"I sure wish I could go with you, Dad?" Jason looked hopeful.
Link knelt down to talk to his son. "No, son, I told you this is for a case I'm working on. I promise, though, that as soon as this case is solved we'll go fishing together. With this settled and me not having to spend time making repairs, we’ll have lots of time to do fun things.”
“You promise?” Jason asked, looking doubtful.
“You bet I promise. Remember, we’re a team.” He hugged his son a little harder, knowing the danger he faced and the possible folly of his plan, then ruffled a hand across Jason’s hair. “Now I have to hurry so I can get in position before dark."
Chapter Twenty Six
Link launched the boat at the Turtle Back Cove public launch ramp and hurried toward his goal. Everything looked different down on the Brazos River. He was even with the mobile home compound before he knew it. Ferocious barking dogs charged toward the river to alert him he’d arrived.
The tranquilizers he cajoled from the vet were now pulverized and mixed thoroughly into the ground meat. Link pretended to lay a trotline near the compound. Once he thought the big Doberman might actually enter the water to swim after him. As he passed near the yapping animals, Link tossed chunks of doctored meat onto the shore, timing his throw to a jerk on the trotline he laid.
The dogs stopped barking long enough to eat the meat, but still patrolled at the water's edge. It was almost dark by this time, and a fine mist fell. The sky overhead promised a dark night with more rain soon, but there were occasional glimpses of the full moon behind the clouds.
He motored a little way upstream and fished as the boat drifted back by the compound. The meat was gone from the places he'd tossed. Good. No way to gauge how much of the tranquilizer each dog had eaten, though.
Doc Cretsinger said the pills should take fifteen to twenty minutes to put a dog to sleep--if the animal ingested enough for them to work.
As Link drifted by, he glanced at the opposite shore. Man, Vince was telling the truth when he said he had a great property. Link wondered where the boundaries of Vince’s land extended. What he saw from the river looked every bit as good as Vince’s description.
He rounded the S curve of the Brazos. When he was just out of sight of the compound, Link looked for a place to moor the small boat. Around the next bend he found a small beach with sloping bank on the compound side of the river. He tied the rope around a large cottonwood tree well up the slope. If rain caused the river to rise while he was away, the boat would be secure.
Even on a rainy, dark night, Link did not want to risk the bright yellow slicker he usually wore. Instead he pulled on an old windbreaker in the dark green of Cartersville High colors and, instead of his boots, he wore black running shoes. He pulled the hood of the windbreaker more securely over his head to prevent the drizzle from running down his neck.
In the windbreaker pocket he carried a small high-beam flashlight. With no light except the occasional show of the moon through the clouds, it was a slow walk to the compound.
Link tripped once, and went sprawling. Tree branches slapped at him as he pushed his way toward the compound. He refused to use the flashlight and hoped he wouldn’t need it. He considered it for emergency back up.
He paused at the edge of the clearing surrounding the mobile homes. No sound came from the compound. A glance at the luminous dial of his watch told him the tranquilizer-laced meat should now have the dogs snoozing. He pulled his jacket sleeve over the watch to hide the dial.
A light shone through the window of the center building. He inched his way until he was in line with that window. Damn, there at the back of the building sat the white van. That must mean Large was here and there were two men inside the mobile home.
With a giant clap of thunder followed by low rumbling, rain fell in earnest. No more moonlight shone, just the occasional glow as lightning streaked across the sky. Link needed no torch to see the white mobile homes. If the dogs were not asleep, they would certainly be alerted now, he thought, as he made a dash across the twenty feet of cleared land to crouch below the window.
Still there were no sounds except the patter of the rain. Link raised himself next to the window and peered inside. The man he had named Small sat at a table playing solitaire, laying down cards between swigs from a can of beer. A television set blared in the background. Small appeared to be alone. Where was Large?
Looked like an unmodified mobile home, one used only as living quarters. Which of the other two should he check first? He decided to try the one facing north, and crouched back down. In a low run, he closed the distance between the two buildings.
The second mobile home had no porch or steps at the back entry. It appeared only the front door was ever used. Link tried the door handle. Locked.
Cautiously, he worked around the river end of the trailer to the storage building. That door was unlocked, and he slipped inside. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he used the beam of his flashlight to inspect his surroundings.
He raised the lid of the box nearest him. Rifles, new rifles carefully wrapped and stored, lay in the box. Shit, the ATF boys would want to know about this. His cursory inventory showed case after case of guns. Travis had no idea gun running was involved.
Link checked the second type of boxes. Ammunition for the rifles was stacked efficiently inside. He counted twenty-four boxes of rifles and thirty-six of ammunition. There was enough firepower in this one storage building to outfit a company of soldiers.
Why hadn't ATF tumbled onto this group? What was the reason for this stockpile? Did the other storage shed contain an equal amount of munitions? He needed to know the answer to these questions before he left here tonight.
Link turned off the flashlight and cracked open the shed door. When he was certain no one had come within view, he retreated to the nearby trees, intent on working his way around to the storage shed at the other end of the compound. How much longer would the dogs sleep if the animals were where the cold rain might revive them?
No sooner had he reached the safety of the trees than he saw headlights approach through the rain. A dark sedan pulled into the compound and stopped near the steps of the center mobile home. What a break!
Link raced to the nearest building and ran in a crouch the length of the structure.
He peered around the edge. In the dark it was impossible to identify the tall man who emerged from the car, but something about him looked familiar to Link. As soon as the newcomer was inside the door of the center building, Link rushed to his previous viewing position.
When he reached the window, Small stood to greet the newcomer, a man now in the light. The television had been turned off and the cards were no longer in sight. At first glance, the newcomer appeared to have distinguished features, with the look of money about his clothes and the confidence with which he carried himself.
Hot Damn. Link recognized the man as Howard Forsythe, an attorney disbarred in Dallas for his underhanded methods.
Link ignored the pouring rain and strained to hear the two men speaking. It was no use--he could see Forsythe's lips move, but could hear nothing said in the room. As he considered his options, he heard a noise behind him and wheeled around.
He stood face to face with the man he had called Large. Leveled at Link's stomach was a pistol. Large used it to motion Link to turn around. Up close, he recognized Large as Wayne Crestman, a bully known as "Boo" to those who had grown up with him. Named for his habit of scaring younger kids, Link knew the man from a drug bust in Dallas.
"Well, well. I been waiting for you, Dixon. Thought I'd let you look around a bit and get cocky, then I'd get you."
"I thought you were in jail, Boo. Looks like you'll be back there soon."
"Don't think you can bluff me, you smart-assed bastard. You think you're so clever with that fishing routine. Saw you through the binoculars. I been watching you since before you went into that storage shed. Turn around."
Wayne removed Link's gun
. Link cursed himself for not recognizing Large during his surveillance. Where had this guy been when he approached this evening? Man, in the years since he’d worked surveillance he must have gone rusty.
Trying to sound more confident than he felt, Link said, "That was a very enlightening experience. You plan to declare war on some country, Boo?"
"You can call me Mr. Crestman, you sorry sonofabitch. What we're going to do with those guns is none of your damned business. Get moving around to the front door and up the steps or I'll blow a hole in you right here."
Link had no choice. It was difficult to argue with a .44 Magnum prodding your back.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Eddy felt mighty fine. In his best Western shirt and new hand tooled boots, he felt what his dad used to call “cocky as a rooster with a full hen house.” Cars already packed the parking lot of Papa Jack's when he arrived. Once inside the huge dance hall, he had no trouble locating Dorothy Passons and her sister Patsy.
Patsy looked disappointed he'd showed up alone. Dorothy looked from her sister to Eddy. "Where's your friend?"
Eddy felt a wave of guilt. He had been so anxious to see Dorothy again that he had forgotten about her sister. All he’d been able to think of since they parted last night was the way Dorothy pressed herself against him as they had danced the slow dances.
There had been the look of heated invitation in her eyes. Unspoken promises lay in the way she moved her hands on his shoulders and back, and in the way she held on a little while after the music ended. He’d tossed and turned most of last night thinking about seeing her again, holding her. No wonder he’d overslept this morning.
Man, and you told Link he was in sad shape.
"Uh, he can't come tonight. Sorry. He had to work."
Patsy eyed him suspiciously. "What kind of work does he do that keeps him busy on Friday night?"
Shit, he hated this. He had never been any good at lying. "Well, we both work for the Spencer County Sheriff. Link had to work tonight, or he would have been here."
"You mean you're both deputies?"
Eddy looked sheepish, as if being in law enforcement was something to hide. Actually, he regretted he had kept his occupation a secret the previous evening.
"Yeah. We're both deputies."
Patsy looked miffed. "So, all that talk about being cheered up because his old high school friend had died was bunk?"
"Oh, no. Link and Mitzi went to high school together, and so did the Sheriff, the Chief Deputy, and one or two other guys in the Sheriff's Office. Link and the Sheriff were both really shook up when Mitzi turned up dead."
Eddy saw a familiar face half way across the room. It was that guy, Ricky, the one who was in the photo with Mitzi from the dance contest. He was decked out in a bright red shirt and black leather vest trimmed with silver medallions.
"Look, Patsy, you're a real good dancer. Why don't you ask that Ricky guy to dance with you? You might win the contest tonight."
Dorothy grabbed his hand. "Maybe not. Maybe we'll win." With a smile and wink to her sister, Dorothy pulled Eddy to the dance floor.
As he and Dorothy twirled, Eddy tried to keep tabs on Patsy and Ricky. What a surprise when Ricky walked over and asked Patsy to dance. With a deep sigh of relief, Eddy turned all his attention to his own dance partner.
The evening flew by. Suddenly, Eddy saw Patsy alone at their table. A quick glance around the room revealed Ricky walking toward the door. With a mumbled apology to Dorothy, Eddy pushed through the crowd. He reached Ricky at the door.
"Hey, man. Aren't you staying for the contest?"
Ricky brushed by him as if he were impeding his progress toward an important goal. "No, gotta go."
Eddy reached out a hand to Ricky's arm. "You ought to stay for the contest. Patsy's been looking forward to it."
Ricky looked down at Eddy's hand, then back at his face. He removed Eddy's hand from his arm as he walked forward. "I said I'm leaving."
Eddy followed him to the parking lot. "Hey, come on back and let me buy us a round of drinks."
Ricky stopped and faced Eddy. "I don't have time for this shit."
He swung fast and clipped Eddy on the jaw. As Eddy fell to the ground, Ricky ran to his truck and climbed in. Eddy sat on the parking lot rubbing his jaw as Dorothy ran up to him.
"What's wrong, Eddy? What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I'm not at all sure what's going on, but I know I just screwed up. Big time." Eddy stood up and brushed the mud and dirt off his jeans.
"Come on back in. Let me get some ice for your jaw. I don't know what was wrong with that crazy Ricky. Come on back, everything will be okay." Dorothy tried to lead Eddy back toward the dance hall.
With one last look toward the parking lot, Eddy turned and walked with Dorothy. "I hope so. Man, I sure hope so."
Chapter Twenty Eight
Ricky had a bad feeling in his gut. This is what happened last time. Al and Boo waited for him to go dancing and then killed that DEA agent. He knew someone else was in on that ugly chore, but still didn't know who.
As he sped through the rain toward the camp where he had been living for the past six months, he looked at the speedometer and slowed the speed of his pickup truck. The last thing he needed right now was to spin out on the slick pavement.
Talking with that chick at the dance hall hardly held his interest. Until she started talking about the deputy sheriff she danced with last night. Then she chattered on about how the deputy knew Mitzi, and asked questions about him. Hell, how did a deputy know about him?
That had captured his attention, but not in a good way.
He was surprised to find a strange vehicle at the place. His stomach knotted with that bad feeling. A real bad feeling. Wary, he slipped his revolver into the waistband of his jeans and pulled his vest over it. He patted the knife inside his boot to reassure himself.
Concealing the alarm he felt, he sauntered casually into the mobile home.
Boo and Al stood at the Formica table in the eating area. A man sat relaxed in the one large chair in the room, an overstuffed rocking chair. Damn. It was the man known as The Ghost.
Ricky had no idea what this man's real name was. The Ghost had slipped through his fingers once before in an operation very similar to this one. He only hoped the bastard didn't recognize him. Guys like him thought all Hispanics looked alike, so maybe he could make this work.
The Ghost's mouth clamped in a cruel twist. Eyes staring back at Ricky were black--so black it was as if they contained no soul. And they didn’t. Or if there was a soul there, it was as black and evil as the man’s eyes suggested.
If The Ghost was involved, he was in serious shit here. The man was heavy into trading arms to South American rebels for drugs to sell in the U.S.
In the middle of the floor between the dining and living areas, Link Dixon lay bound and motionless.
Was he too late again?
Boo gave a hard kick to Link's ribs and a low groan issued from the man's bruised lips. A sigh escaped Ricky.
Thank God, he's still alive.
In the rocking chair, The Ghost growled at Boo, "What's this spic doing back here? You told me he was out until at least midnight." He spat out the words as if Ricky were not able to hear.
All eyes were on Ricky. He tried to ignore Link as he said, "All the women were pigs tonight. I came back early." He nodded toward Link. "Who's he?"
The expression on The Ghost's face never changed.
Boo sneered at the form on the floor. "We had us a little unexpected company tonight. We were just havin' a little talk."
Al's glassy eyes darted from one man to another. Ricky had thought Al crazy the first time he saw him, and living with him for these past months only reinforced this opinion. If he didn't know otherwise, Ricky would think Al was on the stuff. Since that wasn’t true, the only explanation for Al was that he was certifiable.
Al's nervous laugh came as a shrill, grating sound. "Yeah, entertainin' our compan
y. Boo caught him snoopin' around."
From his perch in the rocking chair, The Ghost glared at Ricky and continued railing at Boo and Al. "I told you I don't trust greasers. Can't you two get anything right?"
"Honest, we thought he was gone for the evenin'. He loves to dance, don't you, Ricky?" Al's eyes conveyed the excitement he felt at the prospect of battering a prowler.
Ignoring the unknown man's ethnic slurs, Ricky addressed Boo. He considered Boo to be quite sane, but meaner than hell. "You got any idea who this guy is or what he wants."
Boo spit at Link and prodded him with his boot. "This here's Link Dixon, formerly of the Dallas Police Department, champion crime solver now working for the local sheriff. Thinks he's a goddamn hotshot lawman, he does. Guess we see who's smarter now."
"If you're so smart, tell me how'd he know to come here?" Ricky asked.
"Perhaps you're not as dumb as I thought." The Ghost eyed Ricky with speculation. "We invited him to tell us, but he's not talking. You want to try your luck with him?"
"Sure, but you won't get anything out of him if he's unconscious." Ricky turned and walked to the sink. He took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water, then threw the water in Link's face.
Addressing Al, he said, "Help me get him up in this chair."
The two dragged Link to the eating area and pulled him into a slumped sitting position in a chair.
When Ricky's mouth was very close to Link's ear, he whispered, "Get ready to run."
Chapter Twenty Nine
In his semiconscious state, Link couldn't believe his ears. He blinked to focus. The man's face was inscrutable. Did he hear correctly? Had this guy really spoken?
Link blinked again to clear his brain. This was the guy in the picture with Mitzi--the one he figured killed her. Or at least, he knew who killed her.
As his brain cleared some of the fog, Link was certain Ricky had spoken to him. Told him to get ready to run.
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