“Yeah,” Crockett said.
“Also, since our cover is fucked, I’ll have the bus and your truck picked up and brought over.”
“Okay by me.”
Clete peered at him. “Why don’t you try and git a little sleep, son. You look beat. Carson’s fine. She’s holed-up in Stitch’s place until the Feebs, or whoever, come and go.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take a nap after you do. Stitch is crashed on that big couch in the library. He’ll be up and around in a couple of hours. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Crockett lurched his way up the steps and into his room. Nudge regarded him casually from the bed. He sat, loosened his belt and collar, and eased back onto the mattress, just as the door creaked open. Satin came in, walked over to the bed, and lay down next to him, draping her arm across his shoulder and upper chest.
“Shut up and close your eyes,” she said.
He did as he was told.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Eff, Bee, and Eye
Satin jerked and mumbled in her sleep, waking Crockett occasionally. After about two hours, he gave up and went downstairs. The atrium was still roped off, but the vehicle and bodies had been removed. He found Stitch sitting in the kitchen drinking Seven-Up out of a can and looking a little blurry.
Stitch smiled at him. Hey, man,” he said. “You get a nap an’ shit?”
“Short one,” Crockett said, getting a cup out of the cabinet.
“Bitch about ol’ Ruby, dude. I’m really, like, sorry, ya know? She could be hell on a skateboard, but she had balls, too. Helluva chick. Anything I can do?”
“Thanks,” Crockett said, pouring a cup of cold coffee. “How you doin’ after last night?”
“I’m okay. Them cats come through that fuckin’ wall, or what? Wow. First time I ever shot anybody, man. I mean, I was in a lotta shit in the ‘Nam, ya know? But I’d never popped a cap, like, one-on-one at nobody before. Heavy duty, man. Those cats been wearin’ body armor, an’ ol’ Goody hadn’t a cut loose that flash grenade, it coulda gone the other way.”
Crockett smiled. “No doubt about that,” he said, punching the microwave.
“But it was, like, sittin’ ducks, Crockett. Those dudes were, like, blind, ya know?”
“Yeah. Blind sitting ducks that would have killed your ass without a second thought. Don’t get all emotional about this, Stitch. When it’s them or us, I gotta go with us. And these guys were doing it for the money. No reason to be involved except a buck. Fuck ‘em.”
“It’s a lot different up close and personal than with a door gunner flat out over a paddy dyke.”
“You did good, Stitch,” Crockett said. “Ask anybody.”
“You pissed off, man?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Me too, dude. So’s ol’ Clete. I don’t feel much like takin’ no shit, ya know?”
The bell on the microwave went off. As Crockett took his coffee out of the magic box, the door chime sounded. He turned to Stitch.
“Make yourself scarce,” Crockett said. “This could be the Feebs. When they need you, I’ll let you know.”
“Tell ‘em to, like, kiss my ass.”
Crockett smiled. “Where’s Clete?” he asked.
“Ah, still sacked out, I guess.”
“Okay. Beat feet. I got it.”
Crockett opened the door to find two men about his height peering at him. One was black, in his mid-thirties, and obviously second banana. The other was white, nearing fifty, and disgustingly fit. They both wore gray suits. Behind them in the drive was parked a late model, black, full-size Ford sedan.
Crockett returned their gaze. “Ah,” he said, “doubtless two stalwart representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Banana two’s mouth twitched. Banana one’s expression didn’t alter.
“I’m Special Agent Dalton,” he said, quickly flashing his badge and ID. “This is Special Agent Conner. You are?”
“Call me Crockett,” Crockett said. “I was just getting ready to make some fresh coffee. Care to join me in the kitchen?”
“Lead the way,” Dalton said.
In the kitchen, everyone was quiet while Crockett filled the coffee maker. Finished with that task, he sat at the table. The two agents joined him.
“Mister Crockett,” Dalton said, “we have taken over the investigation of last night’s incident from the local authorities.”
“No surprise there.”
“And we are here to spearhead that investigation.”
“Of course you are.”
“And during the course of the next time period we will need to speak with everyone involved in the incident.”
“Sorry,” Crockett said. “You can’t.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You can’t,” Crockett repeated.
“And why not?”
“One of them is in the morgue.”
Dalton’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, yes,” he said. “That would be the LaCost woman. I’m sorry. What was her position in the events of last night?”
“Innocent bystander and family friend,” Crockett said. “Lemme see your ID again.”
“My ID?”
“Yeah. You see, the last Feeb I dealt with sent two hitters to my home to intimidate me. Then, a few days later, tried to kill me himself. You guys got anything like that in mind?”
Conner shifted in his chair and Dalton flushed. He lifted his ID case out of his pocket.
“That’s okay,” Crockett said. “I don’t need to see it. I was just testing your reaction to my encounter with another member of your fine organization.”
Dalton’s eyes narrowed.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” he asked.
Crockett smiled. “You bet your ass,” he said. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re no investigators. Forensics and stuff will be along later. Right now, they’re probably tied up with the crime scene guys that have already been through the place. My guess is that you guys are only about one step up from the asshole that tried to kill me and probably ordered the death of one of your retired agents, a fella named Joe Beckner that worked with the witness protection bunch until a few years ago.”
Dalton’s left eyebrow moved.
“Yeah,” Crockett went on, “I know Beckner’s dead. Taped to a chair with his throat cut. I left his body where I found it.”
“You found his body?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why is it that you didn’t notify the authorities?”
“Now that is a dumb question.”
“The FBI was not responsible for that incident. Nor were we responsible for the assault on you.”
“As I understand it,” Crockett said, “Charles Boster, or what ever name he used, was on your payroll at the time.” He got up from the table and walked to the coffee maker. “You guys want a cup?”
Both men shook their heads. Crockett filled his cup and returned to his seat.
“Mister Crockett,” Dalton said,” I don’t believe you are fully aware of the true nature of the situation in which you find yourself.”
“Funny,” Crockett said, “I was just getting ready to tell you the same thing. Why don’t I go first?”
Dalton smiled slightly and leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you?”
Crockett stared at him for a moment. “You patronize me again, asshole, and we’ll see if this kid you got with you is fast enough to keep me from slapping the smile through to the back of your federal neck. Deal?”
Dalton dropped the smile. “Get on with it,” he said.
“Ruby LaCost is dead. Ruby LaCost was an exceptional woman that I have known and loved for many years. She is dead because of a deal people in your agency made with a man named Phillip Metzger to get more information on his nefarious business activities, his equally nefarious associates, and his knowledge of various and sundry RICO violations that have occurred during past years, as well as information on
the individuals concerned in these activities.”
Crockett took a sip of his coffee.
“The deals were made with Metzger while he was in prison. He was in prison because of testimony against him, and evidence gathered, by his ex-wife. In return for that information, Metzger’s ex-wife was given the name Carson Bailey and entered into the witness protection program several years ago. A year or two past. Metzger stopped being a stand-up guy and rolled over on everybody so he could get out of prison and also enter the witless rejection program, but that wasn’t enough for old Phil. Phil wanted revenge on his ex-wife. He even stood up in court and threatened to kill her. Phil’s got an anger management problem.”
Dalton shifted in his chair. The kid with him seemed spellbound.
“Now, here’s the real kicker. Your guys…your guys, you self-serving sonofabitch, weighed the value of Metzger’s information against the value of his ex-wife’s life and found that publicity and extra funding was more important than the promises made to Carson Bailey, then they rolled somebody over in the witness relocation program, and gave her up. If you hadn’t saddled Boster with a green ass rookie who couldn’t covertly watch a puddle in a rainstorm, Carson would never have known she had been made. She would never have come to me. She would be dead. As dead as Ruby LaCost.”
Crockett leaned toward Dalton.
“I don’t give a shit if Boster was a rogue agent or not,” he went on. “He was your responsibility and you blew it. I don’t give a shit if he was working directly for Metzger or not, you guys fucked up. You, Dalton, and the whole fucking FBI don’t have one single excuse here. Not one. As far as I know, you’ll still give Carson up to her ex if you can find her. But you can’t find her. And the reason you can’t find her is that she is now in the Crockett Protection Program, and the agents in the Crockett Protection Program aren’t intimidated by that FBI ID one little bit.”
“Now just a goddamn minute!” Dalton said, getting to his feet.
Clete’s shout echoed through the kitchen, as he stepped around the corner with a pistol in his hand.
“Shut the fuck up and raise your hands. Both of you.”
Dalton and Connor glanced at each other.
“Or don’t,” Clete went on, grinning at the two men. “I only got to shoot one a them sonsabitches last night. I’m behind. Shootin’ the two of you federal fucks’d put me over the top.”
The two men slowly raised their hands. Crockett stepped forward and relieved each of them of their belt weapons.
“Set down,” Clete continued, “an’ keep your palms flat on the table. I know both of ya got another gun, probably on your ankle. No sudden moves an’ everbody’ll be just fine.”
Stitch stepped into the kitchen from the opposite side of the room. He was holding a double-barreled shotgun. “If not,” he said, “everybody’ll be like, splattered, ya know? Hate like hell to, ah, fuck up those hundred dollar suits, man.”
Crockett smiled.
“So you see,” he said, “you’re not in charge anymore. My friends and I are. Because of that, I want you to listen very closely to what I’m going to tell you. If I don’t think you’re listening, I will make you humble. That will start with removing your trousers. Pantless men are much easier to intimidate than men who are fully dressed. Just like they taught you in Feebie School. You ready to listen?”
“Go ahead,” Dalton said.
“There will be no more hassles from you people,” Crockett said. “None. If there are, if any of us are disturbed in any way, if Carson Bailey is harassed, if one of us dies in a freak lightning strike, everything I have told you here today, as well as much more, will be made public. And I don’t mean in a plea to a local TV station. Everything I have told you is contained in signed and witnessed affidavits, distributed to five major law firms across the country, with instructions to dispense this information to USA Today, The Tribune, The Sun Times and several more major newspapers, nationwide, should anything happen to any of us. This same instruction applies to the four major television network news departments.”
“Now before you think that you could possibly contain such exposure, this distribution also includes two past Presidents of this country, several members of congress, a large number of the top business people, and is backed by the resources and political influence of Cabot Enterprises. The name to remember is Ivolee Minerva Cabot, gentlemen. Check her out. Ivy is the senior member of our little firm. She is among the people who decide who your next director will be. You stand a better chance of survival screwing with God than you do fucking with her.”
“So what do you want from us?” Dalton asked. “Information?”
Crockett smiled. “You don’t know anything. You’re just as much of a pawn in this whole mess as your guys thought Carson Bailey was. I want you to do your jobs, boys, with as much honesty and integrity as the FBI would like us to believe is required of their staff. I don’t know how anybody could ever expect the FBI to be an honest and forthright organization anyway. Hell, a lot of you assholes are lawyers in the first place.”
Crockett put their weapons back on the table.
“Get out of here,” he said. “Your investigators are welcome, your forensic teams are welcome. I see either one of you assholes again, within a week you’ll be assigned to the local office in Buffalo, or unemployed. I’d rather be unemployed.”
Without a word, the two men picked up their pistols and allowed Stitch to escort them to the door. When he returned to the kitchen, he found Crockett slumped in a chair, and Clete grinning, getting a cup of coffee.
“Man, Crockett,” Stitch said, “you sewed them two fucker’s up! When did ya get all that, ah, legal shit an’ stuff set up?”
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“I didn’t, Stitch. It was all bullshit.”
Stitch’s mouth dropped open. He looked at Crockett and shook his head.
“Far out,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Safe?
The crime scene people cleared out by late afternoon and workmen covered the gaping hole in the glass wall with a tarp, cautioning everyone to stay out of the area in case the overhead structure was weakened enough that the framework and glass panes might collapse. Clete’s equipment arrived, and he and Stitch set up a temporary perimeter sufficient for the coming night. Goody labored in the basement, and Crockett sat numbly in the kitchen, a cold cup of coffee forgotten on the table before him, his brain both sluggish and restless, remembrances of Ruby and reactions to the events of the night before tangled in his mind. A hand pressed his shoulder from behind and gentle breath caressed his cheek.
“Somebody here to see you, Crockett,” Satin said.
He turned in his chair, and there stood Carson, looking small and waiflike, uncertain and tentative. He stood and opened his arms. She slid into them, trembling and nearly grasping at him in need and pain.
“I’m so sorry, Crockett. Poor Ruby. If I hadn’t gotten you involved in my problems, nothing like this would…”
“Shut up,” Crockett growled, interrupting her as she pressed into this chest.
“It’s just so awful!”
“I blame your parents,” Crockett said. “If they’d just had the presence of mind not to get involved with each other, then none of this would have happened. And then there were those damn judges at the Junior Miss Pageant. Not to mention the orange growers! What were they thinking? My God, this is some kind of conspiracy!”
“Now you shut up,” Carson said, pulling back to look at him.
“Anybody hungry?” Satin piped up from her position by the stove.
Crockett and Carson both shook their heads and sat down at the table.
“Me either,” Satin said. “That’s why I’ll make up some stuff for tacos, or something. That way we can graze a little later.”
“Sounds good to me, man,” Stitch said, walking in through the rear hallway. He paused behind Carson long enough to briefly put his hand o
n the back of her neck. “How you doin’, lady?” he went on, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.
“I don’t know,” Carson said.
“That’s cool. Sometimes, like, not knowin’ kinda protects ya from shit. Just gotta keep on keepin’ on until somethin’ else kicks in, ya know? Anger works pretty good, as long as you aim it at somebody besides yourself, man.”
Crockett smiled. “Stitch,” he said, “you are a piece of work.”
“I’m a lot more than just a pretty face, dude. How’d them fuckers find us, Crockett?”
“Maybe they bribed somebody at the truck stop. Maybe they were peeking in a window or something. Maybe they just waited for the next possible vehicle that left. Who knows?”
Clete walked into the room. “The point is,” he said, “we wasn’t near as smart as we thought we was, and them ol’ boys that was followin’ us was a damn site brighter’n we give ‘em credit for. This whole thing come out five to one in our favor. It could have just as easy been seven to zip in their favor. Discountin’ Ruby, we was luckier than a hog penned up in a turnip patch.”
Crockett shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Marshal,” he said. “Your heritage is showing.”
“Miz Satin?” Clete said, ignoring Crockett and directing his attention toward the stove.
“Yes, Cletus?”
“While I was eavesdroppin’ on ya’ll before I come into the room, I believe I heard somethin’ about tacos?”
“You did,” Satin said, dumping a mound of ground beef into a skillet.
“Back in the pantry you’ll find a can of extra hot, chopped green chilies. If you could put some a them in a side dish for me, I’d dance to your next weddin’.”
“I can do that,” Satin said.
“Thank ya, m’am. An’ try not to git none a the juice on ya. Ya might blister.”
Stitch smiled. “If we can, like, get past the ‘Texans On Parade’ portion of our programming, man, uh, what now?”
Clete chuckled. “Now,” he said, “we find Metzger.”
“Why didn’t I think a that, dude? Like, silly me, ya know?”
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