Vigilance

by Carolina Mac

  “Yeah, sure. Hurry up. This is killing me.” Blaine grabbed his gut and made a face. “I think I might puke.”

  “Don’t blow chunks until we see what’s going on.” Farrell ran to the bathroom and called over his shoulder, “Might be an explanation.”

  FARRELL DROVE his own truck to the trailer park for safety reasons. Blacky was more fuckin wired than Farrell had ever seen him, and he didn’t trust his brother behind the wheel of the big diesel they usually used.

  Farrell pulled the red Silverado to a stop directly in front of the junk truck and knew instantly. Neither Jack nor Greg were visible through the front windshield and the fuckin glass was splattered with something dark. He rammed the truck into park, jumped out ran to the driver’s side door of the cube van. Farrell reefed the door open and Jack Prima slid out onto the ground coated head to foot in blood.

  Farrell dropped to his knees, felt for a pulse on Jack’s bloody neck and thought there was something. He nodded to Blacky who was already on his phone. Farrell left Jack and tore around to the other side of the van to see about Greg.

  Greg was cold and stiff and coated in dark dried blood. Dead. The passenger door wasn’t shut tight. The shooter had used that door and Greg got the worst of it.

  Ewing Thompson had seen the surveillance on Kirstin’s trailer and this was the result.

  How in hell did he get the jump on Jack and Greg?

  BLAINE CALLED for the troops, and with that task out of the way he doubled over at the waist and puked into the long weeds beside the truck. He straightened up, paced for a few minutes wishing the ambulance would hurry up for Jack, then did what he had to do. Called Chief Calhoun.

  “Situation here, sir.” Blaine spoke in a whisper, his chest tight and his throat almost closed from the panic that possessed him. His own men. Thompson had killed Greg and probably Jack. Two of his best men. Fuckin federal agents on loan. How in hell would he explain that to the man.

  “What’s wrong, son. I can tell it’s bad.”

  “The surveillance unit I had at the girl’s trailer park…”

  “Uh huh.” The Chief waited, and Blaine didn’t speak. “Are we talking about the junkers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Thompson kill them both?”

  “Greg…” said Blaine. “Jack is bad. So bad. They have to hurry.”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  The ambulance arrived first and although the two young male paramedics tried not to show it, Jack’s condition was obviously daunting. Speaking in low tones to each other, they worked feverishly to start an IV, get Jack on the stretcher and whisk him into the bus for transport.

  Doctor Mort Simon, the Medical Examiner, arrived next in his van with his helper Tim behind the wheel. When the doctor stepped out of the van with his case, Farrell pointed to the open passenger door and Mort nodded. He and Tim went directly to Greg.

  Rocky, the Chief’s right hand, drove the Chief’s SUV and followed the ME down the narrow dirt road. Rocky parked behind Farrell’s truck.

  “We passed the ambulance on the highway,” said the Chief as he got out of the passenger seat, “was Jack still holding on?”

  Blaine nodded and pointed mutely at Doc Simon bent over Greg’s lifeless body.

  The Chief strode around the hood of the cube van for a better look and averted his eyes. “That is an unholy mess, son. Thompson is the devil himself.”

  FARRELL CALLED JESSE and broke the news to him. “Something terrible happened, boss, and we’re gonna need you bad this morning.”

  “What happened, kiddo?”

  “Jack and Greg were shot at close range while they were on surveillance at the girl’s trailer.”

  “Aw, Jesus. No.” Jesse was silent for a minute and Farrell hoped to hell and back he hadn’t triggered another coronary. “Both dead?”

  “Greg is dead, and Jack is barely hanging on,” said Farrell. “They took him to Saint Mike’s.”

  “Fuck that,” said Jesse, “and you don’t have to tell me how Blacky is because he ain’t calling me, you are. Call everybody in. Pull them off what they’re doing, and we’ll meet at the Agency in an hour.”

  “Yep. Good plan, boss. See you in an hour.”

  THE BLACKMORE AGENCY was fraught with grief and sadness over the loss of one of their own. Greg was a skilled operative and a team player. His upbeat humor, his willingness to undertake any task assigned to him, and his dedication to the job were only a few of his assets. Greg would be missed.

  Farrell had made the calls pulling the others off their assignments, all except for Travis at the Leightons, and Lane at Coulter-Ross, but he filled them both in, as well as Annie, on what had happened. Jack frequently acted as Annie’s bodyguard on her assignments and she was understandably upset by the news.

  Thanks to Carmelita, a tray of sandwiches, three pies and a container of pecan tarts graced the center of the granite island. A carafe of fresh coffee sat on the warming burner with mugs and fixings all laid out. All the while she bustled about in the kitchen, Carm never took her eyes off Blaine as he paced silently on the other side of the room.

  Farrell had spoken to Misty about Blaine’s devasted state and asked if there was anything she could do to calm him. She agreed to sit in on the meeting.

  JESSE ARRIVED at the Agency twenty minutes after he received Farrell’s call. He paused at the iron gate, punched in the code and parked his Range Rover behind Farrell’s red truck. The day would be difficult, but he was the senior partner and it was up to him to hold his group together.

  Blacky was tough, and he’d come up the hard way, but he had a soft heart and formed strong attachments. He committed himself to very few people, but when he did it was without reservation and he held nothing back. The kid would be struggling today.

  Jesse walked through the foyer into the kitchen and gave Carm a hug. Her black eyes were red-rimmed. Blaine was like her own son and everything that affected him, affected her. She pointed to the spread on the island and Jesse fixed himself a coffee.

  Sad faces were assembled around the table. Lily, Fletcher, Pablo, Farrell, Misty, and the two remaining junkers, Rick and Andy, sat silently with coffee mugs in front of them. Blaine paced the length of the kitchen and back again, over and over, chains on his Harley boots clanking with every step he took.

  Ignoring Blaine and letting him pace, Jesse left his partner to come to terms with the massacre at his own speed. He stood at the head of the table and started. “We’ve suffered a huge loss today at the hands of Ewing Thompson, but if we’re to apprehend him and put him on death row where he belongs we can’t let him win. He wants to disorganize us and slow us down while he plans his next move, and we won’t let that happen.”

  Without acknowledging his crew, Blaine crossed the kitchen and hollered over his shoulder, “I’m going to the hospital. Annie is meeting me there.”

  Misty jumped off her chair and caught up before Blaine slammed out the front door.

  “I can understand why Blacky feels the need to be at the hospital,” said Jesse, “but Jack will be in surgery for hours, and sedated for hours after that. We can do him the most good by doing our jobs and bringing Thompson down.”

  “What can we start on, boss?” asked Lil.

  “You start on next of kin, Lil. Greg’s people have to be notified, and Jack’s kin need to be afforded the opportunity to come to the hospital. That’s a priority.”

  “I’ve worked with Greg for a couple of years,” said Andy. “I can get Lil started with a few names and numbers.”

  “Yep. Good,” said Jesse. “You go ahead and do that.” He pointed at Pablo. “You and Fletcher pick up Lou Thompson and take him to DPS. Tell Calhoun I’ll be along.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Pablo and he was on his feet.

  “Farrell, have Mary set up something with the paper and the TV people. We’re going to run Ewing’s picture again.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that right now.”

  “Af
ter Mary’s all squared away,” said Jesse, “meet the boys at headquarters and see what you can get out of Lou Thompson when they bring him in.”

  “Yep, I’m gone.”

  “Do we know what Thompson’s driving now, boss?” asked Rick.

  “I had Lil chase down the last stolen vehicle report from the Walmart parking lot in Smithville, as per the girl, Kirstin Wark. She said Thompson was going there to change vehicles. It’s a dark blue Chevy pickup, two years old and this is the plate,” said Jesse and recited the tag. “I’ve had a BOLO out on it all along but got nothing so far.”

  “Where the hell can he be hiding that nobody is seeing him?” asked Rick.

  Jesse shook his head. “Don’t know. Misty is our best bet, but for that we need something of his she can touch. Go see Sue at the lab and borrow anything they found at Kirstin Wark’s trailer. Thompson couldn’t go back to get his stuff, so anything he left behind, the lab must have it.”

  “Good thought,” said Rick. “I’m a non-believer, but right now I’d take anything that would put me in range of Thompson. Jack and Greg have worked with me and Andy for a good long while. I want to kill that son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I think we all do,” said Jesse.

  LANE drove Annie to Saint Michael’s Hospital after she received word about Jack. “Blaine will be devastated,” she said, “He’s so protective of his men.”

  “In this type of work, there are always casualties,” said Lane. “It’s unavoidable.”

  “My heart breaks for Blaine and for Greg’s and Jack’s families.” Annie dabbed at her eyes with a wad of tissues as Lane drove from Coulter-Ross into the city.

  On the surgical floor, Blaine and Misty sat together in the waiting area, Styrofoam cups of dark liquid in front of them on a glass table. Blaine jumped to his feet when Annie appeared in the doorway and ran to her.

  She took Blaine in her arms and stroked his long black hair. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This is so terrible. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she choked back the sobs.

  Misty sat down beside Lane and spoke in her soft Louisiana drawl, “They are so close. I could never comfort him like his mother can.”

  “Annie’s a strong woman,” said Lane. “Her sons obviously love her a lot.”

  “Excuse me,” said Misty, “I believe Ranger Quantrall wants me.” She pulled her cell out of her purse and it rang in her hand.

  Lane raised an eyebrow and listened to Misty’s end of the conversation. “Yes, I can. Lane will bring me.” She pressed end and turned to Lane. “I have to do something for Ranger Quantrall. Would you mind driving me to Blaine’s?”

  “Of course not,” said Lane. “Give me a minute to let Annie know.”

  PABLO drove to the north-east end of the city and parked in Lou Thompson’s drive.

  “I’ll take the back.” Fletcher hopped out and ran around to the back of the house while Pablo banged on the front door.

  A bare-chested Lou, dressed in ripped and wrinkled jeans, pulled the door open. His sleepy eyes peered at Pablo through a tangled mass of long hair. “Why are there more cops here? I told you I didn’t know where Ewing was.”

  “I have to ask you to come to headquarters with me, Mr. Thompson,” said Pablo. “Ranger Quantrall needs to speak with you.”

  “Well you can give Ranger Quantrall a message for me. Tell him I’m sick of this bullshit and I’m not coming.” He tried to push the door closed in Pablo’s face, but he wasn’t quick enough.

  Pablo pushed into the front hall and drew his sidearm. “You don’t have a choice this time, sir. I’m taking you to DPS for formal questioning. You’re coming with me.”

  Lou took an errant swing at Pablo’s head. Pablo raised his muscular forearm, blocked the blow and with his left arm, knocked Lou Thompson to the floor. Pablo dropped down, stuck a knee in Lou’s back and cuffed him.

  “Stand up, sir.” Pablo helped Lou Thompson to his feet and marched him to the truck.

  FLETCHER rounded the back corner of the ranch house and caught a glimpse of Mattie Larch coming out the door. She didn’t see him right off because of a big spirea bush partially blocking him from view. She turned his way and booked it straight for him. Fletcher stepped back into the foliage and when she passed the bush he grabbed her and snapped a cuff on her right wrist.

  “Let go of me,” she screamed, twisting and kicking and trying to free herself from Fletcher’s hold on her. She turned towards him with a growl and viciously swiped at his face with the nails on her left hand.

  Fletcher grabbed her other arm, pulled it behind her back and did up the second cuff. “Ranger Quantrall wants to talk to you downtown, Miss Larch. We’re going there now.”

  “I haven’t done anything, and I don’t know where Ew is.”

  “You can tell your story to Ranger Quantrall.”

  FARRELL CALLED MARY POLITO, filled her in on what had happened at the trailer park, and she said she’d take care of arranging a press conference.

  “I’ll try to have it all set up for around three this afternoon at headquarters,” said Mary. “We’ll want to get Thompson’s picture on the six o’clock news.”

  “Jesse will do the interview,” said Farrell, “and I’m sure Chief Calhoun will have something to add. He’s pissed.”

  “Is there something wrong with Blaine?” asked Mary. “Why isn’t he calling me?”

  “He can’t talk right now, babe. You know how he gets.”

  “Not sure that I do, but I’m always happy when you call, Farrell. I miss you so much.”

  “We’ll go riding soon at the ranch. I need to go home more often than I do.”

  RICK RETURNED to the Agency from the forensic lab with a t-shirt the CSI crew had found in Kirstin Wark’s trailer. They’d picked it up on the floor beside the bed, tested it for trace and picked up enough sweat to test for DNA. The results wouldn’t be back for a couple more days, but Sue was confident it belonged to Ewing Thompson.

  Rick found Jesse and Misty in Blaine’s office. Jesse was on a call and the beautiful and strange Miss Misty sat in a wing chair near the fireplace with her eyes shut. She spoke very little and was hard to get to know.

  Jesse ended his call and said, “Great news, Rick. Fletch grabbed Mattie Larch as she tried to rabbit out the back door of Lou Thompson’s house.”

  “Fantastic,” said Rick. “If we could use her for bait, we’d be getting somewhere.”

  “In my opinion,” said Jesse, “the girl was foolish to come back here until Ewing was behind bars. Robbing a robber is not good for your health.” Jesse crossed the office to where Misty sat near the hearth and offered her Ewing Thompson’s shirt. “Blaine usually stays with you while you do this, Misty. Is there anything you want me to do?”

  “No thanks, Ranger Quantrall. I’ll sit and hold the shirt for a while and maybe I’ll get a flash of something that will help y’all.”

  “We’d be grateful for any direction you can give us.”

  EWING had been cruising by his brother’s house once every hour for the past twenty-four knowing Mattie would come back to Austin at some point. He’d lived with her long enough before he went to prison to have a good read on how she thought. Ewing’s strong point was patience. He could wait a year for her to come back and the outcome would be the same. She’d tell him where the money was and how to get it—then he’d kill her.

  Lou would be privy to part of her plan, but the part involving millions of dollars only Mattie herself would know. She was the one Ewing needed. Deviousness, cunning and selfishness were three of her most appealing characteristics when they’d been partners. Qualities that held her in good stead all the years she and Ewing had been together. Now those same traits would lead to her downfall.

  Ewing sat in his pickup down the block and with interest, watched the two cops load Lou and Mattie into the cop truck. The cops pulled out of Lou’s driveway and Ewing followed behind at a safe distance.

  As the cop truck drove through Austin, Ewing watche
d for the perfect spot and waited for his chance.

  Driving along a street next to the river before entering the downtown area they passed a section of warehouses, abandoned and no longer in use. No parked vehicles and no pedestrians around.

  Bus shelter.

  Ewing punched the gas, caught up to the cop’s truck and sideswiped him on the driver’s side. The truck veered to the right and smashed into the bus shelter.

  Before the cops realized the crash was anything more than an accident, Ewing had the back door open and was dragging a screaming Mattie Larch to his truck.

  He opened the passenger door of his stolen truck and shoved the hand-cuffed Mattie into the seat. She fought against him, cursing and kicking him.

  “Shut up you thieving bitch.” Ewing smacked her hard across the face and she never flinched.

  “You ripped me off, you son of a bitch and you owed me. I waited goddam years for my share and I never got it. I’m not sorry I took the money. I earned it.”

  Ewing smiled. “You will be sorry, Matts.” He fisted her in the face with a hard right and she slumped down into the seat. He slammed the passenger door, slid behind the wheel and took off. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know, Miss Mattie, then your life will be over.”

  THE BLUE PICKUP came out of nowhere. Metal on metal, the keening noise deafening in Pablo’s ears as the impact drove his truck careening into the bus shelter. The airbags inflated, pushed him back against the seat and pressed against his chest with the weight of an anvil. It took a minute for his lungs to fill with air.

  “You okay, Fletch?” Fighting against the airbag, Pablo turned his head to check on his partner as the back door of the truck opened and a screaming Mattie Larch was jerked out.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Pablo tried to extricate himself from the airbag and open his door, but the driver’s side door was crushed by the other vehicle and he was trapped. “Get him, Fletch. Can you get out?”