Reel evaluated the probable forces aligned against them. There had been two large SUVs coming down the drive. Max capacity was eight each. Perhaps sixteen men then. Maybe more if some of them had crammed into the cargo area in the very back. But they would have guns. That took space. So maybe just sixteen.
Robie called out softly to her. “Ready.” He held two wires in his hand and was about to cross them.
Reel took her optics from her small backpack, slipped them on, and fired them up. She rested her pistols on top of a metal trash can.
The same voice said, “You have ten seconds to decide, then the option is no longer available.”
“Three…two…one,” said Robie.
He crossed the wires and the big Bentley roared to life.
Robie was glad whoever had last parked it had backed the Bentley in. It would be dicey enough without having to cut a J-turn under these conditions.
The men outside charged toward the garage, firing their weapons.
And revealing their positions.
Reel fired, methodically, unhurried but with pinpoint accuracy.
Four men who had exposed themselves with their muzzle flashes fell dead, while the others took cover.
“Move, Jess,” cried out Robie.
She sprinted across the garage floor as bullets ripped through the space. Reel tumbled into the front seat of the Bentley and then immediately slipped over into the backseat. She rolled down both windows, a pistol in each hand.
“Hit it!” she said.
Robie put the Bentley in gear and slammed down the gas. The big car lurched forward and smashed through the garage door, sending big chunks of it flying away.
They heard a scream and a thunk and then another body fell, presumably by collision with a part of the garage door or the car.
The Bentley careened down the driveway. They were taking fire from all sides now. Robie sat low in the seat, his head barely above the dash. He was glad that the old Bentley was built like a tank with heavy metal sides. He jerked the wheel to the right and clipped a guy reloading his weapon, sending him sailing away where he slammed into a pile of burned objects that had probably been carried out of the house earlier by the fire department.
Reel was firing out of each of the open rear windows. She wasn’t firing wildly but she wasn’t necessarily firing at targets, either. She just needed to get them through this gauntlet.
Glass exploded as a round wiped out the Bentley’s rear window. Bullets hit a front tire and a rear tire, shredding them. Still, Robie kept the accelerator flat to the floor and the Bentley kept moving, though not as smoothly.
The windshield exploded as multiple rounds hit it. Robie ducked in time but he heard Reel grunt from the backseat.
“You okay?” he called out.
“Just keep going,” she yelled back.
Robie swerved to avoid one of the SUVs, which caused the Bentley to crash into the other one. It moved the other vehicle enough to get by and the front right wheel of the SUV was pushed in, making the truck inoperable.
Seconds later they were through the gate. Robie hung a left when the car hit the asphalt, and the wounded Bentley rumbled down the road.
Robie glanced in the backseat. He saw the blood on Reel’s face.
“How bad?”
“Not bad.” She paused and added, “But it’s getting in my eyes. This car have a first aid kit?”
Robie popped open the glove box, and fumbled through it as he drove.
He pulled things out, tossing them on the passenger seat.
His fingers finally closed around the small, plastic box.
“Here,” he said, tossing the tiny first aid kit to her.
Robie glanced back and then down at the passenger seat.
His gaze fixed for a moment on what he was seeing.
A photo. It was bent and creased.
He picked it up.
The recognition was immediate.
Laura Barksdale.
He put it in his pocket.
Then he heard Reel hiss.
“Robie, they’re coming.”
Chapter
61
ROBIE HAD MADE a mistake. He had disabled one SUV using the Bentley as a battering ram, but he had left the other intact.
That error could end up killing them. He could understand making mistakes playing detective, but this sort of thing was what he did for a living. He had definitely lost his mojo. He might never have a chance to get it back now.
The SUV was right behind them and gaining, as the shot-up Bentley on its shredded tires continued to slow.
“We’re running on nearly metal,” said Robie. “And I smell fuel.”
“I know,” said Reel, who was being pitched and tossed across the backseat.
The next volley of bullets shredded the rear of the Bentley.
Reel dove to the floorboard just in time as glass and metal and leather blew around the car’s interior.
Robie felt blood rush down his face as something struck him.
He wiped the blood away and looked back. The SUV was right on them. He could see men leaning out the windows.
“They’ve got MP5s,” called out Reel, who was watching this, too.
They heard the sirens wailing and engines roaring.
“Cavalry’s on its way,” said Reel.
Robie nodded. Only the cavalry would be seriously outgunned.
Robie kept the gas pedal pressed to the floor, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough.
“Hang on,” he told Reel as he slid on his seat belt. “And toss me a pistol.”
She gave him his Glock, buckled her belt, and then braced her feet against the back of the passenger seat.
Robie screeched the Bentley into a one-eighty, losing hubcaps, more rubber, and other bits and pieces of the once stately car.
He slammed down on the gas and they were flying right at the SUV.
This was a clear game of chicken, with a twist.
Robie aimed his gun where the windshield had been and fired his entire mag at the windshield of the SUV. It shattered and blood spurted against the glass as the SUV swerved to Robie’s right.
Robie cut his wheel, sending the lumbering Bentley to the left.
The vehicles still passed so close to each other that the side mirrors collided and snapped off.
Robie could see the SUV driver was slumped over the wheel, the man next to him as well.
Two men appeared at the rear windows and prepared to strafe Robie with fire from their MP5s.
First one man and then the next stiffened as the rounds fired by Reel from the Bentley’s backseat slammed into them.
Then the Bentley was past the driverless SUV, which slid onto the shoulder, flipped, hit a tree, and exploded.
“Robie, we’re on fire!”
Robie looked in the rearview and saw flames flickering from the rear of the car.
He slammed on the brakes, slipped off his belt, and kicked open the door.
Reel called out, “My seat belt’s jammed.”
Robie reached back over the seat.
“Go, Robie, go!”
He ignored her and tried not to look at the flames creeping up the back of the trunk. When the vapor in the gas tank ignited, they were dead.
Robie slid the knife out of his belt compartment, placed its cutting edge under Reel’s belt, and jerked. The belt was cut, but not all the way.
“Will you get the hell out of here?” cried out Reel. “It’s going to blow.”
“Shut up!” snapped Robie.
He made one more cut and the belt broke clean.
He pulled Reel over into the front seat, then they both fled out the driver’s-side door.
They were twenty feet from the Bentley when the vapor ignited.
The concussive force knocked them off their feet, sending them tumbling head over heels across the uneven ground. They landed hard near the tree line.
And neither moved after that.
* * *
“Robie? Robie!”
Something slapped his face. Robie slowly opened his eyes.
Taggert stared back down at him.
“Are you dead or what?” she said flatly.
Robie slowly sat up then flinched in pain and grabbed at his arm.
“You shot?” asked Taggert.
He shook his head, unbuttoned his shirt, and slid it off.
His scar tissue had completely torn along with maybe some other things.
“Damn,” said Taggert. “That looks like it hurts.”
He pulled his shirt back on. “Must’ve happened when the car exploded.”
He looked over as Reel came to and sat up.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Okay?” exclaimed Taggert. “Damn, you two definitely do not look okay.”
Beside her were two state troopers in full riot gear.
Robie said, “The other guys look worse. Pretty sure they’re all dead.”
“They are, least the ones in that truck over there. Burnt to a crisp.”
“Well, we shot most of them before that happened,” said Reel.
One of the state troopers looked at her. “You mean while you were driving?”
Reel looked at him. “Well, they weren’t polite enough to stop so I could shoot them standing still.”
Robie said, “This started at Clancy’s house. There are other guys back there.”
Taggert looked at the troopers. “Better go check that out. I’ll stay with them. And call in some reinforcements. This ain’t a crime scene, it’s a damn war zone.”
The troopers hurried off and Taggert looked back at the pair. “I can call an ambulance.”
“Who needs an ambulance?” asked Reel.
“Hell, if only you could see yourselves. Blood everywhere.”
“All superficial.”
“Yeah, we’ll let the docs confirm that if you don’t mind.”
“Later, Taggert,” said Robie.
“Okay, so why don’t you tell me what you were doing at Clancy’s?”
“It’s a long story,” said Robie.
Taggert squatted next to him. “Well, I got nothin’ but time.”
Chapter
62
ANY MEN LEFT alive back at Clancy’s had apparently escaped on foot, because the damaged SUV was still there.
Robie and Reel spent hours going over what had happened.
When Monda arrived, Robie showed the sheriff and Taggert the bullet hole in the Range Rover in the garage.
“So this was the vehicle you shot at?” said Monda, running his hand over the damaged metal.
“Yes. Which also means that Sara Chisum’s killer was driving it.”
“I’ll get the forensics team out here to go over this thing,” said Monda. “What else?”
“Bobby Wendell gave us the heads-up about these guys gunning for us.”
Monda looked surprised by this. “So he’s more or less admittin’ that he was involved?”
“Maybe less than more. But he’s out of the country by now with his family.”
“What!” exclaimed Monda.
“He was concerned about his family’s safety,” explained Robie. “Don’t know if he’s coming back, but I don’t think he murdered anybody. So he can keep.”
“Damn it to hell, Robie,” said Monda. “I got people to answer to.”
“Well, you weren’t interested in going after him before.”
“Well, the situation has changed. I got me dead bodies all over the damn place. I don’t like it, not one bit.”
Robie rubbed his injured arm. “Well, I can’t say I care for it either.”
Taggert noted this and said, “Okay, you and Reel ought to go get checked out.”
Monda said, “I’ll drive you. We can talk some more.”
“No thanks, Sheriff. We have a car here. We can drive ourselves.”
“I’ll call Doc Holloway,” said Monda. “He’s an early riser. You know where his office is?”
Robie nodded.
He and Reel climbed into their car and drove off.
Reel drove because Robie was having trouble with his arm.
“Bad?” she said.
“Old wound just got worse.”
“That one was my fault. But you should have had it fixed before now.”
“Famous last words.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo.
Reel glanced at it.
“Who is she?”
“Laura Barksdale.”
“Your old flame? Where’d you get it?”
“It was in the glove compartment of the Bentley.”
“What do you think it was doing there?”
“I don’t know. But there has to be a reason it was there.”
“Do you think it’s connected to what’s been going on?” asked Reel.
“Again, I don’t know. But we need to find out.”
“Sherman’s dead.”
“But Pete’s not.”
“And he might have been driving the Range Rover. But you don’t think he killed Sara Chisum?”
“I didn’t. Now I’m not so sure. But I want to ask him about this picture.”
“Did you ever find out what happened to the Barksdales?”
The Guilty Page 35
