When Raylan was in front of the building, he dialed her number. “Agent Sanchez, it’s Deputy US Marshal, Raylan Givens—”
“You don’t have to identify yourself every time we meet,” she said, cutting him off. “I know who you are, and you’re late.”
Friendly as ever, Raylan thought. It was gonna be a long drive. “I’m parked in front. Where’re you at?” But she’d already hung up. He set the GPS for Columbus, Ohio, a city he’d never been to. Nora Sanchez came out of the building and down the steps wearing black slacks and a blue blazer, carrying a shoulder bag. As she got closer, he waved to her. She opened the front passenger door, looked at Raylan, glanced at the cage, got in, and fit her bag on the floor.
“Know how to get there?” It sounded like a challenge.
“We’ll see,” Raylan said, turning in his seat. “Tell me something, what’re you doing? Why’re you pushing your way into this?”
“Pardon me.” Nora looked like she wanted to take a swing at him. “Who do you think you are?”
“The one arrested the fugitive and now’s going to pick him up.”
“We have as much right to Jose Rindo, and a whole lot more motivation than you or anyone else. And I would think you’d be embarrassed this murderer escaped again.”
“We hunt them down and bring em in. We’re not involved in their custody. Anything else you want to say?” That’s how it started: at odds with each other from the opening bell.
“Should I go back inside, come out, we’ll try again?”
“I don’t think anything would change.” Raylan could hear a little Spanish accent when she got angry. Yeah, he wanted her to go back in and stay there, but he pictured Chief Broyles’s face and kept that to himself, put the Charger in gear, and rumbled to the freeway. They didn’t say another word to each other till they were crossing the state line. Raylan looking up at the sign that read:
OHIO WELCOMES YOU
“Ever been to Ohio?”
“No,” she said, a little friendlier, but still not looking at him.
“One of the most boring states I’ve ever been through.”
Nora Sanchez glanced at him, more relaxed now, and said, “You better stay out of Nebraska.”
“It’s bad, huh?”
“Halfway through you’ll want to head back the way you came, go through Kansas.” She smiled for the first time and Raylan saw a good-looking woman.
They were clipping along in the fast lane, just south of Toledo. Raylan checked the side mirror, saw the state trooper coming up fast, light bar flashing.
He pulled over on the gravel shoulder and lowered the window. “See, the problem? You want to get through Ohio so bad you speed, and they stop you.”
Raylan watched the trooper get out of his car and come up on the driver’s side, bend his frame at the window till he was eye level, and glance inside. “License and registration.”
To Raylan, this young muscular hard-ass looked about twenty-two and was cut from the mold. Not too bright, cause the job was monotonous and boring. But the man carried a semiautomatic on his hip and had authority and that had to be a lot of the attraction.
“I’m a deputy United States marshal,” Raylan said. “And next to me is Special Agent Sanchez with the FBI. We’re armed.”
“Let’s see some ID.”
Nora took hers out and flipped it open. Raylan showed the trooper his star on a chain around his neck.
“What’s your business in Ohio?”
“Picking up a prisoner, fugitive warrant, in Columbus,” Raylan said. “Shot one of your own a couple days ago, Trooper Watson. You know how he’s doing?”
“Died this morning.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Raylan said.
“Left a wife and two little ones. Call me, you need assistance.” The trooper handed Raylan a card. “I’ll give the son of a bitch what he deserves and more.”
When they were cruising again, Raylan said, “Based on his reaction I’m surprised Rindo made it into custody at all.”
“Yeah, but the trooper was still alive when they found him. What would’ve happened if they arrested him today?”
She was a step ahead of him on that.
“Listen, I just want to be clear on something.” Nora said, fixing a hard stare on him now. “Jose Rindo is my prisoner.”
“What does that mean?”
The scowl returned. “Before he’s tried on the other charges, I want him for the murder of Special Agent Frank Tyner.”
“What difference does it make? He’s going away and he’s never getting out.”
“To me it does.”
Why was it so personal with her? “That’s up to the court. You don’t know how this works?”
“I want to question the suspect. I don’t know if you have another agenda.” She was wound up tight.
“Like what, take him in the woods, shoot him, say he was trying to escape? My agenda is to pick him up and take him back. You want to question Rindo, fire away. You’ve got three hours and change, less that trooper stops us again and shoots him. That enough time?”
Nora turned the other way now, looking out at the flat Ohio countryside, and didn’t say another word till Raylan said, “Want to get something to eat? Be our only chance. There’s a service plaza a mile up the freeway. You’ve got your choice of McDonald’s, Taco Bell, or Subway.”
“I brought tuna on whole wheat and a bottle of water, but you go ahead.”
That seemed like the kind of healthy lunch a sensible, clean-living FBI agent would have. Raylan got off at the next exit, turned into the drive-thru lane at McDonald’s, and ordered a double cheese, fries, and a coke. He wolfed it down in the parking lot while Nora took her time, taking small, stomach-settling bites like she was part bird.
“Where’re you from?” Raylan said.
“Miami, originally. I went to the academy and was transferred to Tucson. Been there eleven years.”
“Got any brothers or sisters?”
“Three brothers.”
“Know how to throw a curveball?”
Nora frowned. “What’s that supposed mean?”
“Girls I’ve known that had a lot of brothers knew how to throw like a guy.”
“You want to pull over, play catch?”
“I hear an accent when you say certain words.”
“I grew up speaking Spanish and English, which comes in handy being so close to Mexico.” She drank some water.
“Tell me about this friend of yours, the FBI agent that was murdered. Were you seeing him?”
“He was married.” Nora paused, eyes sad like she might cry. “Frank was a good friend.”
He could see she didn’t want to go there and dropped it.
•••
Half an hour later, Raylan pulled into the sally port at the Franklin County Corrections complex, showed his ID to a sheriff’s deputy about his age, and said, “US Marshal here to pick one up. Where’s the Criminal Clerks Office at?”
“Third floor. Let me see the paperwork.”
Raylan took the forms off a clipboard: “Writ of Habeas Corpus, Extradition Order, and the Criminal Warrant.” The deputy gave each page a casual glance and said, “Okay. Come with me.” The man took him in the building, showed him where to go, and ten minutes later Raylan came back with the forms signed, and ten minutes after that another Franklin County sheriff’s deputy brought Jose Rindo into the sally port, his hands cuffed to a transport belt, ankles cuffed to a fifteen-inch length of chain, fugitive hopping along in jail fatigues.
Raylan said, “Your last hurrah, huh? I hope it was good, cause that’s it.”
“You think so, huh?” He was locked up tight and still full of swagger.
The sheriff’s deputy said, “You’ve got to sign for him.”
“Give me a minute
.” Raylan led him, hand on his biceps, to the Charger.
“What I tell you, huh?” Rindo said. “We meet again. Remember what you said to me?”
“Next time, you’re not gonna be so lucky. You think anything’s changed?”
“No, but I think is only a matter of time.”
“You trying to tell me something?” Raylan opened the rear door, pushed Rindo in the cage, and fastened the seatbelt around him.
Nora was looking at the prisoner from the other side of the car, and now Raylan walked back to the Franklin County sheriff’s deputy and signed the form.
“Think you can hold him this time?” the deputy said without expression. “Switched bracelets on you, I hear.” Now a little grin slipped out. “That’s not the oldest trick in the book, it’s right up there. Need some help, give us a call.”
Raylan said, “You’ve got all the answers, huh? That’s why they’ve got you working cell block.” That silenced him, wiped the grin off his face.
Raylan popped the trunk and opened the equipment locker as Nora came around the back of the car and stood next to him. “What’s this, you expecting trouble?”
“You better, and be ready when it happens.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Transport a prisoner, an ambush is always a possibility. I don’t think anything’s gonna happen, but if it does, we better be prepared. I thought you knew what you were getting into.” But it was obvious she didn’t. He reached in the trunk and grabbed his UAV. “Put this on.” He lifted it over Nora’s head and helped her adjust the straps. It was too big, but it would protect her. She tapped the front of the vest with her knuckles.
“You usually run with heavy plates?”
Another strange question. “When I don’t know who’s coming or what they’re bringing.”
“Where’s yours?”
“I’ve got a soft one on underneath. I can’t drive in a tac vest.” Raylan held her in his gaze. “Tell me you’re armed.”
She patted her shoulder bag. “Got my primary in here.” Raylan felt better. Sounded like Nora knew what she was doing after all, till she said, “But I’ve never fired my weapon in the line of duty.”
Now he wasn’t so sure.
•••
Rindo had been studying the girl. She was a hot little package, but why’d this sexy bitch look so familiar? She didn’t wear a star on a chain around her neck like the crazy one. Who was she, man? He watched her standing close to the car, looking in like she knew him, wanted to say something, Rindo thinking, yeah, dude, she’s the angel, the one gonna save you.
The engine started with a heavy rumble. The crazy one drove through the parking lot. Jose said, “Hey, miss, I was wondering, can you help me with something? You look familiar. Where do I know you from?”
Now the girl turned, held him in her gaze, and said, “Tucson. You killed a friend of mine, or you had him killed, which to me is the same thing. I’m a special agent with the FBI, and I’m going to do everything I can to send you to the gas chamber.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t know anything about this.”
“The shooter used your name, and said, ‘It’s too late for explanations.’ And then murdered him.”
Rindo was sorry he asked.
They rode, nobody talking for a while until the crazy one, looking at him in the rearview mirror, said, “Saw what you did to DeShonte Moore. Man was extra crispy when we found him. Be a bad way to go.”
“What do you care? Nother drug dealer bites the dust.” Rindo sucked a piece of scrambled egg out of his teeth and swallowed it. “Listen, I got a proposition for you, fix you up for life? Let me go, I give you five million.”
The crazy one said, “Five million what?”
“Dollars, man. What you think?” He waited a little before he said, “Hey, Miss FBI Special Agent, I can set you up, buy whatever you want, never worry about money again.”
The crazy one looked at the FBI girl, and then he was looking at Jose in the mirror again. “What do we have to do?”
“Nothing cept let me escape. What could be easier?”
“And you’re gonna give us five million dollars?” the girl said. “Is that right?”
“Yes, that is exactly right.”
The girl whispered something to the crazy one Jose couldn’t hear.
“It’s a chance to retire,” Rindo said. “Do whatever you want. Never worry bout nothing.”
The girl said, “When do we get it?” sounding like she was interested.
“Look, that’s not a problem. We can work it out.”
The girl said to the crazy one, “What’s trying to bribe a federal officer going to add to his sentence?”
“Not enough to worry about.”
Now the girl said, “I think we should turn him loose, and when he starts to run, shoot him.”
“He was trying to escape. That’s not bad.”
Jose was quiet till they crossed into Michigan and saw a rest area sign. “Hey, listen. I got a problem with my stomach, I have to get to a toilet.”
“We don’t stop,” the marshal said. “I told you that.”
“This been going on for a few days. I don’t know, I ate something bad, or what. I’m gonna shit myself and all over the back of the car, man.”
Nora whispered, “What do you think?”
“Maybe he has to go. I’m thinking of the worst that can happen and it doesn’t sound very good. I’m okay, long as we do it fast. Next one’s forty-four miles, you see the sign?”
The BMW M5 that had passed them twenty minutes earlier—Raylan remembered the car—was angle-parked in front of the building. It had a Michigan plate. He didn’t think anyone was in it, but with the blacked-out windows it was hard to tell. There were three other vehicles parked there: a minivan, a pickup truck, and an RV. On the truck side of the complex were two semis.
Raylan scanned the rooflines of the building, imagining a man with a rifle up there watching them. He didn’t see anyone, got out of the car, closed the door, and looked in the BMW. No one was in it. Now he moved to the back of the Charger and opened the trunk. Nora got out and came around the car to meet him. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I’ll go in, clear out the men’s, give you a sign. You want the shotgun or the long gun?”
“The shotgun.”
Raylan pulled the Remington 870 out of the gun locker and handed it to her. He picked up the AR-15, popped a magazine in, and chambered a round. He slipped on a blue windbreaker with US MARSHAL on the back and slung the AR over his shoulder. “Let’s let them all come out before we make a move.”
It was a windy day. The American flag was flapping in the breeze. He put a hand on top of his hat to keep it from blowing off.
Raylan entered the building, holding the door for an elderly couple that made their way to the parking area in slow motion, and got in the RV. Next a woman and her daughter walked out, moved quickly to the pickup, and took off.
Now two black dudes, one the size of an NFL nose guard, exited the men’s room and approached, checking him out. Raylan stood to the left of the doors and watched them all the way to the Beamer. They got in and drove away.
Raylan went in the restroom, yellow cinderblock walls and no windows, found a Smith & Wesson .38 in the second stall taped behind the toilet tank. Had to be from the dudes in the BMW. He went back outside. Nora, holding the shotgun, stood next to the Charger, waiting for a signal.
He moved toward her, glanced at the other side of the rest area where the trucks were parked, saw the BMW circling around, speeding past the semis, and pointed to it. The BMW was a hundred yards away and coming fast. Raylan aimed the AR, trying to steady it in the wind, fired two three-shot bursts at the Beamer and felt the Stetson lift off his head and watched the wind carry it away.
They got stuck behind a semi gearing up on the entrance ramp heading for the expressway. In the side mirror, Raylan saw the BMW coming up behind them and then felt it ram the back end of the Charger and try to pull around them on the right. Raylan jerked the steering wheel going the opposite way, speeding along the left side of the semi, the BMW going along the right side. “You see them, don’t hesitate.”
Nora had the barrel of the shotgun sticking out the open window, resting on the doorsill. As the BMW cleared the truck, Nora fired and blew out the driver’s side window. The BMW drifted to the right. She fired again and blew out the left front tire and sent the high-performance sedan zigzagging out of control. It went off the road and came back, tried to ram them again, and Nora blew out the windshield.
The Beamer disappeared down the embankment, and then came up plowing through a barbed wire fence into a cornfield.
Raylan called the Marshals Service in Toledo figuring it was the closest office. He gave them the license number of the BMW, its current location near Milepost 188 in Monroe County, and a description of the two dudes that were in it.
Raylan reached behind his back, gripped the .38, and handed it to Nora. “This was in one of the stalls waiting for him.”
“That was close.”
“Can’t take anything for granted with this dude.”
“What about the money? Let’s make a deal,” Rindo said, sounding like a Spanish game show host.
Raylan said, “This boy doesn’t quit, does he?”
“Trying to play his last card,” Nora said.
“Hey, you hear me, man, what I’m saying?”
“I don’t hear him,” Raylan said. “You hear him?”
Nora said, “I don’t hear anything.”
“I can change your life, man. Yo, how much they pay you a year? You making seventy, seventy-five? It’s a joke. All the risk, put your life on the line for what?”
Raylan Goes to Detroit Page 5
