by Carolina Mac
They galloped across the five hundred acres to the back gate, then walked through the narrow opening to the adjacent land. Jesse could see the boys in the next field to the west trying to settle the antsy longhorns and putting up a temporary fence to keep them high and away from the overflowing pond.
When he got close enough, he could see Marnie beside Tyler, holding wire and pliers, rain dripping off her hat down the front of her raincoat.
I love that girl.
East Austin.
THE TINY CLUBHOUSE belonging to the Rockets was on a back street near the river. Like so many of them, it had once been a garage and was still a garage with a couple of ratty old sofas and a table added. Two Harleys were parked outside when Farrell knocked on the door.
A sleepy looking guy in jeans and a dark blue hoody opened the door and stared at the badge Farrell was holding in his face. “What do the Texas Rangers want with us?”
Farrell pushed through the open doorway and stepped in out of the rain. “Pissing down out there. Need to ask you a couple of questions about one of your guys.”
“Which one?”
“James Wainwright.”
“Red? We call him Red Ryder cause… you know.”
Farrell shrugged. “He have bad feelings or a beef with anybody that you know of?”
“Hell, haven’t seen him for six months. He was doing time for a bit of meth. Thought he was getting out soon.”
“Got out today and somebody shot him on 71 at the I-35 overpass. Know anything about that?”
The guy looked stunned and it might not have been from the information Farrell had given him. “Sounds crazy to me.”
“Yeah, it’s crazy all right. Some goddam sniper out there in the pouring rain picking bikers off just for kicks.”
“Is he like… dead or wounded or what?”
“Saint Michael’s. Y’all should go see him.”
He turned and glanced at the other guy standing behind him. “We will.”
“How many members y’all got in the Rockets?” asked Carlos.
“Small club, just for riding and hanging out. Maybe twenty-five.”
“Y’all watch yourselves around the bridges,” said Farrell. “Hear me?”
Back in the truck Farrell said, “Those guys are wannabees. Fairly harmless.”
Carlos nodded. “Yep, that was my take.”
CHAPTER TWO
Tuesday, September 25th.
Austin Courthouse.
BLAINE and Jesse sat in the front row behind the prosecution’s table joining Mary Polito who was already seated and waiting for the first case to be called. She was covering the story for her column in the Austin paper and the on-going saga centered around Governor Campbell and her murdered husband was big news all across the state.
“Morning, guys,” she whispered to both of them.
As they waited for the first case too, Jesse took stock of the big brass on the scene. The District Attorney, Perry Leighton himself, was present along with Brad Madill, State’s Attorney for Texas.
The elite all gathered together for an arraignment. The Governor’s husband had been shot down in cold blood at his wedding reception and they were leaving nothing to chance. Rory Lumley was acting prosecutor and in Jesse’s opinion there was none better. Lumley had his shit together at all times.
When they arrived at the courthouse, media vans had begun to gather around the building like algae on a pond and one could only wonder how big the crowd would be when they tried to leave.
Judge Woodley, a man who’d signed his share of warrants for the Agency, took the bench and the court came to order. A huge crowd of spectators in attendance for an arraignment.
The defendants were brought in one at a time. Dustin Carpenter was first with his public defender. A short, bald guy Jesse knew slightly.
“He any good?” asked Blaine.
“I’ve seen him at headquarters, and he tries hard,” said Jesse. “Too many cases. They have too many.”
Blaine nodded and listened as the judge asked Carpenter for his plea.
“Not guilty.”
“So entered,” said the judge.
“On the question of bail, Your Honor?” asked the PD.
“There will be no bail. Remanded into custody.” Judge Woodley banged the gavel down and called for the next case. It was a repeat performance for the other Carpenter brother, obvious the pressure was on for refusal of bail.
The bailiff brought Ginette Romley in last and she stood in front of the judge sobbing and wailing that she didn’t do anything. It was all a mistake.
The charges were read by the clerk and Ginette was asked for her plea. “Not guilty. I didn’t do anything. You have to let me go.”
“Your plea has been entered, Miss Romley and there will be no bail. You will remain in custody until your trial date.” He banged the gavel down and called the next case.
Ginette screamed and tried to wrestle herself free from the bailiff’s grasp as he escorted her out of the courtroom.
“That cheered me,” said Jesse with a crooked smile. “Too bad Brian wasn’t here to see it.”
“She still owes you, partner,” said Blaine. “That girl is a mean piece of work.”
They exited through the front doors and that proved to be a grievous error. A stadium sized mob had gathered, cameras running, questions hanging on the waterlogged air. Everyone was drenched and dripping and still they didn’t have the sense to leave.
“I’m not going to stand here in the rain and talk to y’all,” hollered Blaine. “No bail for the three charged in the death of Governor Campbell’s husband. No bail. They’ve been returned to custody and that’s all I’m saying for now.”
“Thanks, Ranger Blackmore. Will you be attending Mr. Callaghan’s funeral this afternoon?”
“Yes, I will.”
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
ANNIE gazed out the arched windows in the master bedroom at the dripping pine trees growing thick and tall at the back of the house. Dark skies told the story. There would be no let up in the rain anytime soon. What a day for a funeral. Was there anything sadder than a funeral on a dismal, rainy day? Stuff horror stories were made of.
And she was down in the doldrums anyway since Tyler hadn’t returned from Quantrall. She was giving him space to work things out, but what was he going to decide? That was the thing that was driving her crazy. What if he was gone for good? She couldn’t bear to have another marriage hit the skids. The world’s worst wife. That’s what she was. Had to be true.
Tears filled her eyes and she was about to embark on another crying jag when her cell rang. Her face lit up when she saw his name.
“Hey, baby.”
“Mom, are you going to the funeral?”
“I was wondering that to myself a minute ago.”
“Did Ty come home yet?” asked Blaine.
“No. I’m still waiting.”
“Shit. Come to my place and go with us. I don’t want you going alone.”
“Thanks, honey. I don’t think I could bear to go alone.”
“Can you drive?”
“I think so. I’m a lot better.”
“Come as soon as you’re ready and we’ll have a drink before we go.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll do that.”
The Oaks. West Austin.
FOUR SPECIAL AGENTS kept watch over a completely private service at a small funeral chapel near Governor Campbell’s private residence. At the conclusion, guests were invited back to her home for refreshments.
Randy’s brother, Mike Callaghan was the sole representative from his family. Both parents were in a nursing home in San Antonio and unable to attend their eldest son’s funeral.
Randy’s partners from his law firm were present with their wives and both men were visibly shaken.
The rest of the guests were Catherine’s nearest and dearest along with political biggies she had to invite.
“Wait here until Farrell gets the truck,�
�� said Blaine to Misty and Annie. “No point in y’all getting soaked.”
The media who had ferreted out the secret location of the service, lurked outside, quietly filming in the rain, they were more subdued than normal and for that Blaine was thankful. He’d already spoken to them earlier in the day and intended to ignore their questions for as long as possible.
Governor Campbell’s Residence. West Austin.
SPECIAL AGENT Gene Wyman stood in the pouring rain checking ID’s at the door before letting anyone into Catherine’s house.
“Miserable day, Gene,” said Jesse as he hustled Marnie in under the porch roof to keep her dry.
“Bad business, Jesse. The Governor is not handling this well.”
“She might need more time,” said Jesse as he ushered Marnie into the foyer. “Hard thing to get over.” He spotted Blaine and Farrell in the living room sitting with Annie, Misty and Brad Madill.
“Terrible day out there,” said Madill, “and it won’t be letting up any time soon.”
“Yeah,” said Jesse, “we’ve got a few flooding problems at the ranch.”
“The Colorado is high,” said Annie, “where it runs through my ranch it’s almost to the top of the banks.”
“Is that where your husband is today?” asked Madill. “Busy with the ranch?”
Annie nodded and looked away.
“Come on, Annie,” said Farrell. “Let’s get some cake.”
Annie rose slowly, and Farrell took her arm and walked her into the dining room.
Catherine circulated, accepting condolences from everyone and dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes. Only about thirty or forty people had been invited. She was keeping it small, controlled and under the radar.
Blaine was in conversation with Jesse and Chief Calhoun when Catherine approached and thanked them for coming.
“You should take a week off,” said the Chief. “Take some time for yourself. Texas won’t fall apart in a week.”
“I won’t go back to the Capitol until Monday,” she said. “Penny will hold the office together.”
Goodbyes were said, and as Annie followed Blaine and Farrell towards the door, Brad Madill caught up and touched her arm. She stepped aside for a moment to hear what he wanted to say. “I’d like to take you to dinner when you’re feeling up to it. There are a few things I’d like to discuss.”
“Thanks, Brad. That would be nice.”
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
DINNER was ready, and Casey had set the table perfectly the way Carm had taught him when they arrived home after the funeral. The rain hadn’t let up a bit, if anything, it was coming down harder.
Even though they had umbrellas to get from the truck to the porch, they were far from dry. Everyone kicked out of wet shoes and boots in the foyer.
“I’m gonna change out of this damp suit,” said Farrell. “Hate wearing a suit anyway.”
“Me too,” said Blaine, “only take me a minute and then I’ll get everybody a drink.”
“I’ll get the drinks,” said Misty. “I’m dry.”
“Was the funeral sad?” asked Casey as he folded a pile of napkins. “I’ve never been to a funeral.”
“Uh huh, it was hard for Catherine,” said Annie. “Her husband died.”
“I saw Madill hitting on you, Mom,” said Farrell as he helped Misty with the drinks. “He’s got the hots for you.”
“He asked me to dinner when I’m feeling better. There are some things he wants to talk about.”
Farrell rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and we know what those things are, don’t we?”
Annie giggled. “Not those kinds of things.”
“Fifty,” said Farrell.
“Okay,” said Annie. “Fifty. I think it’s strictly business.”
East Austin.
CAM CROCKETT left the clubhouse cursing the weather and cursing the job Axle had given him. Who the hell needed to collect money in this fuckin weather? Couldn’t it wait one more fuckin day? Would one more day break the club? Don’t think so. Hellstorm was doing good now. They’d expanded their territory in the east end of the city, staying out of the way of the tier one clubs and new prospects were coming in all the time looking to join up. Their little club was getting a rep.
Cam didn’t consider himself a bad dude. He worked hard for the club as the enforcer, did what he was told and in a couple more years he’d be close to being president. At least by then he’d be VP and the members would give him a lot of respect. That’s all he wanted. Respect.
Shit, he needed a smoke and he needed a couple of minutes out of this downpour. Cold rain was seeping down the back of his neck, he couldn’t see a goddam thing on the road ahead and his sinuses were kicking up again. If he woke up with a fuckin sinus headache it would be Axle’s fault and he’d let him know about it. Guaranteed.
Cam wiped the rain off his goggles and noticed the overpass up ahead. He’d stop underneath where it was dry and have a quick smoke. His rain gear was good but against weather like this with the wind n’all, he was still wet and miserable.
Easing off on the gas, the Harley engine rumbled and the bike slowed as Cam approached the bridge. A sharp pain zapped his neck and he thought he’d caught a stone. The front tire wobbled as the strength left his body and he couldn’t hold the big chopper. His baby was headed straight for the concrete abutment…
Cam died.
No more headaches.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
DINNER WAS OVER and Carm was loading the dishwasher when Blaine’s cell rang. “I’m not going out in the rain again no matter who the hell you are,” Blaine hollered at his phone. One glance at the screen and he lowered his voice. “Hey, Chief, what’s up?”
Farrell chuckled and waited for the scoop.
“We’ve got another biker down where route 183 crosses Clarke Road.”
“Shit,” said Blaine, “another bridge situation?”
“Exactly the same,” said the Chief. “Looks like the same guy.”
“Two days in a row?”
“This one’s dead and Mort is cursing the air blue but he’s heading out there in his rain gear.”
“Double damn it. Okay give me five to find the right clothes to wear. Farrell will drive me.”
Farrell shook his head. “I ain’t going out in that. The wind has picked up and now it’s coming down in fuckin sheets.”
“Mort and Tim are waiting for us. They’ll be just as wet and as pissed as us.”
“Jeeze, the doc will be in a mood,” said Farrell as he grabbed for his hat.
Route 183 and Clarke Street. East Austin.
“NO MEDIA HOUNDS,” said Farrell, “at least not yet.”
“Some of the fuckers don’t like the rain,” said Blaine, “but it doesn’t deter most of them.”
Farrell parked the truck and left the strobes flashing.
“Smashed right into the side of the bridge,” said Blaine as they got closer. “Bent the whole front end of the chopper.”
“Nice paint job too,” said Farrell. “Looks like quality airbrushing even covered in raindrops.”
They stood next to Doctor Mort Simon who was in a squat position next to the biker’s body. “Anything, Mort?”
“Neck shot. Rifle. I’d have to guess large. .308. The guy was dead in seconds.”
Blaine stared upwards though the downpour. “With the wind and rain working against him, he’s got to be a decent shooter.”
“I’d say so,” said Farrell. “Are we thinking military?”
“Could be. Somebody the government trained and now they’re pissed off.”
“Pissed off at bikers?” Farrell pulled his hat lower over his eyes.
Tim, the ME’s assistant held out a plastic bag containing the biker’s wallet. “Here you go, Blaine. An address not far from here if you’re doing the notification.”
“Thanks, Tim. Yeah, we’re already wet. Might as well get ‘er done.”
Crockett Residence. East Austin.
“Not a great neighborhood,” said Farrell. “The light is on in the front room. Let’s see if somebody will talk to us.” He banged on the door and the second time someone opened it a crack.
“Mr. Crockett?” asked Blaine. “We’re from the police. Can we come in for a minute?”
“Don’t have nothing to say about Cameron. He’s on his own with the police.” The man pushed the door closed and Farrell stuck his knee in and pushed it open.
“This is about your son, sir, but I’m afraid we have some bad news for y’all.”
“Everything about Cameron is bad news.” The old man backed up under the light and Blaine could see his wrinkled face and gray hair.
“I’m sorry to tell you, sir, that your son is dead,” said Blaine.
The man stopped in his tracks and turned to stare. “Dead?”
“He was shot a couple of hours ago and he died at the scene. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Mr. Crockett took three steps into the kitchen and flopped down on a chair. “Can’t believe it.”
“Is there anyone you know of who would want to kill your son, sir?” asked Blaine.
“Dirt bags from another club is all I can think of. Cam was always talking about them other dirt bags.”
“Any dirt bag in particular?” asked Farrell. “Like a dirt bag with a name?”
The old man shook his head and reached for a pack of smokes. “They all got them stupid fuckin biker names. You know—tough guy names that makes them sound like idiots.”
Blaine nodded and placed one of the Agency cards on the table. “Call me if you think of anything or if you have any questions, sir. I always answer my cell.”
The old guy nodded and dropped his chin on his chest.
CHAPTER THREE
Wednesday, September 26th.
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
ANNIE cleared up the breakfast dishes and sat down with her second cup of coffee to call Tyler. She’d left a couple of messages and sent him several texts and received no replies. She needed to know what was going on in his head. If he intended to come back and he was just too busy with the flooding on Quantrall, that’s what she wanted to hear. If he had no intention of coming back to her, she wanted to hear that too.
