by Carolina Mac
“If things go well, you might have very little to do. I used to work completely alone, and I prefer it, but I was wounded in one situation and after that backup was recommended.”
“Obviously I’ll be armed, but what kind of ordnance would be best?”
“You carry Steyr?”
“My preference, but I have others.”
“Besides your handgun you’ll need a shotgun for safety. I have several if you don’t have one.”
“I have a shotgun. It’s in my truck.”
“Okay, great.”
“Here’s the big question,” asked Lane. “What are you shooting?”
“Usually my Remington with the scope Jesse bought me for my birthday last year, but the past week I’ve been practicing on Blaine’s HK PSG1 with the Rampage and I like it a lot.”
She’s a sniper. Who would’ve guessed?
FARRELL parked near the entrance of the trailer park they’d located two side lines over from the liquor store crime scene. “Let’s show his picture door to door,” said Farrell, “and if you get a vibe from anybody, don’t go in solo. Got your ear bud in?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, talk to me so we’re covered. Thompson will kill us the second he knows we’re cops.”
“Okay,” said Pablo, “let’s see if we can find him. Did we have a description of the girl?”
“Only that she was thin and looked young—like a teenager.”
They worked their way around the small mobile home park—maybe twenty trailers—and nobody had seen Ewing Thompson. Only a couple more units on the last street and they’d be finished. Farrell knocked on a trailer door and a skinny young girl answered. She glanced at the picture and quickly answered in the negative.
“Never seen him.”
Farrell got a vibe from the girl and at the same time, Pablo was questioning a guy directly across the road.
Pablo spoke into his head set. “Over here, partner.”
Farrell figured the girl was lying but thanked her anyway and jogged across the road. “Problem, partner?”
“This gentleman said a guy with a gray Nissan backed out of the driveway across the street and smashed into his pickup.”
“Gray Nissan. That’s the vehicle we’re looking for. When was that, sir?” asked Farrell.
“Last night about ten, ten-thirty.”
“Did you get a look at the man in the car?” asked Pablo.
“Nah, it was dark, and I was so fuckin mad about the mess he put in the door of my truck. I’m gonna make the fucker pay for the body work. And I’ll have to get the whole damn thing repainted.”
“Good plan.” Farrell walked into the middle of the road and called Blaine. “Hey, boss. We got a possible at the trailer park. Fender bender involving a gray Nissan last night—about the time Thompson would be going to the liquor store.”
“Did you find the girl?”
“Yep, pretty sure she’s the one. She said she never seen him.”
“Bring her in. By then I’ll have an address for Sandy, the store clerk.”
“Roger that, boss.”
Farrell waved to Pablo and headed across the road. He stood on the little wooden porch in front of the girl’s trailer and knocked again.
“I said I ain’t seen him,” she opened the door a crack and hollered at Farrell.
Farrell pushed his way in and snapped a cuff on her slim wrist. “We’re going downtown to have a little private talk, Miss. What’s your name anyway?”
The girl stuck her tongue out at him. “Ain’t telling you.”
To Pablo: “Have a look around the trailer while I make this little lady comfortable in the truck.”
“Don’t touch anything in my trailer, you fuckers.” She tried to kick Farrell and he laughed. He lifted her off her feet, still kicking, and carried her to the truck.
BLAINE CALLED as Farrell and Pablo crossed through the city on their way to DPS. “Get her?”
“Yeah, be there in about twenty, bro. Might want to sit somebody on the trailer in case our friend goes back there.”
“Already sent Jack and Greg to keep an eye on it.”
“Don’t know where Thompson was when we were there,” said Farrell. “Might have split already.”
“Jesse is coming in for the interview, so you guys can go talk to Sandy.”
“Yeah, don’t give us time for a coffee or anything,” said Farrell.
EWING came back from the Walmart in Smithville driving a dark blue Chevy pickup. He cruised by Kirstin’s trailer and noticed the junk truck parked in a vacant lot at the end of the road.
“Cops,” he mumbled to himself. “I’ll catch them later.” He circled around and drove out the gate.
LILY AND FLETCHER followed Yugo, the bookie, from his arraignment to his house in the suburbs. Typical two storey brick on the edge of the city. He was home for an hour after his attorney dropped him off, then he jumped in his car and drove to the cake shop.
FARRELL AND PABLO drove to the ranch house where Alexander ‘Sandy’ Nehring lived with his parents. He worked at the convenience store part time in the evenings and attended community college striving for a diploma in diet and nutrition, so he could work in a hospital kitchen.
Farrell had called ahead and spoken to Sandy’s father and been given the green light to talk to his son about the robbery and murder next door to the Citgo.
When they arrived at the Nehring residence, Mrs. Nehring showed them into a small family room adjacent to the kitchen. “Would you like a cold drink?”
“No thanks,” said Farrell. “We’re fine.”
Sandy appeared from down the hall moments later and sat on the sofa. “Mom said y’all called about the robbery at County Liquor.”
“That’s right,” said Farrell. He turned on his tape recorder and gave names, date and case number. “There’s a good chance you saw the man we’re after, and I’d just like you to recall your customers last night and tell us about anything out of the ordinary.”
“I don’t have to think too hard about it,” said Sandy, “because it’s clear to me now that I know the liquor store was robbed. But last night it didn’t make so much sense.”
“What was that?” asked Farrell.
“A thin girl came into the store and bought a lot of stuff, pop, beer, bread and milk and a lot of groceries, and she piled everything on the front counter. I rang it through the register and bagged it all then waited for her to pay me. She just stood there for a minute looking back at me, then she said her boyfriend would be along in a minute to pay for the stuff.”
“And the man came in?”
“Uh huh. A couple of minutes later. I’d guess he was about forty something. Looked more like her father than her boyfriend. He hurried into the store and asked her if she was ready, then he asked me how much the stuff was. He peeled off some bills and told me to keep the change.”
“And that was it?”
Farrell placed a picture of Ewing Thompson on the table in front of Sandy. “Is this the man?”
“Hell yeah, that’s him only he had blond hair.”
“Thank you very much, Sandy. You’ve been a big help.”
“Is there a reward or anything? If there is, I could use money for school.”
“No there’s no reward,” said Farrell, “but I know someone who has grants for continuing education. I’ll get an application for you and drop it by.”
“No kidding?”
“Nope. Pablo will remind me.”
JESSE sat down across from Kirstin Wark and smiled at her. “Would you like a Coke, Miss Wark?”
“No thanks. I don’t take no favors from cops.”
Jesse turned on the recorder and prepped it. “Let’s talk about the man who’s been staying with you the past couple of days.”
“Nobody staying with me. You guys are full of shit.”
“You were seen at a roadhouse downtown with Ewing Thompson and also at a convenience store in the east end last night.”
“Ewing Thompson is wanted,” Miss Wark, so I could charge you right this minute with harboring a fugitive and a myriad of other chargers.”
“What the hell’s a myriad?”
“A big bunch.”
“Why didn’t you say that then? Are you trying to out fancy talk me?”
Jesse shook his head. “Nope. What I’m trying to do, is find Ewing Thompson before he kills one more person. Did you realize he killed the clerk in the liquor store last night?”
Kirstin stared straight ahead and absorbed the information. “I’m done talking. Can I go now?”
“No, you can’t go, Miss Wark. You’ve committed a crime and we’re going to book you.”
Her eyes welled up. “Can I have a lawyer?”
“Of course. you can,” said Jesse. “That’s your right. As soon as you’re booked, I’ll contact the public defender’s office and they’ll send someone over to represent you.”
“I don’t want to be in trouble, Mr. Ranger. I never shoulda wrote those letters to Ewing and then he would never have found me in the real world. I was stupid to do that.”
“Oh, I see. You wrote letters to a prisoner?”
“Yeah, you know where you see their names in the magazines and it looks like fun n’all?”
“And you never knew him before the letter writing?”
“Nope. Never heard of him.”
“How long did you write the letters?”
“Three or four years. I stopped a long time ago when I got a live-in boyfriend, but Ewing musta wrote down my address and kep it. Know what I mean?”
“I do see what you mean,” said Jesse. “And then bingo, there he was at the door of your trailer?”
“You got it. I opened the door and he pushed in past me and I thought he was like one of those guys that swarms y’all or something.”
“Did you tell him to leave?”
“Sure did. I got no food to be feeding two people. He said to make him some food, and he hit me a couple times. Worst of it, he tried to make me drive and I don’t know how—cause of his shot arm n’all—he hollers at me to step on the gas and I do and the car flies backwards and hits that asshole Critter’s truck on the other side of the road. He was so fuming at me, I was scared skinny.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“Ain’t the half of it. When we went to the roadhouse to see the brother—good looking singer guy—and they got into it. Two brothers pounding the piss out of each other in the dressing room and then I had to get Ewing out of there before the cops came. I was scared.”
“You must have been,” said Jesse. “The only thing I’m concerned with is where is Ewing now?”
“Went to trade cars, that’s all I know. Honest. I don’t know nothing about where he went.”
“He was getting rid of the Nissan?”
“That the gray car?” asked Kristin.
“Uh huh.”
“Yep. Getting rid of it.”
“Did he mention where he was going to swap it out?” asked Jesse.
“If I tell you this one thing will you let me go home?”
“I’ll talk to the Chief and see what we can do.”
“You promise?”
“Uh huh.”
“He asked me ‘where’s the closest Walmart,’ and I said, ‘Smithville, far as I know.”
“Thank you, Kristin. That’s very helpful.”
LANE returned to Coulter-Ross shortly after eight in the evening not knowing what to expect from Annie Powell. He’d worked lots of Black Ops in the Seals and this mission might be something like that, but he was only guessing.
He knocked, and Annie let him in. Dressed in snug jeans and a Harley shirt, she couldn’t have looked sexier if she’d tried. “Come on in, Lane. We’ll sit down, have a beer and make a bit of a plan. Bring an apron?”
“Uh huh, all my gear is in my truck.” Lane grinned. “Sounds like an action night.”
Annie shook her head as she reached into the Sub-Zero for the beer. “Recon only tonight. Best to be prepared.” She giggled. “Like the boy scouts.”
Lane sat down, and Annie set his Lone Star on a coaster and pushed an eight by ten towards him. This is Michaelah—Mick—Marrero, the assignment. Free-lance hitter but does wet work almost exclusively for the Russian group. All we have is his picture and his address. The rest is up to us.”
“Yeah, we need to find out about other family members living with him,” said Lane. “Separate him.”
Annie nodded. “I’ve never had any collateral damage. Ever.”
When it was time to go, Annie walked Lane to the line of trucks in front of the garage. She tossed him a set of keys. “Let’s get you used to driving my truck. It’s getting old and could use some bodywork, doesn’t look like much but it’s got a Viper engine if we have the need for speed.”
“Hey, can’t wait to drive it.” Lane slid behind the wheel and cranked it up.
“Do you smoke?” asked Annie.
“Nope. Not good for underwater work. Diminishes your lung capacity.”
“I hear you, and I noticed how fit you look.”
“Thanks, I don’t get many compliments from women.”
“I’m not buying into that. You’re a hunk.”
Blowing off the compliment, Lane stopped at the end of the laneway. “Where to?”
Annie leaned over and programmed the address into the GPS. “This is the address for the recon.”
“What area of Austin?”
“South end, down near the river.”
Lane followed the directions the map maven gave and made a couple of turns.
“This is his street,” said Annie. “Take it slow. I want to see how close together the houses are.”
“Close together and the lots aren’t very big,” said Lane.
“Okay, no chance there,” said Annie. “I’m looking at the trees on the other side of the street. A lot of leafy oaks and the odd tall ash, that might be decent.”
“That’s a Porsche Boxter parked in the driveway,” said Lane. “That’s a speed demon.”
“Good to know. If we decide to do a mobile, we might have to use the bikes.”
Lane laughed out loud. “Holy, fuck, that sounds like fun.”
“We’ll do some prelim practice.” Annie touched his arm and a shiver shot through him.
BLAINE CHECKED in with Jack and Greg before he turned off the lights and went to bed. Misty was already asleep and both dogs were cuddled up on Lexi’s bed.
“Any sign of Thompson at the trailer park?”
“Nope, nothing. Boring here, boss, but we’re good until morning. He might not come back at all since you arrested his little girlfriend.”
“Don’t suppose he will, but I don’t have any other bright ideas and I can’t afford to take the chance. He’s not afraid of cops in the slightest and virtually unpredictable.”
EWING CRUISED through the gate of the mobile home park in the pickup he’d boosted at the Smithville Walmart, a ballcap on his blond head and a smoke hanging out of his mouth.
“This is gonna be fun,” he mumbled to himself as he drove past Kirstin’s trailer and continued to the end of the dirt road. The big white cube van was parked in exactly the same spot. “Yep, the assholes are still there.”
Ewing turned the corner at the end of the road, circled the block and parked in an empty lot one street over. He jumped out of the truck carrying a shotgun loose at his side and jogged between trailers until he was behind the truck with the big blue letters. “Do the assholes think because it says, ‘Jack the Junker’ I don’t know it’s a surveillance truck?”
Silently, he passed the closed portion of the cube van and stopped to listen to what the guys inside were saying in the cab.
“He’s never going to come back here. He’s too smart for that.”
Adrenaline pumped as Ewing got ready. Ignoring the inevitable pain he’d cause his left arm, Ewing
jerked the passenger door open with his left hand, raised the shotgun in his right and pulled the trigger. Six quick blasts and no more surveillance.
Wearing a huge grin on his face, Ewing ran back to his truck covered in blood spatter.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wednesday, March 18th.
RICK AND ANDY had relieved Lily and Fletcher on their surveillance of Yugo, the bookie, at eight o’clock the night before.
Lily and Fletch had followed Yugo from his arraignment at the Austin Courthouse to his office behind the cake shop where his attorney dropped him off. Once he was there, Yugo didn’t budge the rest of the day.
At quitting time, a woman in a silver Jaguar picked Yugo up and took him home. Then Rick and Andy took over watching Yugo’s residence and the man never moved.
“Nothing happening with the bookie,” said Rick when he phoned in.
“Don’t matter,” said Blaine, “Let’s keep on it. Wait until Lil and Fletch get there to relieve y’all. We’ll give it another day.”
BLAINE MADE COFFEE just after six thirty and waited for Farrell to get up. It was early, and Pablo wouldn’t arrive for another hour, but something was giving Blaine weird vibes and he wanted to run it by his brother. Farrell felt things in his gut and he was seldom wrong. Blaine attributed this uncanny ability to the years Farrell had spent living in the street.
Jack and Greg hadn’t checked in and that added to the Ewing Thompson stress Blaine was feeling. He called Jack’s cell and got no answer. The phone went to message and Blaine left one. “What’s going on? Call me as soon as you get this.” He repeated with Greg’s number, the same thing happened and that was it. Blaine freaked.
He tore up the stairs two at a time with his cell in his hand and blasted into Farrell’s room. “Get dressed. Something’s wrong. Jack and Greg ain’t answering me. Neither one. Can’t get an answer.” Panting for breath, he stared at his cell.
Farrell rolled over, stared at Blaine and tried to wake up. “Maybe they’re sleeping, like I should be.”
“Neither one answered their phones and they didn’t check in.”
“Shit,” said Farrell as he sat up and ran big hands through his straw-blond hair. “They wouldn’t fuck up and they’d never miss a check-in time. They’re pros. Give me a minute to take a piss and grab some clothes. And make me a coffee to go, would you?”
