by Carolina Mac
“This is so goddam iffy,” said Blaine, “it’s giving me the shakes.”
“Ask Misty,” said Fletch. “See if she knows.”
“Umm… I guess I could,” said Blaine. To: Lane and Pablo, “My girlfriend, Misty is a psychic and she feels things.” He pointed at his own chest. “I’m not a believer in any of that stuff but she has solved several cases for us. I only ask her when we’re stuck and keep it totally out of the media. I don’t want her in any kind of a spotlight. She’s too… vulnerable.”
“Who’s too vulnerable?” Misty floated into the room to put the kettle on for her morning tea. Her long flowing caftan swirled around her legs while long blonde curls covered part of her face. Tall and beautiful, she filled the room with her presence.
“You are, sweetheart. Come over here and meet Lane and Pablo. They’ve joined the Agency.”
Misty gave them a smile and rested a hand on Blaine’s neck. “Why were you talking about me?”
“The Churchill case has no leads and we’re not even sure the shooter had the right condo,” said Blaine. “Any thoughts?”
“Are you asking me to help?”
Blaine ginned. “Misty never volunteers anything. She waits until I ask her to help.”
“Then ask her,” said Farrell.
“I’d have to get closer to the subject,” she said.
“The funeral is at eleven,” said Farrell.
“I’ll get dressed after I have my tea.”
“We’ll leave at ten,” said Blaine. “We have to pick Cat up on the way.”
Misty floated back to the stove and poured hot water into her cup. “The Cat doesn’t like me.” She fished the teabag out with a spoon and tossed it out.
“Too fuckin bad,” said Blaine. “If I want you to go, you’re damn well going.”
Misty giggled. “I love it when you do your ganger thing.”
Blaine shook his head. “Go get ready.”
“What are we doing, boss?” asked Pablo and pointed a finger at himself and then at Lane.
“Fletch is with Farrell downtown, then they are with the Chief for an hour updating him. You two are with us at the funeral home, cemetery and at the reception afterwards. To Lil: “Do we know where the reception is for Mrs. Churchill?”
Lil raised a perfectly drawn eyebrow. “Didn’t your BFF tell you, boss? Catherine is hosting the reception.”
Blaine was on his feet hollering. “Godammit, Lil, why wouldn’t she tell me something as fuckin important as that? Jesus Christ, that woman drives me goddam fucking nuts.” He spun off a huge string of curses in Spanish and Pablo chuckled.
“If that draws the media and the shooter to the goddam Governor’s mansion we are in the high shits. Does Gene know what’s going down?”
“He must,” said Lil. “The poor guy copes with her every day.”
The short fuse blew. “Fuck me blind.” Blaine kicked a chair and knocked it over.
EWING woke at dawn and strode to the kitchen in search of coffee. He’d slept through the night and that hadn’t happened in years. After a few beers the night before he ended up pretty drunk. Not used to much alcohol. Every now and then he’d get some smuggled booze in prison, but it wasn’t a daily event. Not in his run anyway.
“Shit, you startled me, Ew.” Mattie, Ewing’s former live in, wearing only a short blue t-shirt and pink panties, jumped and dropped her glass in the sink.
Ewing eyed her bare legs and moved closer. “What the hell are you doing up?”
“I work at seven.”
Ewing wrapped two muscled up arms around her from behind and pushed her into the sink cabinet, his erection prodding her. “We’ve got time for a quickie,” he whispered into her hair.
“Don’t, Ew.” She jerked away from him, almost lost her balance and grabbed hold of the fridge handle to keep her on her feet. “I’m not screwing around with you. I’m with your brother now and we’re happy.”
“Don’t give me that faithful shit, Matts. I know all about you, remember?”
“I do remember and that’s how I know I’m way better off with Lou. He’s nice to me.”
“Come on, Mattie. I can be nice too.” He clamped a big hand around her wrist, pulled her close to him and covered her mouth with his.
Mattie shoved him away and hollered, “Don’t. Get away from me. This is not happening.”
“It is happening and it’s happening right now.” Ewing grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her down on the kitchen floor. He ripped off her underwear and was on top of her in seconds.
Mattie screamed, and Ewing slapped her hard across the face. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. You’re mine and I’m taking you back.”
“Get off her,” hollered Lou. He crossed the small kitchen in three strides and grabbed his brother by the hair. Lou tipped Ewing’s head back and smashed him in the face three times with his right fist before Ewing twisted away from him and jumped to his feet.
“Get out of my house,” hollered Lou.
Mattie sobbed as Lou helped her up. “Go in the bathroom and lock the door, Matts. I want to talk to Ewing.”
Mattie scampered off and Lou shoved Ewing up against the counter. Blood gushed from his brother’s nose and he ignored it. “We are done. That was low, Ewing. Goddam low. Get out of my life and stay out.”
“I ain’t going.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I said no.” He gave Lou a brutal shove. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“As if.”
Ewing flew at Lou, wrapped his arm around his brother’s neck in a choke hold and squeezed. “Give me a week. That’s all I need.” He threw Lou crashing onto the tile floor gasping for breath.
FARRELL parked his truck in the Starbuck’s lot. “We’ll walk from here, Fletch, and grab a coffee when we come back.”
“How many guys you got on your little underground info squad?”
“Building it up, one asshole at a time,” said Farrell. “To them, we’re nothing but cops, so it’s hard to get them on board. They don’t believe that there’s anything in it for them at first, and once you get them over that hurdle, it goes better.”
Fletcher followed Farrell down a narrow alleyway between a boarded up boxing gym and a tattoo parlour not yet open for business. Farrell stopped when they reached the dumpster and waved Fletch back behind him. “Hey, Kamps, how goes it?”
“Not worth a flying fuck, thanks.”
“What’s Bud Palatka talking about these days?”
“Heavy, man. Everybody’s waiting. That’s heavy shit and it’s gonna cost you huge.”
“How huge?”
“Two K.”
Farrell laughed. “You’re shitting me. Ain’t nothing worth that much, at least not to me. Boss will have to okay it.”
“He better be fuckin quick.”
“How quick?”
Kamps took off running down the alley and he was gone.
“Shit,” said Farrell, “that was useless.”
They left the alley and walked down the block to Starbucks’. Inside Farrell bought coffee and two Danish and led the way to one of the little round tables.
“What could be that huge?” asked Fletch as he stirred sugar into his coffee.
“Damned if I know. I’ve never paid anybody over five Benjamin’s for info. Blacky will have to okay it.”
“Kamps said it better be quick. Something must be going down soon.”
Farrell took a bite of his Danish. “That’s the part that’s worrying me.”
AT TEN, Blaine, Misty, Lane and Pablo were in the foyer about to leave for the funeral home when Cat phoned.
“I’m on my way to get you, sweetie. I can’t ride in the truck with this suit I’m wearing. The skirt is too narrow.”
“Cat, why didn’t you tell me you were hosting the reception?”
“Didn’t I mention it?”
“You know damn well you didn’t.” Blaine didn’t mean to holler at her, but he did anyway. “This is a
goddam murder investigation, Governor. I need to know everything. Every fuckin detail.”
“Don’t be mad at me today, honey. I’m already crying over Sienna.”
“Sorry. I know you’re sad.” He ended the call and said, “Cat’s playing the sympathy card and fuckin me over. Misty and I will have to go with her in the limo. You guys drive my truck in case we need a vehicle at any of the venues. Follow Special Agent Wyman. Gene will be behind the limo, then you guys.”
Lane smiled. “You trust us to drive the mean machine, boss?”
Blaine nodded. “I trust you’ll be extra careful.” He tossed the keys in the air and Pablo grabbed for them.
“Let’s go partner.”
FARRELL and Fletch bought coffee to go when they left Starbucks and included a large double double for Chief Calhoun along with his favorite raspberry turnover.
“You gonna call the boss and ask him about the two K for the snitch?”
Farrell checked the Rolex Annie had given him for his birthday and nodded. “I better call before he gets to the funeral home.”
Blacky answered on the first ring. “Talk to Kamps?”
“Yep, and he tried for a big score.”
“What did he tell you about Bud Palatka?”
“He said it was so huge it was worth two K. I had to check with you first, and that’s what I told him.”
“Shit. Two thousand bucks? We’ve never paid that much—to anybody.”
“I’m parking at DPS,” said Farrell, “want me to run it by the Chief?”
“Yeah, do that and call me back. We’re at the funeral home so I won’t answer you right away.”
“Did you talk to Gene?”
“Doing it now, before we go inside.”
“Be careful, bro.”
“I will.”
Farrell tapped twice on the Chief’s door and opened it.
“Tell me you have a lead, Farrell,” said the Chief. “The goddam media have been calling all morning. They’re all freaked out because the funeral is today, I guess.”
“Yeah, could be it,” said Farrell, “or it could be the weather.” He handed the Chief the turnover bag. “This might cheer you up.”
The Chief raised an eyebrow and looked in the bag. “Why does a raspberry turnover make me think y’all are going to give me shit news?”
Farrell told him about the meet with Kamps.
“Two thousand without a hint of what it’s about?”
“Uh huh.”
“And he said, ‘make it quick’ or something like that?”
“Yep. What’s you’re take on it?”
“Ewing Thompson is a threat every second of the day that he’s free. I put him behind bars when he pulled his first round of credit union robberies. Strike one.”
“You did?” asked Farrell, “Jesus, Chief, don’t say that. What if he wants to get even with you as well as the DA?”
“They all want to get even, but very few follow through. You can’t let it bother you or you can’t do your job.”
“Just say’n,” said Farrell, “maybe we should take some precautions. When Blacky finds out, he won’t be happy.”
“Then don’t tell him,” said the Chief. “The kid’s load is way too heavy and he has way too many worries already.”
THE YOUNG-ELLIOTT FUNERAL HOME was one of the newest and most elegant in Austin. Perched on a hill in the Rollingwood area of the city, the stone façade was reminiscent of an ancient fortress.
The Governor’s driver, Special Agent Roderick, slowed the limo as he approached the porte cochere at the front entrance. Between leaving the Blackmore Agency and arriving at its destination, the limo had picked up a media convoy a quarter mile long. The fuckers joined in like clowns in a circus parade.
“Damn it, girls, the goddam media is gonna mob us when we get out.”
Cat smiled. “Tell them to fuck off, sweetie. You’re so good at it.”
“Amusing,” said Blaine. “Let’s get you two inside.”
Gene Wyman was on the job and staved off the onrush with a wave of his hand—long enough to allow Misty and Cat to mount the steps in their high heels and disappear through the heavy oak doors.
Blaine was another story. Reporters crowded in and shouted questions without letup.
“Do you have a suspect in custody?”
“Who shot Mrs. Churchill?”
“Is there a serial killer loose in the city?”
“Why is Governor Campbell attending the funeral?”
“Will the Governor be making a statement?”
Blaine held up a hand and waited until the noise died down. “I have people downtown working with Chief Calhoun,” said Blaine. “Something will break soon, and the minute it does, Mary will have something for y’all and I’ll give a short interview at DPS.”
“Sounds like you’re blowing smoke, Ranger B. Not like you at all.”
He turned his back and went inside.
Blaine squeezed into the pew beside Cat and Misty and sat through the lengthy service with a feeling of unease. Something was wrong with the energy. Misty was rubbing off on him and he didn’t like it one bit. He was a goddam scientist and he followed the evidence, not invisible vibes swirling around his head like a swarm of gnats.
Catherine was last to speak, and Blaine stepped into the aisle, waited for the Governor to stand, then took her arm and led her to the lectern. She whispered a thank you, then unfolded her notes.
“I stand before you today, not as the Governor of Texas, but as the broken-hearted friend of Sienna Churchill.” She dabbed at her eyes and went on with her memories of their friendship throughout the years.
After a final hymn and the last prayer, the service ended, and the congregation exited the building.
Lane and Pablo were stationed one at the front entrance, and one at the back of the building and Blaine collected them as soon as the Governor and Misty were safely in the limo, and Mr. Churchill was in the funeral car.
“Nothing happened, boss,” said Lane, “except for the media roaming around trying to get shots of the building from different angles.”
“Annoying,” said Blaine. “Okay, let’s move on to the cemetery. Churchill will be standing outside, so trees, any overlook can be a threat.”
“Yep, we’ll go ahead,” said Pablo. “We have the address.”
THICK, DARK CLOUDS hung ominously over Oak Park Cemetery and a sprinkling of drizzle began to fall as Blaine exited the limo and held out his hand for Misty, and then for Cat to step out of the vehicle.
The black town car transporting Bartley Churchill was parked on the narrow cemetery road close to the freshly dug grave.
Misty had expressed a wish to stand close to both Bartley and his deceased wife at the same time to experience any energy, visions or feelings headed her way.
Cat had raised a doubting eyebrow in the limo listening to Misty whisper what she needed to do, but the Governor held her tongue. An almost impossible chore for her, but she had managed. Criticizing Misty and pointing out how wrong she was for Blaine, was one of Cat’s favorite pastimes.
Gene and his crew of State security people were on gate duty keeping all media personnel out of the cemetery and away from the Governor. One small blessing.
Blaine did a three sixty locating Pablo and Lane, hoping they’d had time to sweep the whole cemetery, an impossibility once he realized the acreage involved. In the time they’d had, possibly they’d cleared the grounds surrounding the burial plot, before the arrival of the hearse.
He pulled his Beretta out of the harness inside his suit jacket and shoved it into his waistband. Cat noticed and mentioned it. “Just a precaution.”
“Don’t even hint something is going to happen here at the cemetery.”
“I won’t.” He hooked one arm though each of the women and escorted them to join the crowd assembled at Sienna’s grave.
Bartley Churchill stood next to the minister at the edge of the grave, his hands clasped in front of h
im and his head bowed.
After the short interment service, the minister invited the bereaved to select a flower from one of the plethora of bouquets surrounding the grave and toss it on the coffin with their prayers.
Cat took Bartley’s arm and moved him forward. She chose a white rose for each of them and they moved close enough to the edge of Sienna’s grave to toss their flowers.
With Blaine holding her arm, Misty stayed close behind Bartley Churchill. She bent down, picked up a flower and intending to toss it in, for any who happened to be watching, she feigned a misstep, caught herself with Blaine’s help, and bent low enough to brush her hand along the coffin.
Blaine heard the tiny mewling sound escape from her lips as her fingers made contact with the wood, but he was sure no one else did. He pulled her up, held her close with an arm snugly around her slim waist and whisked her away from the gravesite.
“Let’s get you back in the limo, sweetheart. I don’t want you standing out in the open anywhere near Mr. Churchill.”
Blaine walked her to the waiting limo and Agent Roderick opened the back door. “I’ll go back and get Cat.”
Misty beckoned him closer and whispered. “She caught him cheating and she was extremely angry.”
“Oh,” said Blaine. “Cat said they had no problems.”
“Wrong. There was a big problem.”
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”
Rain pelted down in earnest by the time Blaine wrenched Cat away from Bartley Churchill’s side and encouraged her to get out of the weather and back to the safety of the Governor’s mansion.
“He wouldn’t leave her grave,” she said. He seems so defeated and convinced it was all his fault,” she said.
“It could have been,” said Blaine. “Time will tell.”
“What do you mean by that? Do you know something you haven’t told me?”
“No, I don’t, Cat. I’m only making conversation and speculating.”
“Well don’t do it today. I don’t want to hear it.”
Blaine’s cell rang, and he was saved for the moment. He listened to Jack. “Where are you?”
“Mr. Thompson is cruising by his old address. According to his jacket, he lived in a four-plex on this street before his last conviction.”
