by Carolina Mac
“Okay.” Misty took the scarf and held it. She closed her eyes and waited and got no result. “I’m sorry, I’m not getting anything, and I want to help y’all.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Blaine, “You can’t make it happen. I know that from past experience.”
Travis and Fletcher went downstairs, Blaine and Misty followed. “I’m sorry, nothing is working,” said Misty.
Blaine stopped, held her in his arms and kissed her. “It’s okay. You did your best.” He took her by the hand and they walked through the living room and into the foyer.
Misty noticed the dog’s leash on the floor near the hall table and picked it up. “Ohhh…” she sank down onto her knees and held tight to the leash.
Travis and Fletch turned around to see what was happening and stared. Misty’s eyes were closed, and she was talking in the low voice—the one Blaine called the ‘psychic voice.’
Blaine sat on the floor beside her and tried to hear what she was saying, but she was mumbling so low and the words were so garbled he couldn’t make all of it out.
“I wrote a check,” she said. “I can’t swim.”
Misty let out a loud groan like she was in pain, then she opened her eyes. Tears rolled down her face. “There are a lot of bridges and she’s below the surface near the third one.”
Fuck, they killed her and tossed her in the river.
Blaine hugged her and helped her stand up. “Sit down for a minute until you get your breath, sweetheart.” He sat her on the sofa, then strode into the kitchen looking for water. He returned with a bottle from the fridge and unscrewed the top for Misty. “Here, drink some water, then we’ll round everybody up and search.”
Trinity River. Dallas.
DUSK was falling over Dallas as Blaine and all the Blackmore crew drove towards the Trinity River. “That bridge,” said Misty, pointing at the one with the girded arch.
“Which side of the river?” asked Blaine, “or could you tell?”
“Not so many buildings as on this side.”
“Okay,” said Blaine. “Let’s cross over, get down to the river level and have a look.”
Leading the convoy, Blaine crossed the bridge, turned to his right and took a smaller road that led down to the river bank and out to the several islands. He found a spot to park, left the strobes on and helped Misty down from the sidestep.
Travis pulled in behind and parked, and Jack behind him in the junk truck.
The evening was darkening, but not full dark yet. Blaine took Misty’s hand and noticed how pale her face had become. She liked to help him, but the sessions took so much out of her he had to question whether it was worth it to him or not.
“Bushes,” she said. “There were a lot of bushes at the edge of the water.”
Blaine pointed, and called to Travis, “Take Maglites and start at that clump of bushes over there.”
Misty shivered, and Blaine turned her around. “Go back and wait in the truck, sweetheart. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Afraid she’ll be there.”
Blaine wrapped his arms around her and walked her back to the truck. “Wait for me here and turn the heat on if you’re cold.”
Once she was settled, he locked her in and caught up to the boys at the river’s edge.
Travis was shining a light down and nodded his head. “Yep, she’s there, boss. Want city homicide to take it from here?”
“Yeah, secure the scene. Have the lead detective send copies of everything to us.”
“They’ll want to know how we found the body,” said Travis. “You don’t want Misty involved, do you, boss?”
“Absolutely not,” said Blaine. “Nobody mentions Misty.”
“She’s amazing,” said Fletch. “Never would have believed it.”
“She is amazing,” said Blaine, “but I have to protect her.”
“How’s this sound, boss?” asked Hammer. “I stopped to take a leak and saw the floater. Called my crew.”
“Yep. Sounds plausible.” Blaine gave Hammer a fist bump.
Lucky’s Truck Stop. Yuma.
YUMA wasn’t in full darkness by eight in the evening. The sun was slow to give up one of its favorite spots in the whole country.
Farrell and Annie had spent the last half hour across the road from the truck stop lying on the tarred roof of the office building watching and waiting. Waiting for something to happen.
“The cartel people should be here soon scouting the place out,” said Farrell. “At least the first wave of them—the scouting party ahead of the supremo honcho.”
“You would think so,” said Annie.
“Any texts from the Dog?”
“Nothing.” Annie giggled. “I guess he forgot how much he loves me.”
Farrell’s lip curled. “Yeah, I guess. Fucking asshole. I hate it when you get caught in the middle of something, Mom, and get hurt. I fuckin hate it.”
“I know better than to let emotions enter into it. My own fault for liking him.” Annie patted his arm and kissed his cheek. “I love you, baby.”
I-35 Halfway to Austin.
BLAINE drove south from Dallas heading for home and stopped at the first barbeque place he came to. “Let’s get some dinner and get you a glass of wine. I’m worried about how pale you are, sweetheart.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s happened lots of times after I’ve had a vision, and I always make a comeback.” She smiled. “Usually.”
Blaine helped her down from the truck, his hands on her waist and thought she felt thinner. His head was full of worry for Misty and he didn’t know where it was coming from. “Have you been eating?”
She giggled. “Not as much at my house. When I’m at your place, Carm is cooking non-stop and I never stop eating.”
“You feel thin,” Blaine said.
“I’ll eat a whole cow in there.” She pointed at the restaurant. “How’s that.”
“Good.” Blaine pulled open the door for her. “I’ll watch you do it.”
The dinner hour was almost over and there were lots of available tables inside. The décor was typical of a barbeque place. Plank floors, horns on the walls and wooden signs with all kinds of ‘you know y’all are in Texas when.’
Misty read some of the signs on the way to their table and laughed. “Sometimes I miss N’Orlean so bad,” she said in her Louisiana drawl, “I just sit down and cry.”
Blaine blinked at the revelation. She had never once spoken about her home to him. “Let’s go for Mardi Gras,” he said on the spur of the moment. “It’s coming up soon.”
Misty seemed to brighten. “Could we?”
“We can do anything we want,” said Blaine.
“I love you, Blaine.”
Blaine reached over and took her hand. “I love you, Misty.”
The tender moment was interrupted by a waitress in a short skirt wanting their drink order. Blaine ordered a Corona for himself and a bottle of California Cabernet for Misty. This establishment had one of her favorite brands.
“I can’t drink a whole bottle,” said Misty with a giggle.
“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart.” Blaine smiled at her. “By the time I pay for two or three glasses, you might as well have the whole bottle.”
“I’m not much on economics, but I’m glad you are. One less thing for me to worry about.”
“I don’t want to talk about the case, but when you had your eyes closed at Mrs. Bromwell’s house and you were saying… things, you mentioned that she wrote a check.”
“Did I?”
“Never mind. I’ll look into it tomorrow.”
Lucky’s Truck Stop. Yuma. Arizona.
A COUPLE OF BLACK SUV’S pulled into the truck stop one after the other and parked not in the restaurant parking area, but over towards the garage behind a line of tractor-trailers like they were needing mechanical help.
“Think that’s them?” asked Farrell.
“Don’t know, sugar. Coul
d be.”
Farrell checked the time on his cell. “It’s eight thirty. Where’s the fuckin Dog?”
Annie shrugged although Farrell couldn’t see her in the dark. “I thought the Dog would be more careful and he’d allow more time for surveillance before he walked into any kind of a setup.”
“He didn’t seem stupid,” said Farrell, “but most career bikers aren’t on the Mensa list.”
Annie giggled. “True.”
Rest Stop North of Yuma.
DOUGIE, Rice, Bentley and the six members of the B team riding with them pulled into the rest stop a mile north of Yuma. They used the facilities, bought drinks and smoked while they finalized their approach tactics.
“I don’t like it,” said Dougie, “It smells like a set up and I never should have agreed to it. We hand over the money and that’s the last time we see those amigos.”
“No,” said Rice, “I don’t see it that way, boss. They’re testing us to see if our word is good. After the Rule cost them so much in cash and merchandise, they ain’t gonna trust another club too soon. They’re being cautious. That’s all it is.”
“They’re bringing samples for us,” said Bentley, “showing good faith.”
“What’s half a dozen guns?” asked Dougie, “Tell me what good that’ll do us if they’re ripping us off half a mil.”
“When did you get so fuckin paranoid, boss?” asked Rice. “You’ve been different since you went all soft over the black-haired bitch.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rice.” Dougie gave the VP a shove when he desperately wanted to paste him in the goddam face, knock him flat and slit his throat. Dougie found himself breathing like a bull in the arena and now wasn’t the time to lose it. He forced himself to calm down. “Let’s go. Look for two black SUV’s parked close to the semis. Be careful they don’t try to squeeze us between the trucks.”
“This is a business deal, boss,” said Bentley. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
Lucky’s Truck Stop. Yuma.
DRENCHED IN SWEAT, Dougie eased off the gas to make the turn into the truck stop parking lot. Bentley was in the lead and Dougie in second spot as a precaution. Bentley spotted the SUV’s one behind the other between two semis and pointed. He circled wide the first time around and the B team followed.
On the second pass, two cartel guys were out of the trucks waving them closer, nice and friendly like.
“This is it,” Dougie mumbled to himself as he kicked the stand down and got off his ride. He was leaving his bike at the mouth of the alleyway formed by the trucks—just in case. He reached into the left saddlebag and pulled out the package of money he’d wrapped in a plastic grocery bag.
His men stood around him in a semi-circle with weapons at the ready as one of the cartel guys came closer.
The cartel rep stuck out a hand and said, “I am, Ruiz, Senor Caranza’s assistant.”
Dougie shook his hand. “When can we expect our first shipment?”
“Arrangements will be made as soon as your payment is verified.”
“I need a guarantee,” said Dougie. “I ain’t handing over my money without a guarantee that I’m gonna get the fuckin guns.”
FARRELL was parked behind the restaurant in a spot that offered a full view of most of the parking lot. Trucks pulled in and trucks pulled out, some gassing up, some making quick repairs and some sleeping for a long period of time. When the rigs crossed in front of him, it was more difficult to see the SUV’s, but he and Annie had clear sightlines to the cartel vehicles most of the time.
The rumble of the nine Harley’s put them on alert. Annie had taken a position in the back seat with all windows down, so she could shoot from either side of the truck while Farrell drove.
“Ready, Mom?” asked Farrell. He started the engine and let it idle as they watched the meeting unfold in front of them.
“Can you see what’s happening?” asked Annie. “Give me the play by play.”
“Looks like Dougie is arguing with one of the cartel guys. He’s pulling the package back and looks like he might put it back in his saddle bag.”
“Not a good sign,” said Annie, “there’s going to be trouble.”
“We’ve got to get closer,” said Farrell. He stepped on the gas and started to roll.
“We need the Dog,” said Annie.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Oh, fuck,” hollered Farrell. “That asshole just shot Dougie.”
“Floor it.”
Farrell stomped the gas and the truck careened around a semi towards the bikes and the SUV’s.
Annie peered through the scope and fired three shots. She took out three cartel guys with autos. Nobody was looking at her, they were concentrating on killing each other. As Farrell turned and circled, she shifted to the other side of the truck and popped Bentley and Rice—both head shots. Four of the B team who were still alive, mounted up and made a run for it, the cartel guys firing off a few last shots before they bailed.
The SUV’s backed up and squealed out of the parking lot headed back to the border crossing at San Luis.
“Get close enough to pick him up,” hollered Annie. “I hope he was wearing a vest.”
Farrell zoomed alongside the Dog where he lay on the asphalt near his bike. Farrell braked and rammed the truck into park.
“He’s breathing,” said Farrell. “Help me.”
He and Annie lifted him into the back seat and slammed the door. “Get the money,” said Annie. “It’s lying beside Bentley’s corpse.” Annie hopped in the front with Farrell and he tossed the package over the seat into the back.
They peeled away from the truck stop, the sound of sirens closing in. “Take eight to Phoenix. We’ll fly home from there.”
“He needs a hospital,” said Farrell, wiping off his hands. “He’s bleeding bad from somewhere.”
“Where’s he shot?”
“Didn’t have time to look, but blood got all over my hands when we picked him up.”
Annie climbed over the console into the back seat and examined Dougie. His right side was soaked in blood from his hip to his armpit. Annie tried to find where the blood was coming from. She pulled off his leather cut and lifted his shirt. “One of the bullets hit him below the heart. A big dent in the vest. His ribs are probably broken. No blood above the waist—must be lower.”
Dougie was unconscious and wasn’t making a sound.
Annie unzipped his black jeans and tugged them down a little way. She inhaled quickly.
“Find it?”
“Below his hip bone.”
“Press on it and try to get it stopped up,” said Farrell.
Annie reached into her overnight case and pulled out one of her own t-shirts. She folded it into a pad and pressed down hard on the hole in the Dog’s leg.
“Has it stopped?” asked Farrell a few minutes later.
“Not stopped but slowed.”
“Can’t believe we’re saving him,” said Farrell. “I thought… doesn’t matter what I thought. Your work is classified.”
“I’m not supposed to talk about what’s really going on,” said Annie. “Not even to my family.”
Dougie let out a long low groan and startled her. “Come on, Dougie. Open your eyes. You can do it.”
Trauma Center. Phoenix. Arizona.
ANNIE and Farrell sat in the Phoenix Hospital cafeteria drinking coffee at three a.m. The doctor in Emergency who first examined the Dog, made a fuss about it being a bullet wound and having to report it.
Farrell flashed his Ranger creds and told the doc to call the Chief of the Texas Rangers and get him out of bed, if he didn’t want to take Farrell’s word that it was okay to treat the patient. Farrell assured the doctor that Dougie was under arrest and was to be cuffed to the bed when he came out of surgery.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wednesday, February 4th.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE left Misty in bed sleeping when he got up to let the dogs out. She hadn’t mad
e much of a comeback from her vision experience in Dallas—not as much as Blaine had hoped for. She was pale, quiet and to him she seemed weakened by the whole thing.
Maybe I should take her to a doctor.
He put the dogs in the yard, poured himself a coffee in the kitchen, then shut himself in the office to delve into Barb Bromwell’s bank records. If the killers had forced her to write a check like Misty said, had they cashed it?
An hour later, he had the answer. The money was gone from her account and she hadn’t had time to invest it or move it before she’d gone missing. He checked the time and mumbled to himself, “The boys will be here in ten minutes. Barely time to shower and get dressed.”
When he came downstairs, the crew were all in the kitchen drinking coffee, munching on Carm’s muffins and waiting for orders. “I’m late because I was researching Barb Bromwell’s bank records. Someone went to her bank and cashed that check they made her write. What we need are the sur-cam pictures from the bank, and to get those we’ll need a subpoena. I’m going to headquarters now to get that started.”
Blaine pointed at Travis, Fletcher and Hammer, “You three follow me in a separate vehicle and as soon as I have the paperwork for y’all, go to Dallas to the bank.”
Lily looked at him expectantly and Blaine motioned her into the foyer. “Call Doctor Brian Quantrall and see if you can get Misty into his office at the Smithville Clinic for a complete physical. I want a full work up, and don’t let her talk you out of it. Drive her down there, go to the steakhouse for lunch or a drink and then bring her back.”
Lily frowned. “You worried about something in particular?”
“Bad feeling, Lil. She’s lost weight and she’s weak as a kitten.”
“Okay, I’ll call now and see what time we can get in.”
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
CHIEF CALHOUN had the subpoena sitting on his desk by the time the team arrived. He was keen to wrap up the three murders and close the books on them. Blaine sat down to catch the Chief up on all the details while the boys headed to Dallas with the subpoena.
