An Obvious Fact

by Craig Johnson

  In a second I had blown out both tires, but the Wrangler was veering toward us now, and I could see Frick lowering his window, both men attempting to take careful aim at me.

  Grabbing the extra magazines from my belt, I dropped the empty and jammed the fresh rounds into my Colt as Vic locked up the brakes, using another bale for cover and swinging behind the still speeding Jeep. “Okay, I’m ready to shoot them now.”

  “About time!” She turned the leather-clad wheel, and we feinted to the right—getting the backseat gunner to move to the other side—but then swung the Dodge’s seven hundred horses back up on the driver’s side. We overshot a bit, but by the time we drew even, I had the .45 fully extended and aimed directly at the driver’s head, just hoping I didn’t miss and hit Billy ThE.

  As is usually the case, that split-second hesitation cost me.

  There was a swale in the field, and both vehicles were thrown to the right, causing me to lose my position in the seat and hit my face on the door. I could feel the blood spilling from my nose as I clambered back up and swiped at my face in an attempt to clear my eyes; once I did, I could see both Frick and Frack extending their pistols and smiling.

  It was about then that they ran head-on into one of the thousand-pound bales.

  15

  “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

  We’d pulled up beside the Jeep; the driver had buried its front into the bale, and its rear end was now sticking up off the ground at about a thirty-degree angle.

  Keeping my sidearm on the door, I tossed Vic hers, and she went around to the other side with Corbin following her with his own drawn. “You two get Frick and Frack, and I’ll get Kiddo.”

  The body of the Wrangler was crumpled and had impinged the door, but I pulled the handle and bent the door back on its hinges as the airbags deflated. Kiddo was slumped in his seat, handcuffed to it with the chain running through the chicken bar. I felt for a pulse and it was strong, so he wasn’t dead. “He’s out cold.”

  Vic had opened the other side and unceremoniously pulled the driver out, allowing him to sag onto the ground. “This one’s alive—barely, but alive.”

  Reaching up, I pried open the rear door and stepped aside as Frack tumbled out. I went through the motions—flipped him over and took the machine gun—but could plainly see that he’d shot himself a number of times on impact. “This one’s dead, a bunch of times over.”

  I went back to the front, adjusted Billy ThE’s seat, slipped off the safety belt, and pushed him back. “Check the driver for cuff keys, would you?”

  Corbin was already on it and patted the now-moaning Frick as Vic collected weapons. Dougherty brought the keys around, and I uncuffed Kiddo, pulled him from the vehicle, and placed him on my shoulder. I carried him around and laid him on the trunk lid of the Dodge, where I noticed he’d pissed himself.

  Corbin looked around my shoulder. “Are you sure he’s alive?”

  “He’s breathing.” I glanced over at Vic, who was kneeling by Frick. “Can he talk?”

  She reached down and none too gently smacked his face. “Hey, asshole, can you talk?” His face rolled a little to the side, and then he sputtered and raised a hand, which Vic immediately grabbed and placed under her knee. “I said talk, not move.” He cried out, and she shook her head. “Stop being a pussy.”

  He gargled something about his knee killing him, and it was possible that he had a point, in that it was bleeding and had already swollen to the size of a cantaloupe even with the constriction of his BDU pants.

  My undersheriff kneeled a little more pointedly on his arm. “Talk, asshole. My experience with types like you is that your mouths always work.”

  I moved in, getting the wayward attention of the driver. His eyes steadied on mine. “How are you doing, Mr. Frick?”

  He gasped. “How the hell do you think I’m doing?”

  I studied his knee, broken nose, sloped collarbone, and what looked to be a couple of broken fingers on his other hand. “Well, you look like shit.”

  “We need medical attention.”

  I glanced through the open doors of the Jeep at the body on the other side. “We? Nope, I don’t think so. Your buddy’s dead as Kelsey’s nuts—must’ve shot himself about nine times—and I think your prisoner just has a case of the vapors.” I studied him. “Where were you headed?”

  “Lawyer.”

  I glanced around. “I don’t think you’re going to find one out here.”

  He yelled it this time. “I want a lawyer!”

  “And I want answers—maybe we can work out a trade.”

  Spitting the words, he repeated himself. “Lawyer.”

  Vic picked up the bloody machine pistol from the ground—where I had put it down in order to get Kiddo out of the vehicle—and sprayed the fender of the Wrangler with a frightening series of shots, then carefully placed the muzzle close to the guy’s eye. “You feel the heat from that, shithead? Try and imagine how hot it’ll be at over fifteen hundred feet per second when I pull the trigger again.”

  Frick still said nothing, choosing instead to exhale, blowing the coagulated blood from his nose.

  Vic obliged him by closing up one of the nostrils with the automatic, the heat of the muzzle sizzling the blood before he could turn his head away. “I’m betting there’s another twenty rounds in this thing that I can use to fill up that empty head of yours if you don’t start talking.”

  “I’m not incriminating myself.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “But . . . um, whatta you want to know? I mean, off the record.”

  I glanced back toward the municipal airport. “Somebody taking an early flight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you guys supposed to join the bunker bunch on board?”

  He said nothing until Vic tapped his temple with the Sig Sauer. “Maybe, all right?”

  “How long before they start figuring out something went wrong?”

  He thought about it. “The head guy, he’s making financial arrangements, so they can’t get out of here till he gets that stuff done, but it won’t be long.” He winced. “Look, my fucking knee is killing me. . . .”

  Vic moved and again reminded him about the 9mm.

  “How fortified is the bunker?”

  He snorted. “Forget it, Andy Griffith; you’ll never get in there.”

  I nodded. “These guys, do they have a stake or are they just hired?”

  “Hired, but they’re good.”

  I looked down at him and smiled. “As good as you?”

  • • •

  I made Frick ride in the trunk with the dead Frack, mostly because there wasn’t a lot of room but also because I thought he needed a lesson in humility.

  We followed another series of hay fields, reconnected with the gravel road that led around the airport, and swung back north to where we joined route 209 and finally 24, thereby getting back into Hulett without having to go near the bunker and raising suspicions. Vic parked the Dodge at the police station, and we tried not to draw too much attention to ourselves as we carried the bodies into the office, putting Frick in the holding cell.

  “What in the hell?”

  Chief Nutter held the door as we returned with Billy ThE draped between Corbin and me, finally placing him in the office chair. “Call in the EMTs down the street for the one in the cell and they can take the dead one, too.” I turned to Vic. “Grab one of those handheld radios, get back on that ridge, and keep an eye on them. Give us a call if anybody moves, okay?”

  She grabbed a radio and, with an extended burnout from the parking lot, was gone.

  Nutter placed his hands on his knees and studied Kiddo’s still unconscious face. “This one alive?”

  “Enough to piss himself.” I tapped the face of the star of Chopper Off with the back of my hand. “I would’ve figured he’d ha
ve been awake by now, but I guess not.”

  Nutter disappeared into the back and came out with a couple of paper tabs in one hand.

  “Ammonium carbonate?”

  He nodded. “Smelling salts. Leftovers from my boxing days—they smell too bad to expire.”

  He snapped one of the tiny envelopes under Billy ThE’s nose and his head jerked back, his instinct to avoid the burning sensation in his mucous membranes foremost.

  Catching his shoulder, I held Billy upright as he glanced around, stretched his jaw, and then began retching. I grabbed the trash can from under the desk and set it in his lap as he accommodated me by vehemently throwing up into it.

  I held the can as I pointed for Corbin to get some towels from the bathroom. After a few moments Kiddo’s stomach settled, or he ran out of things to throw up, and I handed him one of the towels Dougherty had brought back, trading the patrolman the trash can. “You might want to take that outside.”

  I watched as he exited with the wastebasket and gave Kiddo a moment. “You know they were going to kill you, right?”

  He took a breath, dry retching this time, and then fell back into the chair.

  “They didn’t need you anymore after you did all the polymer fabrication for Nance, and you’d become a liability, which is actually something you’re probably used to being.”

  He stared at me.

  “So, Nance and his friends are going to try and fly the coop?”

  He finally nodded. “He’s got connections in Mexico. . . . Oh man, this whole situation has turned to shit.”

  “I’d say that’s the understatement of the year.”

  The front door opened, and Henry entered with Agent Stainbrook, both of them wearing quizzical looks.

  Corbin closed the door behind them. “It’s Nance, and he’s got his private army bunkered up over near the airport where they’ve got a jet warming up for a clean getaway.”

  Stainbrook approached and shook his head at the biker. “You know, I had my doubts about you, but I didn’t think you were this stupid.”

  Kiddo shook his head. “You’re one of them?”

  The ATF agent slipped his badge from under his shirt and held it out to Billy ThE so that he could get a better than good look. “Yeah, and so was my buddy, Brady Post.”

  Kiddo raised his hands. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  Stainbrook’s face stiffened. “To do with what?”

  “I overheard some of them talking while I was hiding out about somebody shooting the main enforcer on the Tre Tre Nomads, but it wasn’t me that did it.”

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know—I don’t kill people.”

  “Your gun did.”

  He made a face and appeared a little paler through the stylish facial hair and tattoos. “What are you talking about?”

  “That .40 of yours was the weapon that did the deed, and we got an absolute ballistic match with the slug the sheriff here was able to dig out of your neighbor’s yard from the time you attempted to shoot his lawn mower.”

  He glanced at me. “You have got to be fucking kidding.”

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Nope.”

  “I haven’t had that gun in forever—I think Nance had it when we were working on the design for . . .” He wiped the tears from his face. “It was just for show.”

  Stainbrook pulled out another chair and slid in close to the former TV star. “Then you put on quite a show, my friend.”

  Kiddo hung his head. “Look, this guy comes to me and says he’s got this new space-age shit that’s stronger than steel, says he’s got it patented and everything, but that he’s got to keep it under wraps to maintain his competitive edge. He had a shitload of money, and I had debts—with the production companies and ex-wives and shit. . . . Then my show gets cancelled. When I started helping him, it was all about bikes, but then he started talking about the government and how that’s where the real money was—you know, in guns.”

  I sat on the edge of the desk. “Did he also mention it was highly illegal?”

  “Oh, man, it was a business deal.” He sobbed. “I even came up with the idea of moving the samples in the hidden containers of the gas tanks. I was trying so hard to get him back on track and out of the gun thing.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re aware of what happened to his previous business associate who ended up in a dumpster in Scottsdale with no hands and no head.”

  He stared at me.

  “I’m just trying to get a read on where your allegiances lie in all of this. Now, you can partner up with the ATF and me, or you can continue to play ball with the guys who were on their way to shooting you in the back of the head and burying you in a ditch beside a hay field—choice is yours.”

  His eyes flicked among all of us like a raccoon fresh out of trees. “What do you want to know?”

  “How many men does he have in there?”

  “I really don’t know; they kept me in the front with a blanket over my head.”

  “What would you guess?”

  “A half dozen, maybe.”

  “Are they armed?”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re just going to Mexico.”

  I let the absurdity of that statement pass. “Do they have supplies?”

  “Like what?”

  I fought the urge to pick him up by his Adam’s apple. “Food, water?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Stainbrook’s eyes met with mine. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  I stood, not liking the option, but knowing it was the most prudent. “Bottle ’em up and just hold ’em there till the cavalry gets here?”

  He nodded. “They’ll destroy the evidence, or as much of it as they can, but I don’t want this asshole getting away.”

  “I think we’re all in agreement on that.”

  There was a disruption at the door as somebody made to come in, but with the Cheyenne Nation blocking it, the chances of that were just about nil. But then the Bear stepped to the side and swept the door wide, reached out and grabbed whoever it was, and pulled him into the room one-handed.

  After landing, Eddy the Viking stood there trying to look as if entering this way had been his idea. “Hey.”

  Corbin, the one who knew him best, seemed to be the person he was talking to. “Can I help you, Eddy? We’re, um, kind of busy here.”

  “There’s a gang of guys out front and they saw you carrying Billy in here and they say they’re going to stir some shit up if you don’t turn him loose or something.” The Viking shrugged. “I guess they’re big fans of the show.”

  Nutter shook his head and followed him toward the door. “Good grief.”

  I pointed to the patrolman. “Corbin, go with them.”

  “Right.”

  He followed, and Henry let them pass but then held the door open after them just to give the troublemakers a look at the reinforcements. You could hear voices outside, but after a moment they died down, the Bear keeping his eye on them as he closed the door.

  “There’s probably something else you should know.” We all turned at Kiddo’s voice as his head dropped to his chest. “I mean, something kinda important?”

  “What?”

  His head came up slowly. “They’ve got a hostage.”

  “Who?”

  Kiddo looked toward Stainbrook. “I want immunity. I want total immunity, or I stop talking right now.”

  Stainbrook stood, spun the chair, and then sat again, laying his thick arms on the back and scooting in close. “Let me explain something to you. One of my best men is dead. A guy who has two kids and a loving wife in San Diego is never going to get to see his family again, because you or one of your scumbag friends shot him in the chest. Now, if you don’t tell us everything you know right now, I’m g
oing to find one of those really hideous federal prisons and drop you in gen-pop and let them see how they like that tough-guy, movie-star ass of yours.”

  We all sat there staring at him as the front door opened again, and we watched as Corbin and Nutter strong-armed a handcuffed biker through the bull pen toward the holding cells. “We got your back, Billy ThE!”

  Kiddo’s head sagged. “Jesus.” The Hollywood biker took a few breaths, stoking his courage, and finally spoke. “Lola.”

  I glanced at Henry, who was back to leaning against the front door like a sphinx, and it was as if Billy had commented on the weather.

  He shifted in his seat. “And I guess that’s partially my fault.”

  Henry’s voice echoed against the concrete walls like a jackhammer. “Do tell.”

  Kiddo turned and looked at him but then evidently felt safer looking at me. “She wanted to meet Nance, and I didn’t see any reason why not.”

  The Bear pushed off the wall. “You are sure she is in there?”

  The reality star nodded. “Yeah, I heard her voice.”

  The Cheyenne Nation studied him for a moment, then turned to walk back and look out the window.

  I ventured an opinion. “If we get them trapped, there’s no way they’ll hurt her.”

  The Bear glanced at me over his shoulder. “You are sure of that?”

  I shrugged. “Of course not.”

  It was then that the radio console on the desk chattered.

  Static. “Walt, are you there?”

  Pushing Kiddo aside, I grabbed the desk mic and answered, “Yep, what’s up?”

  Static. “They’re loading a cargo container onto a flatbed.”

  Stainbrook’s hand came into view. “We need that stuff.”

  I spoke into the mic again. “Anything else? I mean are they loading people, or just the samples and equipment?”

  Static. “Just stuff for now, but it’s not going to be too much longer and they’re gonna be headed for the friendly skies.”

  I leaned in again. “All right, keep me posted. And Vic?”