Double Down

by Carolina Mac

  BLAINE SAT FROZEN like a statue in the corner of the room, watching the boys sleep and wondering what to do next. Lost in his thoughts, his head dropped forward and he dozed off.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping when his phone signaled a text message and woke him up. He checked the screen. Enright.

  “Fabiana’s body was delivered to my house. I buried her out back. I have things I need to do.”

  Blaine spent time in the bathroom with the door locked. He was sick twice, then he took a long, hot shower. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more depressed and useless. He had failed Mrs. Flores and worse than that, he had failed

  Fabiana. He dressed and booked a flight home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE FLIGHT FROM Columbia wasn’t direct, but it was the first one Blaine could get, and he had never wanted to leave a country so badly. A sense of failure and grief pressed down on him so heavily he found it hard to breathe.

  The flight took them frustratingly close to home, then routed them through the hub in DFW with an hour layover. Most of the night was wasted. They could’ve driven down from Dallas faster if that had been an option. As it was, the plane touched down in Austin at eight forty-five in the morning and the Blackmore crew were a sorry looking lot.

  “If I don’t get some fuckin coffee,” said Farrell, “I’m

  gonna kill some innocent son of a bitch.” He glanced around for a likely victim.

  “Hope it isn’t me,” said Travis, “I’ll have to kill you right back.”

  “Let’s get the truck,” said Blaine, although he didn’t feel like the voice of reason, “and we’ll drive through the first place we come to on the way out of the city.”

  “Deal, boss,” said Farrell. “I know how much pain you’re in right about now, and I’d give my left nut to make you feel better. I swear it.”

  Blaine smiled at Farrell and tried to remember where he’d left his big diesel. Why can’t I think?

  “Down that row.” Travis pointed. “I’m pretty sure.”

  They found the truck, tossed their luggage in the back, stopped for coffee at a Starbuck’s drive-through and headed for La Grange. “I’ll let you out here in front of the store, Trav, I’ve got to stop at the hospital to see Jacks before I go home.”

  Travis hopped out, then turned and snarled, “I bet a hundred bucks Ogilvie somehow caused Jacks to get hurt. That son of a bitch should be put away.”

  JACKSON SAT in a crib in a private room on the pediatric floor, his left leg bandaged and immobilized with a splint. He was laughing and playing a board game with Annie and Race.

  “Hey, you don’t look sick,” said Blaine as he walked through the door. “I bet you’re faking, buddy.”

  “I ain’t faking, Blaine. Almost chopped off my leg on that old straw fork in Cochise’s stall. My blood all came out and I had to get a fusion from Daddy.”

  “Oh, yeah? All your blood came out?” Blaine smiled at him. “You’re lucky your dad has the right kind of blood for you.”

  Race grinned and Blaine wanted to kill him more than ever.

  “Not too many peoples have AB-neg. But me, and Daddy and Papa Lance do. Daddy said we’re special.”

  Farrell leaned over the crib and messed up Jackson’s long, dark hair. “Gonna get a cast on after that splint comes off?”

  “Don’t know, Farrell, but I’m fixin to find out tomorrow before I go home.”

  Annie stood up and hugged first Blaine and then Farrell.

  “Where’s Jesse?” asked Blaine. “Thought he’d be here.”

  “He’s spending some time at the trailer,” said Annie. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Blaine raised a dark brow at Annie’s tone and sensed something had run amok. Had to be connected to Race. Every fuckin foul thing was.

  “You must have found Fab if you’re back. Her mother will be happy.”

  Blaine shook his head and paused for a deep breath. “I’m going home for a shower, then I have to drive back to Austin to see Mrs. Flores.”

  Annie trigged in and her eyes welled up. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you still cared about her.”

  AFTER A LONG, hot shower and putting off the inevitable as long as possible, Blaine drove to Austin. As he fought his way through the traffic on East Cesar Chavez, he rehearsed in his head what he would say to Mrs. Flores. No matter which way he turned it around, there was no good way to tell the woman that her only daughter was dead.

  He parked on the freshly asphalted driveway and jumped out of his truck. The old place did look better. He glanced at the pale green paint colour he had picked for the exterior thinking Fabiana might like it—now, she’d never see it. The grass was cut, and the flower beds weeded. The new porch steps were solid as a rock as he mounted them and crossed to the door. He rang the bell and held his breath as he waited.

  Mrs. Flores smiled at him as she pulled open the door, then she studied his face and she knew. All his worrying about what he would say, and he didn’t have to utter a word.

  He stepped into the front hall, held the sobbing woman in his arms until she could draw a breath, then helped her into the parlour to lie down. He searched the kitchen, found a

  bottle of wine and poured a glass for each of them.

  Blaine didn’t care much for wine, but there was no way in hell he would let Mrs. Flores drink alone. Not on this day.

  WITH ONE OF the worst things he’d ever had to do out of the way, Blaine drove through the first McDonald’s he came to, ordered a large coffee and parked behind the restaurant. He called Governor Richardson and filled him in on everything that had gone down in Columbia.

  “A bad one for you, son. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “We insured that a lot of cocaine won’t hit the streets in

  Texas or anywhere else, but the cost was high.”

  “I’ve kept my ear to the ground,” said Richardson, “but I haven’t heard a thing about Markwood or about Zahn’s

  murder, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll call Lopez and get it straight from the horse’s mouth,” said Blaine. “But not until tomorrow. A few things I have to take care of first.”

  “You don’t have to go back to work tomorrow, son. You’ve suffered a huge personal loss. Take a few days off.”

  “Uh huh. I am feeling a bit down.”

  “Of course, you would. Is Annie well?” Always a priority for the Governor. He'd been in love with her for years.

  “Jackson had a little accident at the barn that called for a few stitches. He’s coming home from the hospital today.”

  The Governor’s voice took a different tone. “Is Annie still allowing Ogilvie to live at the ranch, so Jackson can have

  contact with his father? I can’t see where that was ever a good idea. How much wholesome input can a murderer give a young child?”

  “I always campaigned on behalf of the negative vote on that one, sir. Race can’t leave soon enough for me.”

  “I’ve spoken to Annie on that very subject a number of times, but it does no good.” He sighed. “Let me know if Lopez gives you anything tomorrow. I want to be kept in the loop.”

  “Yes, sir. You’re always in the loop.”

  JESSE WAS NEXT on Blaine’s list. Had the whole world gone to hell in the last few days? He left Austin and had a lot of time to think on his half-hour drive to Giddings. No matter what, he wouldn’t let Race destroy Annie’s marriage to Jesse.

  Blaine parked beside Jesse’s Jeep and noticed one of the blue Quantrall farm trucks parked here at the trailer too—probably Tyler or Paul.

  Red and Bluebelle raised a big ruckus when he opened the door. Blaine dropped down on one knee and hugged both the big bloodhounds. “Hey, I missed you both.”

  “They missed you too,” Jesse strolled out of the bedroom, and Blaine guessed he’d been lying down. Brian followed him into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Brian,” said Blaine, “Your patient misbehaving?”

  Brian
set his bag on the table and managed a wry smile. “Sure is, Blaine. He’s a hard case to monitor.”

  “Got a beer for me?” Blaine slouched down on the pine bench by the window.

  “Sure do.” Jesse went to the fridge. “Need to lay in some provisions here in the back five hundred. Haven’t been here for a long while.”

  “You planning on staying more than a day or two?”

  Jesse handed cans of Lone Star to Blaine and to his

  brother, and popped the top on his own can.

  Brian answered for Jesse. “I think it’s best for Jesse to be here at Quantrall. I’m trying to persuade him to stay at the main house, but that would make it too easy for me.”

  Jesse sat down at the table and grinned. “Nothing I like better than giving my brothers a hard time.”

  Blaine tipped up his beer and finished it. “I’m sorry things aren’t going well for you, Jesse. But I know Race, and what kind of a prick he can be without even trying. I get where you’re coming from.”

  “There’s no choice in the matter right now,” said Brian. “Jesse has to choose a more tranquil lifestyle.”

  Jesus, his heart is worse than I thought.

  “I understand,” said Blaine.

  DINNER WAS UNDERWAY at Coulter-Ross when Blaine arrived home. Dog-tired, depressed, and downright annoyed with the way a number of things were going in his life, he wasn’t at his best.

  “Good, you’re home, sweetheart,” said Annie when she saw him at the kitchen door, “I’ll get you a plate.”

  “I’m not hungry, Mom. It hasn’t been a good day.”

  Annie pointed at the chair where he always sat and obediently, Blaine slouched into it. He happened to look up and caught Race watching him from the head of the table.

  Race is sitting in Jesse’s seat. I’ll kill the fucker.

  “You okay, Blacky?” asked Farrell, “You look beat.”

  “Yeah, shit day, and I’ll have to do interviews again this week. I hate that.”

  “Too bad, Logan was such a jerk,” said Farrell, “I thought at first he might fit in.”

  “Some people are born jerks,” said Race helping himself to another piece of lemon pie.

  You called it, buddy, and you’re top of the heap.

  Blaine nodded and didn’t let his short fuse get the best of him—at least, not this time. The dinner table wasn’t the proper place to kill somebody.

  The crowd cleared out of the kitchen after dinner. Race swaggered onto the porch to smoke, and Blaine lingered

  behind to talk to Annie. He stood close to her, loading the dishwasher while she rinsed the plates.

  “I went to the trailer this afternoon to see Jesse,” he said for openers.

  She held a plate under the faucet and didn’t look at Blaine. “How is he?”

  “That’s all you can say about your husband? How is he? Come on, Annie, this is all on you. You have to do something about this situation. Jesse is a good man—the best. And you can’t sacrifice a good man like Jesse Quantrall for a piece of work like Race Ogilvie. He ain’t worth it—not to you and not to Jackson.”

  “Race saved Jackson’s life and it made me think—what if something like that happens again, later in Jackson’s life, and Race is miles away? I can’t ask Race to leave.”

  “You could, but you won’t.”

  “No, I won’t, because I can’t. Race means too much to Jacks. It would break his heart if his father left.”

  Anger flooded through Blaine and he was close to losing control. Never had he been so disappointed in Annie. They always talked things through, and most times they were on the same page. Always. Not this time.

  He grabbed a beer from the Sub-Zero and went to find Farrell.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Monday, March 13th.

  BLAINE SHOWERED and dressed early. He was the first one in the kitchen and had the coffee made when Race

  wandered in barefoot, wearing only a pair of torn jeans.

  “Thought I was the first one up,” said Race. “What’s up your ass so early in the day, kid?”

  He always used to call me ‘kid’ before he drowned. Too bad he didn’t drown all the way. Fuck.

  “Got a heavy day. Interviews and stuff.”

  “If I was better with a gun, I could work for you.”

  Blaine shook his head knowing Race was baiting him. “You could never work for me, Race. You don’t know how to follow an order or take direction.”

  Race sat on one of the stools and leaned his elbows on the granite island. “You got that right. I’d have to be the boss.”

  “You’ve got your hands full here on the ranch, just being you.”

  Dark eyes flashed, and Race’s voice took on an edge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Blaine shrugged and pulled two mugs out of the overhead

  cabinet. “Want a coffee?”

  “Yep. And if we’re having a Monday morning open forum here, I just want to say, I don’t want to be on the outs with you, kid. If you come between me and Annie, I’ll have to kill you.”

  Blaine set Race’s mug down in front of him and looked him in the eye. “Just so we’re clear, Race, I’m doubling down on that.”

  STILL FUMING at Race, Blaine sat in the office at the back of the house, making calls and arranging interviews for later in the day. Between calls, his cell rang. Lopez.

  “Morning Detective, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Most of my calls are about a corpse, Blacky. This one ain’t any different.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “A guy named Philip Markwood, bigshot in the DEA here in Texas, didn’t show up for work this morning. His right hand drove by his house to check on him and found him still in bed, but unable to get up.” As least we’re fairly sure it’s him. The forty-five round between his eyes altered his appearance a little.”

  “Can I take a look at the scene?”

  “Be my guest, Blacky. Come on up to Austin and drop some insight on me. Write down this address.”

  “Yep, I’ll be there shortly. I’d better let the Governor know. Lately, he’s had a special interest in Mr. Markwood.”

  “Oh, yeah? Is the ‘why’ of it any of my business?”

  “I don’t think so. More of an ongoing personal thing, I think.”

  “Nothing more personal than murder, my boy.”

  “Uh huh. That’s true. See you soon.”

  Farrell tapped on the door and stuck his head in. “What’s up for this morning, boss?”

  “Crime scene. Somebody did us a huge favor and killed Phil Markwood.”

  “Enright?”

  “Side bets?”

  “Fifty,” said Farrell.

  “Can’t double you, bro. I think you’re right.”

  TRAVIS ARRIVED for work at Coulter-Ross and was parking his truck near the garage when Blaine and Farrell came out of the house. “We on our way out, boss?”

  Blaine nodded. “Markwood’s dead in his bed. Go get

  Jesse at the trailer and bring him to this address.” He handed Travis a post-it.

  “Yep.” Travis opened the door of his F-450 and lifted his boot onto the side-step. “He’ll be glad to be working.”

  Why is Jesse at his trailer and not here with his bride? Did I miss something?

  When Travis got to Quantrall, Jesse was ready and waiting on the porch of the main house.

  “Morning, boss, seems like we got work waiting for us this morning after all.”

  “Lopez called and filled me in,” said Jesse, “the Feds will be all over this one. One of their own n’all.”

  “They’ll try to push Austin PD out of the investigation, for sure,” said Travis. “Maybe the Governor wants it for us and he could throw his considerable weight around. You could see if it’s so.”

  Jesse smiled. “I could try.” He lowered his window and lit up a smoke. “Guess you’re wondering why I’m not at

  Coulter-Ross.”

  “N
ot that hard to figure out, boss. Same fuckin reason I wouldn’t be there—Race Ogilvie.”

  “Bingo.”

  MARKWOOD’S ADDRESS wasn’t far from the complex where Blaine found Zahn deceased on his sofa the week before. A little farther north off Butler Crescent was the two-storey condo, Philip Markwood had called home.

  Yellow tape was strung decoratively around the perimeter, and uniforms had dug in at the edges of the property to keep the media at bay. King of the Austin DEA office, dead between the sheets was excellent fodder for the news at noon.

  “Is there a rule that says the media has to be first, boss?”

  “I think so, bro. Maybe they killed Markwood, so they could be first with the story.”

  Farrell snorted and plunked magnetic strobes on top of the cab while Blaine concentrated on finding a parking spot in front of the condo. He squeezed in behind a black town car—Lopez—and shut off the big diesel engine.

  The officer on the street nodded to him and Farrell. “Drawing a crowd on this one, Mr. Blackmore. Y’all are here representing the Governor, if I’m correct.”

  “You are correct, sir,” said Farrell, “and it does look like a large gathering.”

  The uniform nodded towards the street. “Looks like we’re blessed with number one as well, if I’m right about the flag.”

  Blaine grinned. “Yep, you’re batting a thousand today.”

  The Governor’s driver let him out, then drove on to find a parking spot for the big beast. “Blaine, how are you, son?” Richardson shook Blaine’s hand. “Farrell, you must be tired from your trip to Columbia.”

  “A little sir, but we were successful in some respects.”

  “I heard Travis did some fancy chopper flying. Fantastic work. If the DEA had any sense, they’d give y’all medals.” Richardson stuck out his hand and shook with the uniformed officer. “Which way to the main event?”

  “Round the back, sir. Just follow the flagstone path.”

  Blaine led the way into the compound. This one entered through an iron gate into the courtyard the same as Zahn’s did. The dark green front door stood open for the crime scene techs who toted their equipment up the concrete steps.