“That’s the weakest point,” Weather said. “You don’t know that.”
“In this whole episode, the only really tall guy was Joe Mack. He’s taller than me, and stronger. The ME says the guy who killed Barakat was probably taller than Barakat, and had to be exceptionally strong to snap his neck like that. Joe Mack is the obvious candidate,” Lucas said. “Killed him out of revenge. He knew that Barakat had killed Lyle and Ike.”
“So Weather’s okay,” Virgil said.
“I’m a little better than that,” Weather said. “I think I’m excellent.”
Marcy: “You have the logic. If the DNA comes in on Garner, for killing MacBride, I’ll buy the whole enchilada.”
“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars it does,” Lucas said.
Virgil said, “I’m going home, soon as my shirts get out of the dryer.”
HE STARTED packing up, Marcy headed for Minneapolis, Shrake and Jenkins were talking about an ice-fishing tournament on White Bear Lake.
LUCAS AND WEATHER were sitting in the kitchen, alone, and Weather went through the whole sequence of the final operation.
“So the kids are going to be okay,” Lucas said.
“Well ... they’re going to have problems. With a good family, by the time they’re in first grade, they should be, you know, more or less okay. There’ll still be some issues.”
“A happy ending,” Lucas said.
“As for me, I’m going to get pregnant again,” Weather said.
“You got the daddy picked out?”
“Yup.”
“You’re too old,” Lucas said.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re too busy.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Well. Okay, then.”
VIRGIL CAME down the hall with his bag and shotgun case, and said, “Thanks for your hospitality. Let’s not do it again.”
“Drive carefully,” Weather said. “The roads are terrible.”
Lucas’s phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket. Caller unknown.
He pushed the answer button: “Hello?”
“Mr. Davenport?”
He couldn’t quite place the voice, but it was familiar. State Farm? “Yes?”
“This is Joe Mack.”
Virgil was turning away, but Lucas held up a finger, and he stopped. “Joe Mack? Joe—how you doing?”
Joe Mack laughed and said, “Well, not real fuckin’ good, you know? After crackin’ Al’s neck last night, I went out and got seriously in the bag. Where I still am.”
“In the bag?”
“In the bag. Anyway, I’m down at the bar, if you want to come get me.”
“Give me fifteen minutes,” Lucas said.
“HOW’D HE KNOW your phone number?” Virgil asked, as Lucas got his coat on.
“I gave my card to Honey Bee, wrote my home number on it. He’s been talking to her.”
They took Virgil’s truck, with its flashers, and made it in ten, even with the snow, driving around the last block to come in from the back. With their guns drawn, they tried the back door, but found it padlocked from the outside, with crime-scene tape over the door. They eased around to the front door, where another lock had been broken off.
The window, broken by Jenkins, had been repaired with a piece of plywood, but they could hear the jukebox going inside: Robert Earl Keen, “The Road Goes on Forever.”
And they could see Joe Mack sitting at the bar, a drink in front of him.
LUCAS LED the way in, Virgil a step behind, and then breaking away to the side. Joe Mack looked at them, with their guns, and said, “I don’t got a gun.”
Lucas and Virgil watched him for a minute, then Virgil put his gun away and said, “So, ready to go?”
“Give me a minute to finish my drink,” Joe Mack said. “I got some stuff I want to say, too.”
Lucas glanced at Virgil, who nodded, and Lucas said, “Any help you can give us, man.”
Joe Mack snorted: “Help, my ass.” He sipped at the glass of bourbon, then said, “Mostly, I want to say that Honey Bee didn’t know nothin’ about all of this. Nothin’. I’m not gonna tell you nothin’ that will help you put me in jail, but I’ll tell you that.”
“You said something on the phone about crackin’ Barakat’s neck,” Lucas said.
Joe Mack said, “Prove it.”
VIRGIL WALKED up behind him and said, “I don’t want to seem unfriendly, but would you mind standing up, so I can pat you down? I’d like to get myself a beer, but I worry about how you might have a gun. I hate guns.”
Lucas had seen Virgil operate before, and though he was uncertain about the concept of a beer, he let him go.
Joe Mack slid off the stool and Virgil carefully patted him down, and then looked under the stool, where a gun might be stuck, and found nothing. “Got no gun,” Joe Mack said, taking the stool back.
Lucas said, “I gotta say this. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney ...”
When he was done, Virgil said, “Okay,” and walked around behind the bar and pulled a beer for himself. “Lucas?”
“Maybe just a short one,” Lucas said.
Virgil said to Joe, “Freshen that up?”
“Yeah.” Joe pushed the glass across the bar.
Lucas took a stool two down from Joe Mack, and Virgil put the beers out.
“Why do you do all that rights stuff?” Joe Mack asked. “You could just lie about it, if anybody asked.”
“Best not to lie any more than you have to,” Lucas said.
Virgil: “Especially in court.”
“I’ll tell you what, Joe,” Lucas said. He took a sip of beer and looked at Joe Mack over the rim of the glass. “Large parts of this case are really confusing for us. Did your dad know about the whole thing? Or was he just a victim? We know you put the drugs into the tank up there.”
Joe Mack talked for a while, Virgil serving up a series of highballs—the broken front door started banging, letting in cold air, and Lucas went and wedged it shut with a chair—and when they were done, after an hour or so, they had the whole story.
Virgil said to Lucas, “You were mostly right.”
“Bet I talked way too much, didn’t I?” Joe Mack said.
“Well, hell, Joe, you know, this whole thing has been pretty awful,” Virgil said. He shook his head. “That MacBride woman ...”
“I get nightmares,” Joe Mack said. “I blew my guts ...”
“Doesn’t help Jill MacBride or her daughters,” Lucas said.
“Ah, fuck,” Joe Mack said. He stared into his nearly empty glass. “The whole problem was, we’re stupid people. That’s what caused all this trouble. We weren’t smart enough to run this bar, without buyin’ and sellin’ out the back door. We sure as shit weren’t smart enough to pull off a big-time robbery. Mikey kickin’ that guy? Just stupid. Cappy? Stupid. I only ran away from you guys because I’m stupid. I know that. Everybody knows that.”
He finished his drink, the fourth since they’d arrived, and Lucas said, “Time to go.”
“One more,” Joe Mack said, pleading, his eyes watery. “You know, I’m an alcoholic. I always liked being an alcoholic. One of the only good things that ever happened to me. This could be my last drink, forever.”
“One more?” Virgil looked at Lucas.
Lucas turned and looked out the windows, at the dirty cars hissing by on the snow-choked highway, the gray clouds piled up overhead, the barren trees like black lightning. The clouds were going out, and the cold was coming in: minus ten, that night, maybe fifteen below the next. He said, “Hell, why not? What better to do on a day like this?”
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Storm Prey Page 32
