by Carolina Mac
“Want a beer, Race? I was thinking of having one.”
“Sure, Annie. I’ll have one with you.” He kept stroking his cat. “Haven’t seen much of the new groom lately. You and Jesse getting along okay?”
She paused with one hand on the doorknob, wondering where Race was going with this—he wasn’t a talker—never wasted words on something that wasn’t vital to him. “Yep, he’s just getting back into training his horses at his own barn. He’s working.”
She came back with two cans of Lone Star and Race was smiling. “What are you so happy about?”
“I like having alone time with you, girl. Like we used to.”
“Did you remember something else?”
“I had a few flashbacks. We were in a cabin somewhere.” He chuckled. “Guess you might say it was X-rated.”
Oh, shit. That’s the last thing I need.
JESSE MISSED DINNER, but Annie fixed him a plate while he watched the eleven o’clock news.
“Where are the boys?” she asked, “Have you heard from them in the last couple of hours?”
“Nope, but I’ll call as soon as I finish my pie.”
Annie pointed to the flat screen and said, “Special
Announcement. Chief Calhoun is about to say something.”
They watched as the Chief of the Texas Rangers gave
details of the escape, descriptions of the men, the clothes they might be wearing, and the tag number of the delivery truck.
The Chief ended with the ‘armed and dangerous’ warning. Mug shots flashed onto the screen followed by a highlighted number to call with information.
“Once that number is up there, everybody in Texas will see those guys. Thousands of calls will jam the switchboard and most of them will be right off the fuckin wall.”
“But maybe you’ll get one legitimate one,” said Annie, “and all you need is one to catch them.” She stood up, clicked off the TV and laid the remote on the coffee table. “I’m tired, sugar. I’m getting ready for bed.”
“I’ll be in soon.” As soon as she left the room, Jesse called Blaine’s cell. “Where are you guys?”
“At your trailer. We’re sleeping for a couple of hours until the tips roll in from the hotline.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Saturday, March 4th.
TRAVIS AND FARRELL snored in the tiny spare room of the trailer. Jesse and Logan had crashed on Jesse’s unmade bed, and Blaine stretched out on the sofa in the living room. Both dogs were sprawled on the floor beside him.
Blaine had left instructions at the command center to be alerted to any call that sounded reasonably sane. The first one of those woke him at four a.m.
“Yep, I’m listening. Uh huh, a drive-through in Bryan. And who called it in. Yep, I’m writing her name down. Thanks, officer.”
Blaine was on his feet and rousting the other members of the team. “Get up guys. We got a tip, and the girl is sure it was them. We’ll pick up breakfast at the drive-through we’re going to.”
Farrell stumbled across the hall into the bathroom.
“Farrell, you and Travis bring the dogs and follow. We might need two vehicles if more tips come in while we’re on the road and we have to separate to check them out.”
Jesse staggered out of the bedroom and headed straight for the coffee maker. He rinsed out the carafe and started a fresh pot. “Wish I could go,” he mumbled.
“Stay here and plot the tips on a map. See if there’s a
pattern, or a definite direction.”
“How will I know where the calls are coming from?”
“Get headquarters to forward them to your computer.”
“Yep, okay,” said Jesse. “I have to do something, I can’t just sit here and drink coffee.”
“While you’re waiting for the calls, sit in the office and listen to the scanner. Nail down any action—convenience store or liquor store robbery, jacked vehicles, that type of thing. They need cash and they’ll switch vehicles often if they’re smart. Phone me right away. We have to stay on top of them. If they get to the Gulf, they’re home free.”
Jesse headed for the office. “You got it.”
BLAINE HEADED UP route twenty-one to Caldwell. “If they’re coming west out of Bryan, we could meet them
head-on.”
“Highway is deserted,” said Logan. “Not much traffic in ranch country in the middle of the night. We should be able to spot a feed store delivery truck, no problem.”
“Yeah, we should.”
“Headlights coming our way, boss.”
Blaine flicked his headlights onto low beam and peered through the windshield trying to make the vehicle. It whizzed by, going well over the posted limit.
“They’re in a fuckin big hurry,” said Logan. “Looked like a tan Honda or a Hyundai.”
“Yeah, it was one of those,” said Blaine. “Not domestic.” His cell rang. “Jesse, got something?”
“Cops in Bryan found the feed truck in a Lowes parking lot. Also, a report of a stolen beige Hyundai, Sante Fe model. This is the tag.”
Blaine repeated the plate number and Logan wrote it down. “We passed a possible, five minutes ago east of
Caldwell on twenty-one. Turning around.”
“If they go straight down twenty-one they’ll come out at Bastrop. Isn’t that home territory for one of them?”
“It was mentioned in one of the reports.”
“I’ll call Chief Gillespie in Bastrop and get roadblocks set up,” said Jesse.
Blaine pressed end and pounded the gas. He took his eyes off the road to check the rear view to make sure Travis had turned around and was following.
He jumped when Logan shouted. “Look out, boss. A
thousand fuckin cows on the road.”
Blaine slammed on the brakes and skidded sideways, stopping just short of a bull the size of a boxcar. “Damn it to hell, this is gonna slow us down.” He rammed the Ram into park, jumped out and tried to get the herd off the road.
The boys helped him get the cattle back in the field and close the gate, but twenty minutes had flown by.
“Shit, we were almost on top of them,” said Blaine. He phoned Jesse. “Anything else?”
“Roadblocks are being set up around Bastrop. That’s about all I can tell you, Blacky. Haven’t heard a damn thing.”
Goddam fucking cattle.
THE SUN CAME up like it did every morning in Texas.
Although, this morning, with Blaine being so fuckin tired, it seemed brighter, almost blindingly bright as it shone through the window of the diner where he was holed up with the crew. They were drinking their second round of strong coffee.
“We have a plan, bro?” asked Farrell, shoveling in his second order of pancakes.
“They hunkered down somewhere to sleep,” said Blaine. “We’ve got to figure out where and shake them loose.”
“There’s a BOLO on the vehicle and nothing’s come in. How we gonna find them?” Logan’s eyes were bloodshot.
First day on the job was now the second, going into the third but he never said a word. He might be okay.
“What do they know?” asked Travis, “Or who do they know?” He was slumped down in the corner of the booth with his eyes closed.
Blaine nodded. “Okay, what’s familiar to them? If they need a place to rest for a couple of hours and reorganize their plan, where do they go?” He pushed his coffee to the side, unfolded the print-outs and spread them on the table.
The waitress on the early morning shift made the rounds and filled their cups. Her blue eyes widened at the ugly mug shots on the table, but she looked away and focused on pouring.
“Thanks,” said Farrell, grinning at her and reading her name off her snug pink uniform, “what kind of pie do you have, Ronni?”
“This is breakfast,” said Blaine. “You don’t get pie.”
“I’ll get pie if I order it, won’t I, sweetheart?” He winked at her.
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“Maybe you will,” she said with the hint of a smile. “Cherry or lemon meringue?”
“Cherry, please.”
Ronni left to fetch the pie and Blaine sneered at his foster brother. “You done assholing around, Farrell? Let’s get this sorted out.” He pointed at the first name on the sheet. “Kelly is from Odessa. No reason for them to drive all the way up there unless they were heading to Canada, and why would they do that when Mexico is half a day away?”
“Yeah, cross off Odessa,” said Travis, his eyes still shut.
Logan sipped his coffee and didn’t say anything.
“The Hatch guy is a possibility,” said Blaine. “He’s from Victoria and could have contacts there that could help them.”
“But they were headed for Bastrop,” said Trav, “so that tells me that McKay is calling the shots.”
Farrell looked up from his pie-eating. “Where did he kill all those campers, Blacky?”
“KOA.”
“Familiar territory,” said Travis. “I’m going to check it out.”
Farrell glared at his partner. “Can you wait until I finish my fuckin pie?”
Travis was on his feet. “Nope. I’m gone.”
JUST AFTER NINE a.m. a tall man in a silver-gray suit
settled his thin frame into one of the leather chairs in front of Scott’s desk. Senator Owen Bagshaw, lifetime public servant, was showing his age. Chairman of the anti-drug committee was not the easiest spot to hold down in the state of Texas.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Owen. I won’t keep you long.” He pointed at the ornate sideboard filling the space between velvet draped windows. “Coffee?”
“I could use one, thanks.” Bagshaw left his ivory-handled cane leaning against the arm of his chair and limped across the thick carpet and poured himself a cup. “Markwood called me this morning before you did and told me what you were asking.” The china cup rattled against its saucer as Bagshaw set it on the corner of Scott’s desk before he sat down. He seemed to be out of breath from his trip across the room.
“And?”
“He told me you weren’t clear on why you needed the
information.”
Scott stared at Bagshaw, trying to determine if he was
hiding something or had just become so old, he didn’t care anymore. Rumor around the Capitol was Markwood had the old Senator snowed.
“I need the name and number of Agent Flores’ handler. I thought I stated my request clearly enough that even a jackass like Phil Markwood could understand.”
Bagshaw frowned and his lined face showed even more wrinkles. “You’re referring to the head of the DEA in Texas as a jackass?”
The Governor shrugged. “We’re having a private conversation, Owen, and it’s only my opinion. Because it’s early in the day, I’m being kind. I’ve heard him called more
colorful names.”
“He’s brutally direct, but his approach seems to get the
results he wants from his team. I work with the man often, and find him to be highly competent.”
“Come on, Owen, it’s not like I’m asking for anything that would threaten national security, for crissake. This is
personal and let’s face it—you owe me.”
“So, I take it you’re calling in a favor?” Bagshaw set his empty cup down. “Why do I feel like this is a scene from the Godfather?” He chuckled, then lapsed into a throaty smoker’s hack. His face was rosy red when he regained control of the coughing.
“Can I get you some water?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine. Should quit the Marlboroughs’ but it’s way too late for that.”
That could be true.
Bagshaw straightened up in his chair and took a couple of deep breaths. “And you won’t tell me why you need to know?”
“Curiosity mostly. The fact that the field office says she no longer works there made me redouble my efforts.” Scott crossed to the sideboard and refilled his coffee cup. He added cream and returned. “I think Markwood has burned her.”
Bagshaw shook his old gray head. “One of his own agents? I doubt it. Why would he?”
“But you can’t be certain.”
“How could I? I don’t interfere with the internal workings of a government agency. That wouldn’t be ethical.”
“Well, ethical or not, I do,” said Scott, “when the situation warrants it and somebody’s life is at stake, I’ll do whatever it takes to get results. And this is one of those times. When one of the most valuable assets in our state wants to know the name of Agent Flores’ handler, then by God, I’ll get it for him.”
Bagshaw looked up in surprise. “Blaine Blackmore-Powell wants this information?”
Scott nodded.
Bagshaw leaned closer to the desk. “What’s his interest? Did he say?”
Scott shrugged, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest.
Bagshaw took one of his cards out of a leather case,
scribbled on the back and pushed it across the desk. “This should prove interesting. Can’t wait to see how it plays out.”
Scott watched Bagshaw limp out of his office. When the old man was gone he buzzed Mrs. Warburton and she stuck her head in the door. “Something, sir?”
“Remind me never to run for the Senate.”
Mrs. Warburton gave him one of her rare smiles. “I’ll keep a note of it, sir.”
INSIDE THE GATE, Blaine parked his truck next to the KOA office, a dark brown building sided in a material trying its best to resemble tree bark, but falling far short of the mark.
Travis parked his silver F-450 behind Blaine, and he and Farrell waited in the truck with the dogs while Blaine and Logan went inside the office.
“Morning, sir,” said Blaine to the sleepy-eyed man behind the front counter. ‘Tim’ was embroidered on his shirt pocket.
Tim, the KOA guy, was fortyish, fair-haired and stocky. He looked like he could use a shave, and he most definitely could use a shower. An unlit cigarette hung out the side of his mouth. He glanced up from the Austin Statesman and asked, “Need a spot? Haven’t got but four left. Nothing on the river, if that’s what y’all are thinking.”
Blaine laid his cred pack on the counter. “Tim, I’m looking for three men who might be here in your park. Did anyone come in during the night and rent a spot?”
“Check in is at three in the afternoon. We close up at midnight. If you’re not in by then, you don’t get in.”
“And the gate is locked at midnight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the gate was still locked this morning?” asked Blaine.
Tim broke eye contact, stared down at the newspaper and fiddled with his pen. “Sure was. What did these guys do?”
He was lying about something.
Blaine ignored the question. “How many campsites do you have, sir?”
“Fifty-five campsites for tents or trailers, another forty spots with RV hookups, and a dozen cabins sprinkled through the woods.”
“Uh huh, over a hundred in total.”
“Four vacancies,” he said, “we don’t often have any in fishing season.”
“Do you mind if I take a drive through the campground? I
won’t disturb any of the campers. Just looking.”
“I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want people getting scared and asking for their money back.”
“No trouble,” said Blaine, “just a drive through, that’s all.”
The guy shrugged. “Guess so.” He reached under the
counter and handed Blaine a glossy sheet of paper. “Here, you might need a site map.”
“Thanks.” Blaine glanced at the layout and zeroed in on the cabins. Any of the cabins vacant?”
“Two of them.” He leaned over the counter and pointed. “Number eight and number three—no guests.”
Blaine stood beside his truck and pointed. “Logan, check that gate and see how secure it is, would you?” He walke
d back to Travis. “We’re going to drive through and look.”
Travis nodded and started his truck.
Logan jogged back from the gate. “A kid could get in. The padlock is rusted out. Only good for show. He hooks it through the hasp and it looks locked, but it ain’t.”
“Uh huh.” Blaine slid behind the wheel and started the big diesel. Logan’s head rested against the passenger window, his eyes half shut.
“We’ll do a drive through and try not to disturb anybody. Got that tag number handy?”
“Yep.” Logan pulled out his cell and found it.
Blaine swung around the first bend and navigated a narrow dirt road through a stand of tall pines. “Keep your eyes open.” They passed by the first two campsites. Not too much movement, but it was still early in the morning.
“Beige or tan vehicle,” said Logan, lowering his window. “I won’t miss it.”
“Concentrate on this map. I want to check the two cabins that are vacant—eight and three. Tell me when I’m near either one.”
“Yep.”
They passed by the premium sites that backed onto the Colorado River and fishermen were beginning to stir. The smell of bacon floated on the air and mingled with the heavy scent of pine.
“Okay, according to this, if we turn down this skinny lane, marked ‘Possum Walk,’ we should come to cabin three.”
“Let’s do it.” Blaine cranked the big truck hard right and scrubbed through a copse of bushes. “Fuck, I better not be scratching my paint.”
Logan pointed, “There, in the trees, see it, boss? Got a number three beside the door. No vehicle. Looks empty.”
“I’ll take the back and we’ll clear it.”
“Always clear it first,” said Logan.
Blaine jogged around the back and covered Logan. Travis and Farrell parked on the narrow trail and hopped out of the truck. “Anything?” asked Farrell.
“Nope, empty,” said Blaine. “We’re checking number eight next.”
“Think they might be in one of the cabins?” asked Travis.
“Don’t know. Just looking while we’re here.”
“Where’s eight from here?” asked Farrell.
Blaine pointed. “Logan’s got the map.”