by Carolina Mac
Maybe he should get rid of the kid, and he could take the flies with him. He’d think about it, but not until after dark.
He hummed as he sat down at the kitchen table and wrote a grocery list, so he wouldn’t forget anything. He checked the list, then opened Lamar’s wallet and counted the cash he had left. Three hundred bucks. Tons of money. That much would last him for a long time.
“Mary had a little…” He stopped singing and listened. A vehicle was in the back laneway. Since he’d been holed up here in Lamar’s house, no vehicles had used the back lane except him. The engine sounded bigger than a car, more like a truck. He trudged down the hall into the bedroom and peered out the window in time to see the tail end of a big black truck.
After the truck was gone, Zach plodded out the back door heading for the garage. He opened the sagging back gate and peered up and down the dirt lane. Nobody in sight. He stepped into the garage, pulled the tarp off the Doc’s dark gray car and rolled the plastic into a ball. He stuck the huge ball in the corner of the garage and realized he had the list in his pocket, but he’d forgotten the car keys. He was almost through the gate when he heard the truck coming again. Hurrying as fast as he could go in shoes that were two sizes too small, he tripped over a rock and fell flat on his face in the dirt.
Uhggg. His leg hurt but he didn’t bother to look at it. He picked himself up and limped up the porch steps. He grabbed the door handle and was almost inside when he heard the truck behind him.
Did they see me?
THERE HE IS,” hollered Farrell. “He just ran inside.”
“You sure it was him?”
“Why would somebody else be at a crime scene?”
“You’re right, bro. Nobody should in there.”
“I’ll call it in,” said Farrell as Blaine rammed the truck into park and jumped out. They ran through the gate with Farrell on his phone, and up onto the saggy porch.
Blaine tried the knob and the door was locked. He stepped to the side and pointed. “Kick it in.”
Farrell pocketed his cell, reared back, and the heel of his cowboy boot connected just below the lock. The door blasted open and they both rushed in with guns drawn. On the run, they cleared the two bedrooms at the back of the house, then ran down the hallway. A shot came through the kitchen door and Blaine dove head first onto the floor.
“Stay low,” he hollered to Farrell as he got out of the doorway.
“You hit?”
“Maybe.”
Two more rapid shots flew out the kitchen door and hit the wall in the hallway.
Farrell pivoted on his left foot and drew a bead on Fisher who was crouched behind the kitchen table, his gun pointed at the door. Farrell squeezed the trigger on his Smith and Wesson and Zach Fisher toppled over dead—a bullet in the middle of his forehead. Farrell didn’t miss. Ever.
Farrell dropped down beside Blaine and ripped his brother’s jeans off the leg spewing all the blood. “Holy fuck,” he hollered. “Don’t like the look of that.”
Blaine grit his teeth. “Thanks for cheering me up, bro.”
Farrell grabbed a towel from the bathroom. “Lay still. I’ve got to press on it.”
“Fuck, that hurts,” Blaine hollered as Farrell used his considerable strength and put huge pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood already, bro,” said Farrell sizing up the crimson lake under Blaine’s leg. “Hope they hurry.
Farrell’s wish was granted, and the ambulance arrived moments later. The paramedics gave first aid to the bullet wound, started an IV, strapped Blaine to a gurney and were out the door.
“Where you taking him?” Farrell hollered as they loaded the stretcher into the bus.
“Saint Mikes.”
“I’ll be along,” said Farrell, “soon as the troops get here.” He pressed the Chief’s number.
“Farrell,” said Calhoun, “did you see any sign of Fisher?”
“Saw him and killed him Chief. He shot Blacky in the fuckin leg.”
“Jesus Christ, how bad is it?”
“Bleeding terrible bad, Chief.”
“I’ll send John to take the scene and I’m going to the hospital. As soon as Rubinger gets there, meet me…where am I going?”
The Chief sounded a little rattled. “Saint Mikes.”
JESSE OPENED HIS eyes and he was staring up at a nurse in a blue floral smock. He groaned and struggled against the needle in the back of his hand.
“Lie still, Mr. Quantrall. Won’t do you any good to thrash around.”
“Charity. Where’s my baby?”
“I don’t know. Lie still or I’ll have to sedate you.”
“Where’s Brian?”
“Brian?”
“Doctor Quantrall, my brother.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know his first name. I’ll page him if you promise to lie still.”
“Okay.” Jesse laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes.
I have to get better and get out of here. Charity needs me.
Brian came hustling across the room a few moments later. “You wanted me, Jesse?”
“I need to see Charity. I have to make sure she’s okay.”
“Don’t stress, Jesse. That’s the last thing I want you to do. Lay back and do some deep breathing and I’ll phone Tyler.”
“Thanks.”
TYLER SAT in the rocking chair he’d bought the day after Charity came into their lives. She lay cuddled in his arms, fast asleep. He was almost asleep himself, he was so relaxed in the darkened room. He heard footsteps on the stairs and Molly, the housekeeper stuck her head in the door.
She was a pretty lady in her late forties. Brown hair and eyes, and soft spoken. She’d been with them less than a year after the death of Mrs. Dillingham, but Molly took care of them well and they couldn’t do without her.
“Brian called, Tyler.”
“Is Jesse worse?”
“No, he’s better, but Brian says he’s stressing about the baby and he can’t let the stress build up. He wants you to bring Charity to the hospital, so Jesse can see her.”
“Okay, I’ll change her and pack her bag.”
JESSE GRINNED when he saw Brian escort Tyler through the cardiac unit with his beautiful daughter.
“I said no visitors today, so you could rest, Jesse, but obviously you can’t rest until you see that Miss Charity is well taken care of.”
“Hey, baby.” Jesse reached his arms out for her.
“Hold her on the edge of the bed, Ty,” said Brian. “He’s not strong enough to hold her.”
Jesse frowned. “Course, I am.”
Brian shook his head.
Tyler sat Charity on the side of the bed and held on to her.
Jesse tried to stretch his arm out to touch her and he couldn’t do it. His eyes glazed over, and he turned his head.
Tyler moved the baby closer and she laid down beside Jesse and snuggled close to him.
FARRELL TURNED the crime scene over to Deputy Chief John Rubinger when he arrived, then retrieved Blacky’s truck from the back lane and headed for the hospital.
As he wove his way through downtown traffic his cell rang, and he picked it up off the passenger seat. “Misty, what’s up?”
Sobbing was all he could hear, then she stopped long enough to speak. “What happened to Blaine? Something did. I know it.”
“Come to St. Mike’s, Misty. He got shot in the leg.”
Screaming in his ear. He held the phone away from his head and could still hear her. “Oh, my God. I knew it. I’m coming.”
Chief Calhoun was in the Emergency room waiting area when Farrell arrived. “He’s gone to surgery. It will be a while.”
“Damn it,” said Farrell. “We didn’t know the asshole had a gun. He never used one on any of the other victims.”
The Chief shook his head.
“I better call Mom,” said Farrell. “She’s gonna freak.”
The Chief raised an eyebrow and said
nothing.
Farrell tried Annie’s cell and it went to message. “Mom, this is Farrell. “We found the guy… never mind… don’t know how to tell you this but, Blacky got shot in the leg and he’s at Saint Mikes’. He’s okay. Just wanted to let you know. Call me later for an update when you get the message.”
Farrell returned from the cafeteria a half hour later with coffee and a pastry for the Chief. “Do you like cherry Danish?”
“My wife says I like everything that’s bad for me. Thanks, son.”
They moved to the surgical waiting room where it was less crowded and that’s where Misty found them. She sat down next to Farrell and dabbed her eyes with the flowing hem of her rainbow skirt.
“Is he okay? Have you seen him?”
“Not yet,” said Farrell. “He’s still in surgery.
Misty put her hand over her heart. “Oh, my God, if something happens to him because of me, I won’t be able to live with it.”
“You were only trying to help, Misty, and we found Fisher, thanks to you.”
“But look how it turned out. Not a good ending.”
Farrell tried to shut her down. “This is Chief Calhoun, Misty. Have you met him?”
Misty offered her hand. “Don’t believe so.”
“Thanks for your help, young lady. Good job on the cookies.”
“I see what I see, Chief. Either it comes to me or it doesn’t.”
The Chief nodded.
ANNIE RETURNED from her ride through the canyon feeling a huge weight had been lifted from her. Riding her bike always did that for her. She should have done it sooner.
She parked the bike in the ramp and chained it for safekeeping before taking the elevator to her floor.
When she arrived at the suite, Travis and the Junkers were having a beer and talking.
“Hey, Annie-girl, we didn’t know where you went,” said Travis, “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“We’re almost ready for dinner. You in?”
“Sure, let me freshen up and check my messages.” Annie went into her room, closed the door and sat in the comfy chair by the window.
One from Farrell.
She listened to it and her heart skipped a beat. Blaine had taken a bullet in the leg. Farrell said he was okay but being this far away from her son when he was in pain was not something she enjoyed.
Let’s get this wrapped. I have to go home for so many reasons.
TRAVIS AND ANNIE had dinner at the steakhouse in the hotel with Jack and Greg and they made a loose plan. They all agreed they needed to wrap things up in Vegas and get back to Austin now that Blaine had been shot and Jesse was hospitalized as well.
“Greg and Annie will sit in on the game while you and I see what’s cooking at Nick Valadero’s house,” said Jack. “That way we’ll have eyes on both venues.”
“Sounds good,” said Travis. “Let’s try to hear what Nick has to say before he goes out for the evening.”
“Yep. After dinner we’ll cruise his neighborhood.”
At eight, Travis and Jack waited at the valet station for the rental Jeep while Greg and Annie took the elevator to the top floor. “Annie’s upset about Blaine being shot,” said Jack, “that’s obvious, but we need her here to wrap up. She has a better read on the players than we have.”
“Jesse isn’t doing well either,” said Travis. “I’m surprised she’s staying to finish the job. Don’t know where the hell she was all afternoon. She wasn’t talking about it.”
“No, she wasn’t, but she has an outstanding work ethic and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was covering her bases. Investigation isn’t her strong suit. She has other talents.”
Yeah, like killing people.
Travis parked down the block from Nick’s Spanish-style bungalow and Jack activated the tag on his laptop. He turned up the sound and all they heard for the first while were footsteps, a shower running and household noises. Then a door opened, and someone came in.
‘Kristal, what in hell are you doing here? We’re not supposed to be seen together.
Screw you, Mr. Perfect. I want my half and I’m leaving Vegas.
You’ll have to wait until tomorrow until the bank opens. I don’t have cash like that lying around the house. It’s in our special account. Where are you going? Not that I care.
Anywhere but here. I’m a suspect and the cops are breathing down my neck.
It’s your own fault for getting involved with Ogilvie. You got greedy. As soon as the marks won over two fifty, we took the money and put them to sleep. It was working like a charm until you decided to show your hand. I told you not to have dinner with Annie Powell, didn’t I?
She didn’t suspect anything. I played it cool.
Meet me at the Starbucks down the block from the bank tomorrow at eleven and I’ll bring you your share. Fifty-fifty. Right down the middle.
I’ll be there and don’t try to short me. I’ve kept track of every cent.
Why would you think I would rip you off? We’ve been partners forever. I’m just pissed that this sweet deal has to end.’
“She’s leaving,” said Jack. They watched her come out of Nick’s house and jump into her car.
“We need to find out where Nick’s bank is before tomorrow morning,” said Travis. “Can you get that information?”
“Sure can. I’ll work on it when we get back to the suite.”
Travis put the Jeep into gear and his cell rang. “Hey, girl, are you and Greg in the game?”
“Yep, Greg’s doing well, and Nick hasn’t shown up yet. Did he leave his house?”
“Not yet. But Kristal just left, and we got good info.”
“Did you get the goods on her?”
“Yep. Excellent surveillance on her and Nick tonight. We should nail them tomorrow.”
“Good. I want to go home and get back to normal.”
Annie went back to the table and had one more beer. She and Greg played for another hour and neither Nick nor Kristal showed up.
Greg folded his cards and gave her a questioning look. Annie nodded and said, “Bedtime for me, Rudy. Time for my chips to sleep.”
CHAPTER TEN
BLAINE WOKE to the clatter of breakfast trays and wondered where in hell he was. A sharp jab of pain jolting from his leg to his brain reminded him and he groaned.
“You’re right, Mr. Blackmore, it’s time for your pain meds. I’ll get you fixed up before your breakfast gets here.”
His private nurse was an older woman named Bonnie. Her short brown hair showed hints of gray and she peered at him over silver wire rims. He didn’t need a nurse of his own, but Annie thought he did and hired Bonnie remotely over the phone the day before. It did no good to protest. He’d learned that when he was fifteen—the day Annie took him home and gave him a new life.
“Thanks, Bonnie, any clues on when I can get out of here?”
“Your doctor will give you a clue when he gets here. I don’t think you’ll be going too far today.”
“Uh huh.”
What about my dinner with Arlo Maznik? I have to call him.
Bonnie changed the IV and re-taped the needle in Blaine’s hand. “I’m happy to be your nurse, Mr. Blackmore. I’ve read about you from time to time in the Statesman and I’ve seen you on TV.”
Blaine winced at the mention of the media. Some of his worst moments. “I’m not much for publicity, Bonnie. I like to work behind the scenes.”
“Well, I for one am glad you are behind the scenes keeping us safe. We’ve got a lot of loose cannons running around Austin.”
Blaine grinned. “One less, as of yesterday.”
“I heard you got the guy that escaped from the State Hospital and that was how you got shot.”
“My brother was watching over me or it could have been worse.”
“Farrell is such a sweetheart. He brought me a coffee from Starbucks and told me all the details.”
Blaine chuckled. Everybody knew Farrell.
ANNIE FI
NISHED her second cup of coffee and was dressed and gone before Travis and the Junkers got out of bed. The night before, she’d listened to the conversation between Nick and Kristal and she could hear the rip-off coming a mile away.
This was her part of the job—her specialty—and she wasn’t going to blow it. She’d had enough bad men in her life to know when they were going to rip her off or double cross her just by the tone of their voices. Nick Valadero was a con man, but he couldn’t con Annie Powell.
She undid the lock and freed the chain from her new ride in its parking spot. She shoved the chain in one of the saddlebags, and her purse and change of clothes in the other.
The engine started on the first try and the loud Harley rumble echoed through the fourth floor of the ramp. Annie squeezed the gas and followed the arrows to the exit and out into the brilliant Nevada sunshine.
South on I-95 she sailed, happier than she’d been in weeks, maybe even months. Nick would head south with all that cash. From Vegas, Yuma was the quickest way out of the country. Annie rode steadily until she reached the rest area just inside the California line. She’d wait there for the red Corvette.
THE BANK OF AMERICA at the corner of Charleston and First was open for business when Travis and Jack arrived at ten thirty. They checked the interior and Nick wasn’t in the bank. Jack found a seat in the waiting area inside and Travis took up a position to the right of the front entrance, so he wouldn’t miss Mr. Valadero.
They waited. Customers came and went and none of them were Nick or Kristal. At eleven thirty, Travis sat down beside Jack. “What do you think is going on?”
Jack shrugged. “They’re both cons. Do you think they’re conning each other?”
“Let’s find out.” Travis rounded up the bank manager, showed his creds and pointed to a chair for Jack in the glassed-in office.
Clifton Briggs was type ‘A’. Nervous and chattering and not concentrating on what Travis wanted to know. Overweight, he’d outgrown his suit jacket and it didn’t meet or button up any longer. His round face was flushed, and his accelerated breathing indicated an approaching infarction.
