Renegade - 13

by Joe Nobody

  “Shit!” she hissed, wanting to inspect his wound, but unsure if the two fake officers had additional firepower in the cruiser.

  After helping Cade to a nearby seat, Terri moved behind the RV’s oversized steering wheel and started the engine.

  She had never driven the massive, bus-like machine, but that didn’t deter Terri one bit. In a heartbeat, she had thrown the transmission into drive and was flooring the gas pedal. The coach lurched, and then they were rolling down the street.

  A quick glance in the mirror told Terri that the two bushwhackers were trying desperately to hotwire their car. The trunk was open, which probably meant the imposters were re-arming.

  She drove about a mile, trying to slow her mind and think logically. Cade was half in, half out of consciousness, moaning from the pain of the gunshot. His shirt was now dripping blood.

  “I have to find him a hospital or a doctor,” she said. “Hang in there, Cade. I’m doing my best.”

  She thought about pulling the RV to the side of the road, thinking she might be able to apply first aid and slow the bleeding, but what if the men behind them caught up?

  Cade had the directions to Pete’s new digs. Terri had no idea how to get to the restaurant, where she was driving, or how to get to help. All that she knew was that they had been stopped on the outskirts of Dallas.

  She thought she could find her way back to friendly territory, but even that wasn’t a given. The bogus officers had led them a mile off the main road, and Terri hadn’t been paying attention to the route.

  Ahead, she spied the first sign of human activity. Two men were repairing a window on an office building. She slammed on the brakes and stopped, the mega-coach’s sudden, screeching tires startling the workers.

  “My friend has been shot!” she shouted out the window. “Where can I find a hospital?”

  One of the repairmen tried to give her directions, but Terri was too upset to follow his instructions. The man doing the talking was using local street names and landmarks, none of which Terri recognized. Knowing that she still had no clue, she stopped him for clarification. “Please, sir! Go slower! This man is dying, and I don’t understand. I’m not from around here,” she pleaded.

  Finally realizing he was getting nowhere, the workman offered to lead her to the clinic.

  Both of the strangers rushed to a nearby car, waving for Terri to follow.

  For nearly 15 agonizing minutes, she tailed the sedan, the sheer number of turns right and left leaving her completely disoriented. Finally, her helpers pulled up in front of what had been a strip mall before the collapse. Only one set of windows showed light, the hand-lettered banner reading, “Medical Clinic.”

  Slamming the RV into park, Terri rushed in to find the waiting room full of people, a harried looking nurse perched behind the counter. “My friend has been shot!” she announced. “Please, he’s bleeding out.”

  Less than a minute later, a young, unshaven man rushed from the back, a gym bag in his hand and a stethoscope around his neck.

  Terri led him to the RV and Cade. After ripping open the bodyguard’s shirt and performing a quick examination, he turned and said, “Go back inside and tell the nurse I am going to need the stretcher. His lung has collapsed.”

  It took the doctor and three men from the waiting room to remove Cade’s sizable frame from the motorhome. Holding Hunter on her hip, Terri could do nothing but watch as they wheeled her protector into the back. Finally, she decided to pray.

  Chapter 12

  Bishop arrived at Dallas’s newest restaurant just before dark, the hand-painted banner announcing Pete’s Palace – Grand Opening Tomorrow! He’d have made better time, but he got lost on the drive in. The directions given to the new establishment assumed that street signs still existed.

  Worried that Terri was going to be pissed at his tardiness, the Texan rushed from his truck and hurried inside in search of his wife. I sure hope Pete’s workers helped set up the event, Bishop mused. Lord knows I had better plans for this evening than spending all night hanging banners and blowing up balloons. Still, he knew that if need be, he would climb a ladder and attach red, white and blue ribbons to anything that would sit still long enough. He realized how much was riding on this rally … how excited Terri had been when Pete agreed to make the grand opening a campaign event. And from the number of Cyrus’s campaign signs Bishop had seen lining the Dallas streets, Diana needed a boost.

  He entered a hurricane of activity, men with tool belts hustling here and there, carrying lumber, drywall, and paint buckets. At the same time, restaurant employees were hurriedly positioning tables, chairs, napkin holders, and other dining necessities. The scene was of pure, unadulterated bedlam.

  A hum of activity filled the space – the constant chatter of staff readying for the grand opening occasionally punctuated by shouted utterances of the construction team meeting its own deadline. “Somebody find the electrician – this outlet still is shorting!” And, “What do you mean the produce is here before the fridge is working?” Another voice bellowing, “The bathroom stalls don’t have any locks!”

  Bishop strolled through the chaos without so much as a nod of recognition from the workers. He found Pete in the back, trying to maintain control of the mayhem. “We can’t have a grand opening without a working sign. Somebody get a ladder, and make sure the damn thing is plugged in!”

  “Hey boss,” Bishop greeted, “have you seen Terri?”

  Frowning, Pete shook his head. “Nope. She was supposed to be here hours ago to prepare for Diana’s Dallas debut, but no one from the campaign has shown up. In a way, I’m glad. We’ve had several setbacks this week, not to mention four funerals. Besides, you just can’t get good help these days … present company excluded, of course.”

  Bishop snorted at Pete’s teasing, but the response was forced, his mind now swirling with a dozen worries regarding his bride.

  Leaving Pete, the Texan hustled back to the front, trying to stay out of the way while weighing his options. “It’s probably nothing,” he mumbled. “She could have had car trouble, or gotten a late start, or maybe got lost like I did. Just chill.”

  Still, his discomfort grew with each passing moment. This exposure was critical to Diana’s election. Knowing how committed his wife was to her friend’s cause, the Texan had trouble imagining anything that would keep Terri from the restaurant’s unveiling.

  Two hours passed, Bishop pacing the lot surrounding Pete’s new eatery. The Texan, aching to take some sort of action in order to locate his better half, jumped when the boss appeared by his side.

  “Bishop, I’m sorry, but without knowing Diana’s status, I’m going to have to fill in tomorrow’s schedule. Besides, there’s no way Terri could get things prepared in time. Maybe we can figure out something else to help with the election.”

  “I understand, sir. I’m sure Terri will as well. I just can’t figure out what happened to her.”

  Before Pete could respond, one of Sheriff Watts’s deputies pulled into the parking lot. “Maybe he’s here to tell us Terri’s run out of gas,” the owner ventured.

  The two men approached the squad car, waiting for the cop to park. When the young officer exited, he immediately said, “I’m looking for a guy named Bishop. Know where I could find him?”

  “That would be me, Deputy. Please tell me you’ve found my wife.”

  “Yes, sir, I was sent here to deliver a note,” the patrolman responded.

  Two minutes later, Bishop was following the messenger, on their way to a local sawbones.

  Before she even reached his arms, Bishop sensed Cade hadn’t survived his surgery.

  Pulling her into a comforting embrace, Bishop didn’t say a single word. The sobs racking Terri’s body signaled to her husband that she was feeling more than just sorrow about Cade’s death. She was frightened, and that instantly brought his blood to a boil.

  It was several minutes before she stopped crying, the outburst replaced with a series of
sniffles and coughs. “Where is Hunter?” he had to ask.

  “One of the nurses inside is playing with him,” she said, wiping the moisture from her cheek. “He’s like his father. Quite the charmer with the ladies.”

  Satisfied that his son was in good hands, Bishop’s next concern was for his mate’s wellbeing. He’d processed traumatic experiences with her so many times before and knew of only one way to help the procedure along. “Come on, let’s go sit down. I want to hear all about it. Every detail.”

  Blowing her nose and nodding at the same time, she extended her hand and allowed him to lead her to the RV. Once they were inside, Bishop poured a glass of water and said, “Here, you probably haven’t thought to drink anything for a while. Empty it. Crying your eyes out is thirsty work … especially when that is the encore to fighting for your life.”

  Again, she managed a nod. As she tipped the glass back, her eyes darted to the huge pool of drying blood on the floor where Cade had been lying. Her eyes began to cloud again as she said, “He was such a nice man. I always felt so safe when he was around.”

  Bishop stepped to the head and found a large towel. Doing his best to cover the stain while she drank the water, he returned to her side and sat down. “Okay, from the beginning.”

  For 20 minutes, Terri replayed her day. Some of the story erupted in bursts of emotion, other parts relayed in a slow, monotone voice.

  Bishop let her speak, saving his questions for later. Eventually, he knew he would get every detail she could remember. What was important now was his wife’s mental wellbeing.

  He refilled the glass, reminding her again to rehydrate.

  “You were waylaid,” Bishop finally announced after she had finished. “Somebody didn’t want Diana speaking at Pete’s tomorrow.”

  “Why?” she initially responded, quickly followed by, “I mean, I know why … but seriously … why? A man lost his life over something as stupid as a political speech, barbecue and free beer? Really?”

  “Look, sweetheart, politics in Texas has always been … well … intense. When Lyndon Baines Johnson won his Senate seat in 1948, the dead not only voted, they did so in alphabetic order. Our state has always played for keeps when it comes to elected office. You and Diana had to have expected some of this.”

  “But murder? Extortion? Planting fake narcotics?”

  Bishop didn’t answer her question, mainly because there was no reasonable explanation. While he was sure the two imposters hadn’t intended there to be any loss of life, it took a real idiot not to understand attempting such a stunt was exceedingly dangerous. Guns, impersonating police officers, and what was basically a carjacking, weren’t exactly non-contact sports.

  “When did you first realize they weren’t real cops?”

  Wiping her eyes, Terri had to think about her answer. “The older guy had three yellow stripes on his shirt sleeve. His partner called him ‘captain.’ That’s when the alarm bells first went off.”

  Frowning, Bishop tried to make sense of her observation, but couldn’t come up with anything that fit.

  The Texan continued to gently but firmly push her to fill in the blanks. How had Cade gotten shot? Where did the fakers pretend to find the drugs? What exact terminology did they use that might tell us who they really were?

  On and on the questions and answers flowed, Terri slowly regaining composure and control.

  “You know, I read one time that Huey P. Long, the governor of Louisiana back in the 20s, used to have the state police pull over legislators on their way to critical votes. The cops would trump up some fake charge and keep them in jail for the night so they couldn’t cast a ballot against Governor Long. Sounds like somebody is using a page from that old crook’s playbook.”

  “Did anybody get killed?” Terri blinked.

  “Yes,” Bishop grunted. “Governor Long was assassinated in the State House.”

  “I think if I knew Cyrus was behind this, I’d be tempted to put a bullet in the man myself,” she responded with a steady voice.

  Bishop thought of about 10 clever ways to respond, but decided against them all. Instead, he said, “I’m going to go retrieve Hunter and then get you two back someplace safe. We still have two black hats roaming the Dallas streets, and no doubt they realize that having a witness to a homicide isn’t a good idea. Understand?”

  She nodded vigorously, seeming eager to distance herself from the entire episode. “I understand. I have to warn you, I don’t think I can drive, though.”

  “No problem. I’ll sail this land yacht back to Diana’s camp, and then we’ll get Nick and Sheriff Watts involved. One of the guys can give me a ride back to my truck later.”

  Diana and Nick were waiting when Bishop pulled the king-sized RV into the campground where the campaign caravan had parked for the night.

  Terri, of course, was everyone’s primary concern, Diana and Nick checking her up and down like a lost child who had just been found.

  When he’d satisfied himself that Terri was indeed going to be all right, Nick pulled Bishop aside. “Sheriff Watts is on his way here with your old team,” the big man reported. “They’ve been in a small town named Moss Ridge, trying to keep the citizens there from ripping each other’s throats out. Someone, it seems, made off with an impressive pile of money, and accusing fingers are being pointed in all directions. I was thinking it might be the same people who were after your stagecoach.”

  “What the hell is going on, Nick? Robberies, kidnapping, murders? This is worse than what we all went through just after the collapse,” Bishop replied, shaking his head in amazement. “You know, I have wondered if maybe Cameron Lewis is trying to line his coffers with Alliance money. He could hire someone to do the dirty work, for sure. Did Watts tell you about the hit on the drug den in the Panhandle?”

  “Yes, we talked about it. Do you think that narcotics job is related to all this?”

  Bishop shrugged, “Who knows? The sheriff said there were four guys involved in that op, and I had four trying to abscond with Pete’s cash. How many were involved in the Moss Ridge heist?”

  “Unknown. Watts and SAINT One had to hightail it out of town with the mayor, who was the primary suspect. He also reported that our friend Cyrus P. Young showed up, revving the crowd and trying to blame the entire episode on Diana.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. Politicians are always taking advantage of any negative and blaming it on their opponents. Clearly, Cyrus is playing hardball – look at this little incident with Terri and Cade.”

  Nick wasn’t sure. “We don’t know that Governor Young was behind that. I agree it looks bad, but there’s no proof. Just a moment ago, you had suspicions about Cameron Lewis, too.”

  “One way or the other, I would sure appreciate it if you put a little more muscle around my wife and kid.”

  Patting his friend on the back, Nick said, “Already done. I’m assigning SAINT One to augment Diana’s security detail until the election is over. I’m sure Terri will feel better with Butter and Grim hovering around.”

  It was the best news Bishop had heard all day, the Texan breaking out with a huge grin. “Thank you, my friend. Now I’ll be able to sleep a little better.”

  A series of headlights appeared in the distance, drawing the two men’s attention. After passing through the security checkpoint, Bishop and Nick stood silently as Sheriff Watts and SAINT One arrived.

  Even though it had been only a few weeks, the reunion with the team’s old commander was a happy one. Though he clearly wanted a debriefing as soon as possible, Nick stood quietly by, letting meeting play out.

  A short time later, after securing quarters for his team, Grim joined Watts, Nick, and Bishop inside Diana’s RV. The girls were washing an inch of Texas grime off of Hunter, using the bath as an excuse to talk things through in private.

  The four men sat scattered around the main salon, all of them dog-tired but deeply concerned about recent activities.

  “I just ran into an old friend of y
ours,” Grim chided Bishop. “Captain K of SAINT Six sent you his fondest wishes and best regards. I think he’s got a thing for you.”

  Grunting, Bishop said, “I ever run into that sphincter wart again, I’ll be glad to give him a thing … and I’ll deliver it at about 3600 feet per second.”

  Before the banter could work up a serious head of steam, Nick cleared his throat for the session to begin and nodded at the sheriff.

  Watts had been the one member of the brain trust who was involved in all the incidents. “I spoke to the head of Dallas PD on the way over here,” the sheriff began. “He had no knowledge of anything to do with Terri’s traffic stop. He also denied that there was any briefing about narcotics being smuggled into his fair city via motorhomes.”