
“This guy know I was in there?”
“Don’t b’lieve so,” Luke said. “Everybody thought you was still back in the holding pen. Ain’t nobody been back that way since we took you out.”
“Lovely,” I said. “And if the old building burned down, nobody would care very much.”
“Yup.”
“You guys get a chance to talk to somebody about a federal task force?”
“Yup.”
That explained why I wasn’t cuffed in the car. I saw the dashboard clock; it was two fifteen. John took a couple of switchbacks fast enough to make the tires complain, and then we pulled over into a scenic overlook space. John nosed the car right up against the stone wall, switched off the lights, and got out. Luke opened the right back door and motioned for me to get out, too. Neither had his weapon out. I wondered if this was Robbins County’s version of the Tarpeian Rock, Rome’s original execution place.
From the overlook, we had a good view of the town down below. The main drag through town was clearly lighted, and we could see the river and
the backs of the houses that perched on the hillside above the main street. The sheriff’s office parking lot was visible because of the sodium lights. John produced a thermos of coffee and some paper cups. He poured all three of us some coffee and then pitched the empty thermos back into the front seat. Luke lit up a cigarette and sat down on the stone wall that framed the overlook. Down below in the town we saw an SUV of some kind starting up the same road we had just climbed, several hundred feet below the overlook. A second one turned into the road a moment later. I finally began to relax when they produced coffee.
“That them drug cops?” John asked.
“I reckon,” Luke replied. Five minutes later a black Bronco pulled into the overlook with its headlights already off. Baby Greenberg and Carrie Santángelo got out. They were both dressed out in tactical gear. Carrie walked ahead of the DEA agent, carrying a camera with a long telephoto lens. The second vehicle, a 1500 series Suburban, pulled in behind them. The two men inside stayed in the vehicle. One was my “lawyer,” who waved.
“Love your outfit,” she said to me, giving the orange jumpsuit an amused once-over as she went to the overlook wall.
“Got your stuff in the Bronco,” Greenberg said, and then turned to the brothers. “Gentlemen, well done.”
John and Luke acknowledged the compliment without comment, while I went over to the Bronco. I was really pleased to see four sharp-pointed ears silhouetted against the glass in the way-back compartment. I opened the back hatch and the shepherds came out, greeting me effusively. Finally I told them to sit down and then climbed into the backseat of the Bronco to change. Greenberg came over.
“How’d you turn them?” I asked.
“Wasn’t hard,” Greenberg said. “Convinced Big Luke; Bigger John goes along with whatever Big Luke says. Carrie helped.”
“I was afraid they didn’t know what was really going on here,” I said. “That they wouldn’t believe it.”
“Oh, they believed it,” Greenberg said. “Or Luke did, anyway. I think they both have a pretty good idea that M. C. isn’t playing by the rules. And they knew all about Grinny Creigh and her reputation up on Spider Mountain. Actually acted a little scared of her.”
“Smarter than they look, then,” I observed. I climbed back out of the Bronco and threw the rolled-up jumpsuit into the weeds.
“Your weapons and stuff are in the way-back,” Greenberg said. “I also told them about what she did to that kid. They said something interesting, or at least Carrie thought so.”
“Which was?”
“That Grinny Creigh is known for doing things to children. Like some damn witch, as they put it.”
“They’re coming,” Carrie announced from the parapet wall. She had the camera out of its case and was looking through the telephoto. I grabbed my weapons and gear belt and joined the others at the wall.
Down below we could see a small caravan of four vehicles entering town from the mountain end, led by a police cruiser. They were moving slowly through the town, stopping at the two traffic lights that turned red against them even at this hour. When they got to the sheriff’s office compound, the cruiser kept going. The other vehicles, three pickup trucks and another Bronco, pulled into the side street that ran beside the compound. Their lights went off as they drove down into the narrow street past the back of the parking garage. The cruiser continued down the main street, turned left, and left again on the street that ran parallel to and above the main drag. It stopped a block away from where the other vehicles had congregated.
The parking-lot lights put the entire area outside the fence in shadow, so we couldn’t see anyone approach the old jail building. Carrie could, however, and she reported that they were placing a ladder against the outside wall of the old jail.
“One guy’s going up the ladder,” she said, staring through the lens and clicking the trigger. “Someone on the ground’s handing him something. A can, I think. Yeah, a can. A one- or two-gallon gas can, I think. Yes, it’s red. He’s pouring it into the building through a little window. There goes another one. Think you’d have smelled that?” she asked me.
“For a minute or so, probably.”
“Think anyone would have heard you yelling?”
“Probably not.”
“Deputies, want to see what I’m seeing?”
The Big brothers shook their heads in unison. It was apparently bad enough that it was happening, and that no one inside the sheriff’s office was doing anything about it. On the other hand, I thought, they also knew there was no trapped rat in the old jail screaming for help, not that that would have mattered much. Luke’s expression was one of resigned dismay.
“Ladder’s coming down. Wait for it—there she blows.”
We could all see the sudden flare of orange fire inside the old building, first in one window and then through them all. Smoke started up from the eaves of the roof. But there was no alarm, and if there was an internal surveillance system on the parking lot, no one inside the main building would have seen anything out back because there were no windows in the old jail facing the compound’s parking lot.
We watched as the fire took hold in the dry timbers and beams. We saw a man passing by on the sidewalk out in front of the main building stop and stare, and then saw two figures come out of the shadows, grab him, and pull him into the dark alley. Bad time to be a witness, I thought. The shepherds were glued to my side. Then we saw the arsonists’ vehicles appear on the street behind the compound and head back down to where the cruiser was waiting.
“That Mingo’s cruiser?” Greenberg asked. John looked through the camera lens and nodded. The fire was starting to break through the end walls of the roof. I actually thought I could smell it, but knew we were too far above the blaze. The four vehicles passed the cruiser without stopping and turned right back out to the main street, where the trucks went one way and the Bronco the other. Then we saw the front porch lights of a nearby house come on and people run out into the street, staring at the fire. A few minutes later the town fire department siren began to wail. Frack, who loved to howl, started to reply, and I had to tell him to stifle.
Carrie put the camera back into its case and returned to the Bronco. She called the Big brothers over. “You guys were officially off duty, right?” she asked. They nodded.
“Okay, go home. And that’s where you’ve been all evening, no matter what. You keep your ears to the ground, and if you get any hint that Mingo knows how the lieutenant got away, you get yourselves over into Carrigan County and report to Sheriff Hayes.”
“Shouldn’t they just go ahead and do that now?” Greenberg asked.
“Not while Mingo’s thugs are out driving around. Let the dust settle. You guys have a way to know what’s happening in town, don’t you?”
Luke said yes and, as usual, John agreed. Carrie gave Luke a cell phone. “Keep this with you. If you get into trouble, press this button right here twice and it will call one of us. Don’t use it for anything else. Don’t turn it off. If it rings, it will be one of us. And in any event, report to Sheriff Hayes’s office by tomorrow night. Got it?”
“Yes’m,” Luke said, apparently somewhat awed by the sight of a woman giving orders.
“You’ve done the right thing,” Carrie said. “When this is all over, you boys will be entirely in the clear. Now, get going.”
The deputies went to their cruiser, where Luke popped the trunk. He lifted out two tactical shotguns and an ammo belt. He gave one of the guns to John. Then they got in and drove off.
“How long before Mingo figures out what happened?” I asked.
We looked down the mountainside and saw that the darkened cruiser was still parked on the back street. The fire department had arrived, and now the back door of the main building was open, spilling light and deputies into the parking lot. The old jail building’s roof collapsed into the stone walls with a shower of sparks, and then the fire truck’s water streams began to take effect.
“He’s probably been called o
n the radio,” Carrie said. “So he’ll move pretty soon. Their noses will tell them no one was in the building.”
Greenberg made a face. “Then we need to boogie,” he said. “He’s gonna have black hats and white hats scouring the county for his ‘escaped’ prisoner.”
“Can we make it to Carrigan County?” I asked.
Greenberg shook his head. “We could have, but probably not now. There’s only one road, right through town there.”
“Actually,” Carrie said. “There are others.”
We both looked at her in surprise. She shrugged.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this. Mingo had to know you guys were in town. How’s about you and your people take one vehicle and go down there, show up on the scene, and baffle them with some DEA bullshit. Carrie and I will take your other vehicle and head for the hills. We’ll figure out next steps once we get clear.”
Greenberg gave Carrie a questioning look. She nodded. “Good a plan as any,” she said. Then she turned to me. “Laurie May’s?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” I said. “They’ll expect me to run for Carrigan County, not toward the other side of Spider Mountain.”
“Mingo’s moving,” Greenberg announced.
“Is that cell phone transponder still set up?” I asked.
Greenberg said no, but that he would put it back on the air first thing in the morning.
“Got any maps?” I asked the DEA agent.
“Don’t need any,” Carrie said. “I know these hills. I grew up in this county. Let’s go.”
I whistled up the shepherds, and we swapped gear and vehicles with the other DEA agents. Then Carrie got in on the driver’s side. I settled the dogs in the back compartment and jumped into the front passenger seat.
SPIDER MOUNTAIN Page 17
