by Carolina Mac
“Already?” Farrell made a face. “Fuckin impossible they knew where the hell he was holed up.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Think its more for show and the truth is, the Dog has been talking to his men?”
“How in the hell would they know he was in Texas and where in Texas unless he told them himself?” asked Blaine. “Doesn’t make any sense.”
“If he’s talking to his men somehow, Annie’s getting snowed and she’s in danger.”
“I asked her flat out and she said she didn’t trust him,” said Blaine. “She’s being careful.”
“How careful?”
FARRELL set the coffee tray on the Chief’s desk, plopped down in one of the guest chairs, took his hat off and waited. Number one was on the phone. Calhoun hung up and nodded. “DPS has the stolen tan van. Two kids were driving it.”
Blaine stepped into the Chief’s office behind Farrell and heard the Chief. “Where?”
“One eighty-three and two-ninety.”
“Are they bringing the kids in?” asked Blaine.
Calhoun nodded. “Yep, and they called for a tow from impound.”
“Fantastic,” said Blaine. “I’ll call the three remaining sets of parents to ID the kids that are coming in.”
Farrell picked up his coffee and plunked his hat on his head. “I’ll go down and see what Sue has on the poor old farmer.”
“Watch yourself, son,” said the Chief. “Things might be heating up in the lab.”
Farrell turned and winked. “Thanks for your concern, Chief. I’ll be extra careful.”
County Road. East of Austin.
BART WATCHED from a distance as highway patrol stopped the van he was following. It had taken him all morning driving around and around on the county roads to find the damn thing and now, the cops got to it first. If the cops towed it in, the van wouldn’t lead him to the new hideout.
“Damn it, Biscuit. Now the little fuckers will have to steal a new ride.”
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
ANNIE STOPPED at the gate to Coulter-Ross and hollered out the window to Jose, “Tell Mag I want to see him right away, and make sure your rifle is loaded, sugar. There might be trouble.”
“Okay, boss. I’ll give Mag the message.”
“How many people work here?” asked Dougie as he struggled out of the truck.
“Few dozen,” said Annie. “I lost count.” She opened the door for the lame Dog, then stood on the porch, called Blaine and gave him the scoop.
Dougie had plopped down at the harvest table, breathing hard from his trip between the truck and the house. “Fuck, I feel useless.”
“Let’s have a coffee,” said Annie. “I’ll make a fresh pot for Rafe. He’ll be along in a few minutes.”
“Who’s that?”
“County Sheriff. Blaine’s sending him to do the clean-up.”
Declan strolled into the kitchen wearing his perpetual smile and looking for his patient. “How did the X-rays go, lad?”
“Didn’t hurt. Getting there and getting back, almost fuckin killed me.” The Dog grinned at the Irishman.
Annie smiled. At least the Dog liked Declan. One hurdle.
Sheriff Rafe Cumberland showed up five minutes later and Annie put out a plate of her pecan tarts.
The big Sheriff ducked as he came through the kitchen door with his hat in his hand. His hair had turned a bit grayer since the last time Annie had seen him.
“Morning, Miss Annie.” He grinned at her. “I believe I passed your handiwork splattered on the highway, on the way here.”
“You did, Rafe.” She turned and said, “This is Dougie the Dog Robertson, formerly of the B team. Did my son explain about the Dog’s position?”
“He did, and there’s no problem. Self-defense. He’s wounded, and you were obviously keeping him and yourself alive against considerable odds.”
Annie pointed to the plate of tarts. “Have a tart, sugar. I’ll get you a coffee.”
“This the gun?” The Sheriff pointed to the Beretta Annie had placed on the granite counter.
“That’s it.”
“As soon as we record your version, and Mr. Robertson’s view of what went down, I’m gonna enjoy a couple of those tarts.”
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
JESSE put Charity down for her morning nap and settled in his office to go over reports that had been streaming in from headquarters on the Kyle Teckford/Basil Bernard case. He couldn’t get his head around the parents not knowing where their teenage kids were and worse than that, not bothering to find out.
Daddy was tough on us boys, but it made a difference.
He nodded his head and said out loud, “Annie was right. One of her biggest motivations for building the safe-house was apathy. Apathy damn well is a killer.”
He booted up his desktop computer and called up the e-mails. Halfway through the first one his cell rang. “Chief?”
“Got a hit on the stolen van. Two kids driving. DPS is bringing the kids in and Blacky called the parents. He wants to see if these two belong to any of them.”
“What’s the time frame?”
“They should be here by the time you drive from Giddings. The van was stopped out your way, east of the city.”
“Put them in two separate rooms,” said Jesse. “It won’t hurt them a bit to sweat it out alone for a few minutes. Let them think about the deep shit they’re in.”
“None of the kids are as tough when separated from the gang,” said the Chief. “Jeeze, a few of them are barely out of elementary school.”
“Anything turn up on the farmer?” asked Jesse.
“Nope, nothing. Farrell talked to Sue and the old guy lived on that property all his life. I think it was a second or a third generation family farm. No connection to any scum like Teckford.”
“So sad,” said Jesse. He turned off his computer and went in search of Molly to watch the baby.
County Road. East of Austin.
AFTER the van was towed away, Bart made a methodical search of the area where the kids had been heading. One of Mrs. Balstadt’s parks was down the next sideroad. The cops had already searched the trailers in that park twice and they hadn’t found the kids. Be a good spot for them to go back to.
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
HIGHWAY PATROL brought the two boys into DPS and handed them off to Blaine.
“Good catch on the van,” said Blaine. “Bet these fellows don’t even have a DL.”
“No ID of any kind,” said one Ranger, “far as I could tell.”
“Any drugs on them?” asked Farrell.
“Didn’t find any, but they could be in the van,” said the Ranger. “Might have hid their stash when they saw us coming.”
Farrell nodded. “The Forensics’ boys in the garage will tear that baby apart.”
Blaine secured one boy in interrogation room two while Farrell cuffed the other punk to the table in room three.
Mr. Frolick, red in the face, came through the front door, crossed the waiting area and hollered, “I can’t believe I’m here again. What kind of stunt are y’all pulling this time?”
Blaine approached him and tried to keep from clocking the guy in the face. “I’d like you to look through the one way glass and tell me if either of the boys we just brought in is your son.”
Frolick calmed down slightly. “Okay, let me see.” Frolick stared through the glass and shook his head. “Nope, that’s not Johnathan.”
“Take a look in room three,” said Blaine and pointed at the glass.
“Nope, not him.”
“Okay, thanks, Mr. Frolick. I’ll be in touch.”
“This is taking a lot of time away from work, said Frolick. My foreman is not a happy man.”
“Are you going to be a happy man when your son is found dead, Mr. Frolick?”
Frolick gave Blaine the finger and bolted for the exit.
JESSE STARTED with the boy in room three. “Afternoon, son. M
y name’s Jesse. Want to tell me your name?”
The kid was maybe sixteen, with sandy hair and the start of a bit of blond scruff on his face. Thin and pale. Looked half-starved. Could be a user.
“Ain’t talking to cops.”
“I’ve heard that a lot lately. That one of your club rules?”
“Damn right it is. At the top of the list. A good one too.”
Jesse turned on the recorder and took a sip from his can of Coke. The kid eyed the can.
“You thirsty, kiddo? I can get you a drink.”
“I could use a drink,” he said. “Dr. Pepper.”
“Be right back.” Jesse stepped outside the door into the corridor and Farrell had been watching through the glass.
“I’ll go get it, boss.”
Jesse went back inside and sat down. “One of my boys is getting your drink.”
The kid stared at his hands in the cuffs.
“Could you tell me your name?” Jesse asked again. “It would make it easier for us to talk.”
“I’m an East Ender,” said the kid puffing out his chest a little, “that’s all you need to know.”
“Where were you and your buddy going with the van?”
“We were… never mind. None of your goddam business where we were going.”
Jesse shrugged. “Just wondered if the boss sent you on an errand and when you don’t come back, what’s he gonna think?” Jesse chuckled. “Man, he might be getting madder n’hell at you guys.”
The kid’s face showed a flicker of fear. Yep. The boy was afraid of Kyle Teckford.
Farrell came in with the can of Dr. Pepper and set it down in front of the kid. “Thanks, Deputy Donovan,” said Jesse, using Farrell’s title.
“No problem.” Farrell left the room and closed the door.
While the kid reached for the can, slid it across in front of him and bent forward to reach the straw, Jesse dove in. “Tell me about robbing the convenience store, kiddo. Was it you who stabbed Mrs. Costello?”
“Sure, as hell wasn’t me, Mr. Cop. I don’t go around stabbing old ladies.”
He was there.
“Good to know. Tell me about your parents. Do you think your mom and dad are wondering where you are?”
“Mom only. My old man ran off a long time ago. Useless prick—that’s what my ma calls him. She works all the time to pay our rent. She’s too busy to notice I’m not home.”
“Where do you call home?”
The kid smiled. “Think I’d tell you that?”
Jesse shrugged. “I thought you might.”
The kid leaned down and took another slurp of soda through the straw. “I’m done talking for now. I need to sack out.”
Jesse opened the door and called Blaine in. “Print him. I think he’ll match to prints at the convenience store robbery. Charge him with assault with a deadly. Robbery. Driving a stolen vehicle. Driving without a license.” Jesse grinned, “And don’t forget to read him his rights.”
The kid wore a terrified look when he saw Blaine coming to get him. “I wasn’t there,” he hollered. “I didn’t stab her. It was Wayne. I swear it.”
“What’s Wayne’s last name?”
“Ask him. He’s in the next room.”
BLAINE had escorted the other two parents down the hall and both said neither boy belonged to them. Nothing had turned up on the search of the area where DPS found the stolen van. Blaine hoped Jesse could get something out of these two—anything they could use.
“Come on,” he said to the kid. “Let’s go get your picture taken.”
JESSE STRODE into the next interrogation room with a big smile on his face. “Hey, Wayne, how’s it going?”
The look on Wayne’s face was priceless. “How the fuck do you know my name?”
Jesse settled into the metal chair across the table from Wayne and chuckled. “I know a lot more than your name, kiddo. I just had a nice long talk to your buddy, and you wouldn’t believe the stuff he told me.”
Wayne jerked on the cuffs, cursed and hollered at the top of his lungs. “Kevin’s a liar. A fuckin two-faced liar. What the hell did he tell you?”
Jesse turned the recorder on and gave the date and case number. He opened the file folder in front of him and tapped it with his pen. “Let’s see what your buddy Kevin told me. Oh, yeah, got it right here. Kev told me all about robbing the convenience store.” Jesse smiled. “Gave me all the details.”
Wayne shook his straw-colored shaggy head. “He wouldn’t tell you shit. I know him. He’d make up a big lie.”
“Maybe you do know him,” said Jesse. “He told me you stabbed Mrs. Costello while the rest of them stole stuff off the shelves and scooped the burner phones.”
“Liar,” hollered Wayne. “Fucking goddam liar.”
“Can you prove Kevin was lying, Wayne? Tell me something solid and I’ll believe it wasn’t you.”
Kevin sat still for a minute thinking. He was jumpy, his dark eyes darting around the small room. A user. Maybe a new user, but a user all the same. “Yep, he did it, and I can prove it. If I tell you where he hid his knife will you believe it wasn’t me?”
“Sure will, Kevin.” Jesse flashed him a big grin. “I surely will.”
Forensics Garage at Headquarters.
AFTER KEVIN was printed and booked, Jesse and Blaine paid a visit to the forensic’s garage where the techs were hard at work stripping the van.
Dave, one of the tech’s looked up when they walked in. “Come to watch the fun?”
“One of the kids I was questioning a few minutes ago, said his buddy hid the knife that stabbed Mrs. Costello up under the dash, behind the radio,” said Jesse.
“You guys would find it anyway,” said Blaine, “we were just curious if the little punk was telling the truth.”
Dave grinned. “Haven’t taken the dash apart yet but let me stick my hand up in there.” He wore a pair of blue latex gloves. “Uh huh, I can feel the grip.” He gave a tug and pulled out the knife. “Chalk one up for the truth. Don’t happen too often.”
WHILE Blaine and Jesse were in the garage, Farrell manned up and did what he’d been meaning to do all day. “Hi, Mary, I should have called earlier, but I’m an asshole. We both know that.”
Mary giggled. “I don’t think you’re an asshole, Farrell, and I never will.”
Farrell sucked in a big breath and said the words. “I wanted to say, Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you, Mary, and I always will.”
“I love you too, Farrell. You’re everything to me. Stay safe.”
Farrell stared at his phone for a long while after Mary ended the call.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE AND FARRELL had just finished stuffing themselves with Carm’s enchiladas when Hammer called from Louisiana. “Jeeze, man, where the hell are you?” Blaine hollered into the phone.
“Found Misty in the Big Easy and been tailing her for a couple days. I watched her hotel and when she left, I followed her to a place farther south called Houma.”
“I know it. Been there,” said Blaine. “What’s she doing there?”
“Mostly shopping. Going into all these like woo woo stores where they sell crazy stuff. And she’s talking to people, boss. She’s like talking for hours to different women while I’m frying my ass off outside.”
“Stick with her and make sure she’s safe.”
“Umm… she made me already, boss,” Hammer said in the whiny voice that didn’t suit a former MP.
“And… did you tell her the truth? I sent you to protect her.”
“I didn’t need to tell her, she figured it out, said she didn’t need protection and told me to go home.”
Blaine smiled.
“Can’t say I’m high on my assignment, boss.”
“Are you getting paid?” asked Blaine.
“Yeah, I guess so, but I’d rather be doing something else.”
“Well you’re not doing something else so suck it up.” Blaine pressed end and swore
he’d fire Hammer when he came back.
IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT. Farrell and Blaine were hanging in the kitchen where they did most of their hanging, tossing a few back and commiserating over a fucked-up Valentine’s Day when the call came in.
“Where are you, Rocky?” Blaine scribbled on his yellow pad that was always within reach. “Yep, I got it. Are the troops on their way? Yep. Good. We should be there in ten.”
“Where we gonna be ten minutes from now?”
“At a pharmacy two blocks off one eighty-three after it crosses seventy-one.”
“That’s vague,” said Farrell as he struggled into his harness. “I need a street address for the GPS.”
“I’ve got that too,” said Blaine. “Set the alarm. Carm’s in bed sleeping.”
Strip Mall. East Austin.
THE PARKING LOT of the strip mall where the small pharmacy was sandwiched between a nail salon and a tat shop was grid locked with vehicles. Blaine turned on the strobes to get past media vans blocking his way. “Jesus, Farrell, do something with this fuckin mess.”
“Yeah, boss, as soon as I step out of the truck, I’ll kill every one of the fuckers and have their vehicles towed.” Farrell sounded sleepy as well as testy.
“Let’s hope we get more from this one than we got at the convenience store,” said Blaine. He shut off the engine and hopped out.
Ranger Rocky greeted them at the door of the little drug store. Even from the doorway, Blaine could smell the blood. “Is there a corpse?”
“Night pharmacist is dead behind the counter at the rear of the store. I’ll show you. The ME is with him now. The good news is we got ourselves a witness.”
“We do?” Blaine brightened. “Fuckin fantastic. Where is he?”
“He’s a she and I put her in the office down the back hallway next to the storage room.”
Blaine gave Rocky a fist bump. “Something has to break on this gang.”
On the way to speak to the witness, Blaine and Farrell passed the prescription section. The dead pharmacist lay in a sea of glass in his white lab coat. Splotches of red had patterned the coat, but most of the blood had pooled under his head. He’d been shot in the forehead at close range and fallen close to the counter where he’d been standing.