Road Kill

by Carolina Mac

  “Good questions,” said Blaine. “I looked up the four that were dumb enough to sign their names and only one of them did thirty days in county. The other three paid a fine.”

  “We gonna roust their dumb asses today?” asked Fletch.

  “We are.”

  “Any of the four connected to the three suspects we’ve got in jail?” asked Luke.

  “Haven’t made the connection yet,” said Blaine, “but I’m hoping to make one today.”

  “Whoever staged the attempted hit at the mansion has big balls,” said Lily. “An elaborate plan involving several people and whoever they are, they don’t seem to give a flying fig for the consequences.”

  “Right,” said Blaine, “keep that in mind when you’re bringing these fuckers in. One of them is heavy into revenge mode and they might go sideways on y’all.”

  Massaroni Residence. South Austin.

  LUKE AND FLETCHER stood on the front step of a small rancher in south Austin and rang the bell.

  A lady in her mid-fifties answered wearing a white apron and holding a tea towel in her hand. “Yes, can I help y’all?”

  “We’d like to speak with Andrew Massaroni, please,” said Luke. “Is he at home?”

  “One minute, I’ll get him for you.”

  A burly fellow with a mop of dark curly hair thumped down the short hallway and stood at the door. “You want to see me?”

  Luke held up his badge. “You are needed for questioning at Ranger headquarters, sir. We’d like you to come with us.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “You’ll be advised of the circumstances as soon as we get there.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about.”

  “It’s concerning the threat you made against Mr. Madill.”

  “Hey, I was pissed at him at the time and I paid a big fine for that. It’s over and done with.”

  “Even so, we’re required to transport you to headquarters for a few questions. It won’t take long.”

  “Bullshit, it won’t. Everything takes a long time at the police station.”

  “It would be best if you came peacefully,” said Luke. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  “I paid my fine and I ain’t going with y’all. So, you can forget it.”

  Fletch whipped out his cuffs and snapped one on Massaroni’s wrist. “Let’s do it this way, then.”

  Massaroni swung at Fletcher. Fletch ducked and swept the big guy’s leg and he crashed to the floor in the hall knocking over the hall table. A vase holding fake flowers crashed onto the tiles and shattered.

  Mrs. Massaroni screamed.

  In a split second, Fletch had a knee in Massaroni’s back and had cuffs on him.

  “Get up,” said Luke and held the door open.

  “Don’t hurt Andy,” yelled the wife. “I’m calling the police.”

  “You go ahead ma’am,” said Fletcher. “We are the police.”

  Lee Memorial Hospital. Giddings.

  JESSE sat beside Marnie’s bed and watched her sleep. Stiff and sore, he limped out to the nurses’ station to talk to the doctor who had treated her.

  Doctor Tremaine glanced up from a chart he was reading. “Ranger Quantrall, is Miss Corbett asleep?”

  “She finally dozed off. I think she’s in a lot of pain.”

  “I’ve given her something for the pain, but the two fractured ribs will take a while to heal. She’ll need rest at home.”

  “Can I take her home soon?” asked Jesse. “I’m thinking of getting a nurse to help her for a few weeks.”

  “A nurse might be a good idea. The bruising and deep lacerations on her back from the cattle hooves are a problem. We don’t want infection setting in, so she’ll need dressings changed on her back once or twice daily for the first few days at least. Impossible for her to do that herself.” He stepped out from behind the desk and walked Jesse back to Marnie’s room.

  “She won’t be over this as quickly as you. To protect you like she did, she must love you very much. You’re a lucky man.”

  “I am,” said Jesse, “I’m lucky to have her and I want to take care of her.”

  East Cesar Chavez Area. Austin.

  LUKE AND FLETCHER dropped an unhappy Andy Massaroni off at headquarters and drove to the address of the second suspect. A guy named Manuel Hildago lived only a few blocks from Blaine’s compound on one of the streets of older row housing.

  Fletcher knocked on the door and got no answer.

  “Let me check the back,” said Luke. “Maybe he can’t hear us.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to hear us,” mumbled Fletcher. “Could be at work.”

  Luke jogged back, hopped up on the porch and ducked in out of the rain. “Don’t think anybody is home.”

  “Do we have a work address?”

  “Nope,” said Luke. “Looks like we need one.”

  “Let’s go on to the next guy and come back for Manuel.”

  Garrison Park Area. Austin.

  BLAINE parked in the drive behind a silver Lexus. “I’m surprised one of the people who signed their threat was a woman.”

  “Is that a sexist remark?” asked Lil with a smile.

  “Nope. Just figured they’d all be men,” said Blaine. “Can’t tell you why right off.”

  “Let’s go find out. Maybe she’s got a big set on her.”

  Blaine chuckled as they ran through the rain together to the door. Huddling under the small overhang, Lil rang the bell. A chunky platinum blonde wearing snug yoga pants, a load of silver jewelry and a lot of perfume opened the door.

  Holding up his credentials, Blaine said, “Miss Leigh Kryssa?”

  “Yes, why are the police on my doorstep on a nasty day like this?”

  “We’re conducting an investigation and you are a person of interest, ma’am,” said Blaine. “I’d like you to accompany us to headquarters for an interview.”

  “Is that what you call it when they make you sweat in one of those tiny rooms?”

  “Our rooms aren’t that small, ma’am. Would you get your coat or purse or whatever you need, please?”

  “I don’t want to go. I have plans for today.”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t voluntary, ma’am. I need you to do this for me.”

  She winked at him. “As a personal favor to the Super cop?”

  Blaine winced. He hated that name.

  “Just for you, Super. I’ll get my stuff.”

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE breathed a sigh of relief when Tyler’s blue Quantrall truck pulled through the gate. He’d gone back to his own ranch the night before because Charity would be missing Jesse and Marnie, but he’d apologized at the hospital for leaving her and agreed to come back home.

  Annie waited on the porch while Ty unbuckled Charity from her car seat and tried to keep her covered with an umbrella as he hurried from the truck to the house.

  “Did you get wet, little girl?” asked Annie.

  “Ty, wet.”

  “He is. His hat is dripping.” Annie took the umbrella and Charity’s bag while Ty took off Charity’s little pink raincoat and her rubber boots. “I love your boots.”

  “Boots,” she said then made a sad face. “Marnie mud.”

  “Uh huh. Marnie fell in the mud and got hurt,” said Annie. “She’ll be home soon.”

  Tyler had her raincoat half off when she pulled away. “I play Jacks and Loo.”

  “Jacks and Loo are in their room with Sarah. You go find them.”

  “I run.”

  “Don’t fall,” said Ty. To Annie: “She’s not a very good runner.”

  “I’m so glad you’re home, baby. I missed you so much.” Annie pulled Tyler into a hug and kissed him, and he kissed her back with all the heat and passion that made her love him so much.

  “Still have to spend most of tomorrow cleaning up the mess at the ranch.”

  “The rain is supposed to end in the night tonight.”

/>   “Hope to hell that’s a true prediction,” said Ty. “Quantrall is a disaster area.”

  Office of Attorney General of Texas.

  TRAVIS sat in the outer office drinking coffee and talking to Charlene while Madill made some confidential calls. Brad found it hard to work with someone watching over him and he’d asked Travis to give him some space for the rest of the afternoon.

  He made a few calls and read a few briefs, and every once in a while his thoughts flicked back to Annie Powell and her role in all of this. Who was she anyway? And who did she work for? That was the point that bugged him the most. He was an official with high clearance and he couldn’t seem to find out. These were the thoughts in his head when his cell rang.

  “Damn it Catherine, I don’t want to talk to you.” He pressed talk, fortified himself and used his most sympathetic voice. “Catherine, how are you feeling today?”

  “Slightly better. Thanks for asking.”

  “Did you want me for something in particular?”

  “No. Just touching base and apologizing again for going off on you like I did. Maybe we could have dinner soon?”

  “Umm… not for a while yet,” said Brad. “Blaine has a man watching me and I’m confined to office and home. Sorry.”

  “I didn’t realize there was still a problem.”

  “I wasn’t aware of it either, but the young fella was here earlier reading me the riot act. He put me on notice.”

  Catherine giggled. “The short fuse blew.”

  “He’s volatile. I have to give him that.”

  “But passionate about what he believes in. A word of advice—don’t cross him.”

  “Point taken.”

  Travis Heights.

  LUKE AND FLETCHER moved on to the final candidate for assassin. Fred Glover lived in a small frame bungalow in Travis Heights. Paint was peeling from the trim around the windows and doors and the flower beds were overgrown with weeds.

  “Looks like nobody lives here,” said Fletch.

  “Kind of run down and abandoned looking,” said Luke. “You might be right.”

  Fletch knocked a couple of times and got no answer. “Stay here and I’ll check the back.” He ran down the side of the house, past empty trash cans, through the gate and into the back yard. A deck had been added to the back of the small house and a set of patio doors installed. Fletcher stood on the deck and peered through the curtainless doors into the kitchen and couldn’t see much beyond a table and four chairs and standard white appliances. He was about to walk away when movement in the kitchen startled him. An orange cat ran to the door and meowed. “Okay, buddy. I’ll try to help you.”

  He ran around the front and told Luke. “There’s an orange cat trapped in there. If Glover moved away, we’ve got to send the cat to the pound.”

  “Sure,” said Luke with a smirk. “Someone is in distress inside. Open the door.”

  Fletcher pulled his lock pick set out of his pocket and had the front door open in a couple of minutes. They stepped into the front hall and the smell of death engulfed them. “Fred Glover might not have moved away after all,” said Fletcher.

  “Smells like he’s still here,” said Luke. “Let’s find him and call it in.”

  Fred Glover was lying on his bed. Two empty prescription vials on the bed beside him. A glass of water spilled on the floor beside the bed. No note. Nothing.

  Dead.

  The cat was stressed. Running in circles and meowing loudly.

  Luke called it in, then called Blacky.

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  BLAINE had Leigh Kryssa secured in interrogation room number two and was on his way back from the long trek to the vending machines at the end of the hall. Carrying the two Cokes he’d purchased, he had to juggle them to answer when Luke called.

  “Got a suicide here on Fred Glover, boss. Dead on his bed and we’re waiting on the ME. No note or nothing. Be a while.”

  “Take care of it, Luke. Go home when y’all are done. We’ll pick up tomorrow. I’m gonna interview the two we brought in today and call it.”

  “Roger that, boss.”

  Blaine sat down, pulled his notepad out of his briefcase and set up the interview. He gave his name, her name, the date and the case number.

  Miss Leigh Kryssa sat demurely across from Blaine sipping her Coke through a straw and pouting her shiny pink lips. “I paid my fine for spouting off against Mr. Madill, if that’s what this is about, and it must be because I’ve never had any other dealings with law enforcement.”

  “Do you know Milo or Dustin Carpenter?”

  Leigh screwed up her face like she was deep in thought. “I’ve never heard those names before. Sorry.”

  Is she lying?

  “How about Ginette Romley? Do you know her?”

  “Don’t think so. Nope.”

  “Jeff Turkovich? Ever heard of him?”

  “Who? Where are you getting these names, out of the phone book?”

  Blaine didn’t afford her any humor. “Tell me why you sent the note to Mr. Madill.”

  “I’ve already explained in detail to the police. I was charged and I paid my fine. That’s how it works. You break the law, you pay the price.”

  “Tell me.”

  Blaine had the transcript in front of him. Her husband, Edward Kryssa, had been tried and convicted for armed robbery. Brad Madill was a prosecutor a while before he was AG for Texas. Kryssa was beaten to death in Huntsville by a gang. Mrs. Kryssa maintained that her husband had been home with her and he didn’t rob the liquor store. It turned out that they caught the real robber after Edward Kryssa died in prison.

  “I… can’t talk about it without crying.”

  “Try,” said Blaine. “I’ll be patient.”

  “Cops are never patient. They want to close cases and they make up evidence to do so. That’s what the fuckers did to Teddy. They lied, and he died. It’s as simple as that.”

  “And you want to get even?”

  “How could I possibly get even? How could anyone make up for Teddy being gone?”

  “You’re right. They couldn’t.”

  BLAINE RELEASED Leigh Kryssa and had a squad take her home. He felt with every fiber of his being that she was the threat to Madill. Her motive was clear cut, he could feel the hate and the anger festering, but he had nothing to hold her on. How in hell was he going to connect her to the other four? There had to be something.

  He was still thinking about Mrs. Kryssa as he moved to room one and set up the interview with Andrew Massaroni. The big guy had been locked in the room for an hour.

  “Sorry I took so long, sir. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Nope. Just ask your questions and be done with it.”

  After the first round of questioning, Blaine knew this wasn’t the guy. His anger had died, and he had no interest in Brad Madill any longer.

  “I’ll send you home sir. Appreciate you coming in to talk to me.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. I told those guys it was a waste of time.”

  Downtown Austin.

  FARRELL headed downtown to Grady’s Pub around midnight to see if any of his street people were out and about. Kamps had been under the weather since his run-in with the gangers and had only been working once in a while. Roy the Toy had been selling himself to his regular customers and keeping the two of them eating. Farrell wasn’t sure what their relationship was and didn’t need to know. Neither one of them was around.

  Farrell took a booth where he could watch the door and he ordered a beer when old Mike looked his way. He’d been sitting there for twenty minutes when Sugar Daddy came in. Farrell had only talked to the big pimp a couple of times. Most of the time Daddy steered clear of the cops. Tonight, he was decked out in one of his big hats and he was toting five pounds of gold chain around his thick black neck.

  Farrell motioned to him to join him in the booth and Sugar hesitated, glanced around the dim pub to see who might be watching, then slid in across the table.
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  “What you looking for Dead-Eye? What you want with Sugar Daddy?”

  “Nothing personal. I’m not in your business. Need to hear what’s on the wind.”

  “What is the subject we be discussing and how much you offering?”

  “Say the right words and I’ll lay fifty on you.”

  “Lot of information under dis hat. You ain’t named the subject of your inquiry.”

  Farrell smiled.

  “I’m inquiring on the bridge sniper, and if you know anything, I’d be obliged to hear the words.”

  Sugar Daddy screwed up his face. “Bad, bad bidness. That mean motherfucker out there on the bridges in the pouring torrents picking off inn-o-cents. You gotta put one o’ your head shots in that crazy ass. Hear me, Dead-Eye?”

  “I hear you, and I would like to do just that if I could find him.”

  “For a Ben in advance, Sugar Daddy will ask around people who know biker down-low talk and call yo’ cell when you least expecting a communication. You got a Dead-Eye card?”

  Farrell passed a Ben Franklin and one of his cards across the table.

  BRICK left the Angel clubhouse after the meeting and headed for Stubbs down on Red River. Tonight, was his third date with a hot new babe who was deep into the Austin music scene. She would do about anything for tickets to the right shows and he couldn’t afford to be late.

  He hated riding his big Fat Boy in the rain, but what else was he gonna do? Had to get there somehow. Shyanne was prime and if somebody saw her sitting all alone they would scoop her up in a second. Brick could feel the minutes ticking by and the pressure was on him. He couldn’t stop to check the time on his cell.

  The road was slick, storm sewers were full and overflowing. Rain was coming down in buckets and he thought the wind was picking up.

  Brick let out a breath when he saw the bridge coming up ahead. He’d stop underneath long enough to let her know he’d be a couple minutes late. “Hold my spot, baby,” he said to himself.

  Thunder rolled.

  The sniper fired.

  Brick died.

  Fat Boy crashed.