Double Down

by Carolina Mac

  Logan unrolled the little map and spread it out on the

  fender of the truck. “We’re here.” He pointed with a dirty fingernail. “Eight is down along the river in the far corner of the property. The access road is called ‘Blackberry Lane.”

  “Let’s do it,” said Travis. “If it’s empty too, I’ll let the dogs out for a minute while we’re there and feed them.”

  Blaine led the way and they checked every site along the way. No beige or tan vehicles. His phone rang as he was winding his way past the last few campsites. “See who that is, Logan.”

  Logan glanced at the screen. “Shit, it’s the big guy again.”

  “Answer it. I have to turn down this laneway.”

  Logan pressed talk. “Yes, sir, Logan Pritchard at your

  service.”

  Blaine grinned.

  “Write this down,” said the Governor. Blaine could hear Scott barking out the orders from the other side of the cab.

  “Yes, sir.” Logan grabbed a pen out of the cup holder and wrote on his cigarette pack. “Yes, sir, I got it. Roger Zahn.” He wrote the number down. “Blaine says thanks a lot.” Logan pressed end and said, “He wants to be kept in the loop.”

  “Yep, he always does.”

  RIVER MIST SHROUDED cabin eight. The tail end of a tan colored vehicle became visible only when Blaine cleared the dense grove of pines out front.

  Blaine parked, jumped out and held up a hand. He made a circular motion in the air and Travis and Farrell ran around the back. Blaine took the left side of the front door and Logan took the right, guns drawn. “On three.”

  Blaine counted down, and on three, kicked the door open with the heel of his Harley boot. Travis and Farrell met them inside, having come through the back.

  The cabin was tiny. One room with a double bed against the wall. Kitchen cupboards on the opposite wall and a tiny bathroom in the corner.

  Sprawled on the bed were two young guys shot dead,

  courtesy of stolen rifles and ammo from the Prairie Creek Feed store.

  “Check their ID and see what they were driving,” said Blaine to Logan. “We’ve got to get a BOLO out on the new vehicle.

  “If this cabin was vacant, wonder where these guys were supposed to be?” Farrell asked.

  “Their spot was likely close to here,” said Travis. “The cons probably dragged them to the back of the campground, so nobody would hear the shots.”

  “Could be,” said Blaine. He hung up the phone. “Bastrop PD will be here shortly.” To Logan: “What’s up on the

  vehicle?”

  Logan spread out the contents from both wallets on the kitchen counter. “Only one vehicle registration. Black Chevy Silverado. Three years old.”

  He read the tag number and Blaine phoned it into DPS. “They changed vehicles, Jamie.” He gave her the new info. “Killed two guys for their truck. We’re not far behind them.”

  “Oh, no. Okay, I’ve got it. Do you want me to catch Jesse and the Chief up, or will y’all do it?”

  “You do it, could you? As soon as first response gets here, we’re leaving.” To Farrell: Feed the dogs, give them a run and then put them in the Hyundai.”

  “Yep.” He turned and was gone. Farrell wasn’t good at a crime scene. Travis followed his partner to help with the dogs.

  JESSE’S CELL RANG as he finished his second coffee.

  Annie and Race lingered at the harvest table. The cowboys had gone to the barn and the kids were playing in their room.

  “Hey, Jamie. Anything?”

  “Yep.” She related the latest from the campground.

  “I’ll go down there and secure the flow of evidence while the boys give chase.”

  “Should you?” Jamie’s voice was tinged with doubt.

  “Yeah, I should.” He pressed end and grabbed his hat from the rack by the door.

  “Where are you off to, sugar?” Annie asked.

  “Umm… I have to go to Bastrop for a couple of hours.”

  Annie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Ace.” Jesse plunked his hat on his head and took a stance by the door. “I’m going.”

  “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you don’t have to. I’m fine alone.”

  “Sure, you are.” She picked up her purse and grabbed her

  Remington from the rack behind the kitchen door. She followed Jesse to his truck.

  Jesse booted it down the lane, annoyance with his bride bubbling under the surface. He turned to Annie over the console and said, “Like I said, Ace, I’m not going to fight about it, but I’m gonna do what I need to do when it comes to matters concerning the Blackmore Agency, no matter what you say.”

  Annie smiled and winked at him. “Glad we’re clear.”

  “And while we’ve got a private moment, here in the truck, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Oh, yeah? What, honey?”

  “How much is Race remembering? Has he told you?”

  “He told me a couple of things.”

  “Like what?” Jesse lowered his window and lit up a smoke.

  “Like target shooting in the Mojave. He remembered that.”

  “Uh huh. Yeah, what else?”

  “He remembered that he loved me.”

  Jesse gave the wheel a thump with his fist. “And, what’s he gonna do about that little revelation?”

  “Nothing, I hope.”

  “You hope.” Jesse rubbed the front of his shirt. “So every fuckin day from now on, I get up wondering if this is the day Race Ogilvie tries to reclaim my wife as his property?”

  “Stop it, Jesse. You’re getting upset for nothing.”

  “Whatever Race Ogilvie has been in the past, it has never once been ‘nothing.’ He is something to be concerned about, even in his dormant form.”

  “His dormant form?” Annie giggled. “And what? We’re

  holding our breath, waiting for him to morph into the devil himself?”

  “That’s his inner being—his core—it’s still inside him.”

  “Jesus, Jesse, I think you’re losing it.”

  She sat silently while Jesse passed the ‘Welcome to Bastrop’ sign. He crossed the iron bridge, flicked on his blinker and pulled through the gate into the campground.

  An officer at the entrance held up a hand and asked for ID. “Ranger Quantrall, nice to meet you, sir. Your crew left as soon as we took over the scene.”

  Jesse nodded. “Yep, that’s why I’m here. They didn’t want to lose any more time.”

  The officer handed him a printed map and pointed to a colored dot in the back corner. “Blackberry Lane, that’s where you want to go.”

  “Thanks for your help.” He handed the map across the console to Annie and she tried to figure out the maze of

  intersecting trails.

  The narrow dirt track through the pines to cabin number eight was clogged with police vehicles.

  “We’re gonna have to hoof it from here, Ace.” Jesse parked his Jeep and hopped out.

  “I could use a little exercise,” said Annie, “Haven’t had much in the bedroom lately.”

  Fuck, she’s mad at me.

  Jesse grabbed her hand, spun her around and kissed her long and hard. “Don’t mess with me, girl. I can get mean.”

  She giggled. “I love you, cowboy.”

  When they reached the cabin, Jesse walked up to a big, black man in uniform and shook his hand. “Nice to see you again, Chief Gillespie. This is my wife, Annie.”

  The Chief shook Annie’s hand. “Lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Powell, or have I stuck my foot in it? Are you going by Quantrall now?”

  Annie shook her head. “No, I haven’t changed my name. Powell’s fine. It’s my business name.”

  “I’ll walk you through the scene, Ranger Quantrall,” said the Chief. “The medical examiner has almost finished with the bodies.”

  Jesse shook his head. “Killed them just for
their truck. Sad. Wrong place, wrong time for these young fellas.”

  “That’s about it,” said the Chief.

  BLAINE HEADED SOUTH on seventy-seven. Travis had left his truck in the parking lot at the police station and he and Farrell and the dogs were riding with Blaine and Logan.

  “You think they’re running for the Gulf, boss?” asked

  Farrell.

  “Would be if they had any sense.”

  The scanner squawked out calls in the background,

  making it hard to hear any conversation.

  “What was that last call?” Logan turned it up, grabbed the mic and asked for a repeat from the dispatcher.

  He’s better on the radio, than me.

  “Visual ID from highway patrol on the black Silverado. Rest stop on seventy-seven south of the one-eleven intersection. Trooper waiting for backup.”

  “Take it,” said Blaine, “We’re five minutes out.”

  Logan gave Blaine’s number and took the call with an ETA of five minutes.

  “Roger, that, Ranger Powell,” said the dispatcher.

  “Call Scott and update him,” barked Blaine as he

  hammered down on the gas.

  “Shit,” said Logan. “What am I? Fuckin liaison to the higher power?”

  “You got a problem with our boss,” hollered Blaine, “tell him while he’s on the line.”

  Logan chuckled. “Nope. No problem with the man.” He called Governor Richardson’s private number and gave him the update.

  “Now, do the same for Jesse,” said Blaine. “Tell him where we’ll be.”

  JESSE GOT the call at the campground right after the ME had taken the bodies, and the forensics unit had taken over the cabin. “Okay, thanks, Logan.”

  “Where are they now?” asked Annie as she jumped into the Jeep.

  “Highway patrol made the black pickup in a rest stop down seventy-seven south of the interstate.”

  “That’s at least a half hour from here,” said Annie. “The boys will take care of it.”

  “We should go, Ace, in case they need backup.”

  “You’re already tired. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll drive.”

  “Fuck.” His annoyance with Annie’s protectiveness turned to out and out anger as Jesse changed places with her and they took off.

  Do I like my wife with me while I’m working? Sure as hell don’t.

  “You got any fire power in this relic?” she asked.

  “Course, I do. And my Jeep ain’t old. Is it? Maybe I need something newer and faster.”

  Annie shook her head and flew down seventy-one. “I knew marrying you would be hard work,” she mumbled. “Just didn’t know how hard.”

  Same.

  LOGAN POINTED. “There’s the sign for the rest area.”

  “Yep, see it,” said Blaine. “How long has it been since the call on the radio?”

  Travis answered from the back seat. “Maybe ten.”

  “Yeah, about that,” agreed Farrell.

  Blaine veered to the right, spotted the patrol SUV sitting behind a couple of eighteen-wheelers waiting for backup. He wheeled into the designated truck area, parked next to the trooper and sauntered up to his open window.

  “Here to help you, sir. Where did you last see the occupants of the black truck.”

  The trooper glared at Blaine’s long hair, his tats and the bandana around his head. “They sent a gangbanger to help me? You gotta be fuckin kidding me.”

  Blaine grinned. “Yep, that’s me. Where are they?”

  “I don’t believe you’re an officer of the law,” said the trooper. “Show me some ID.”

  Blaine whipped out his cred pack and showed him.

  “Jesus, never would have guessed it. A Ranger. You undercover?”

  “Nope. Just the regular me.”

  “Fuck,” said the trooper. “They parked in front of the building, went inside and then I thought I saw them near the vending machines.” He twisted around to look. “You got back up?”

  “Uh huh. You can come with or stay put,” said Blaine. “We got this covered.”

  The boys were out of the truck, rifles in hand and ready to go. Blaine pointed where he wanted them, and they split up and rushed the building.

  Two older couples exiting the facilities gasped at the sight of the rifles, hitched up their pants and ran to their vehicles.

  “Clear the area, folks,” hollered Blaine, “For you own safety, leave as quickly as possible.”

  Screams echoed from the ladies’ room. Blaine and Logan rushed in while Travis cleared the vending breezeway and

  Farrell blocked the men’s room doorway.

  On the black and white tile floor in front of a long row of gray stalls, one of the cons was holding down a blonde girl in her twenties while another guy raped her.

  “Shut up, bitch.” The con held her arms down with his knee and punched her in the face. “Hurry up, Kelly.”

  “On your knees, hands behind your heads,” said Blaine.

  The girl’s sobs echoed off the metal stalls so loudly, it was a miracle the cons heard him.

  The older one holding the girl down, probably McKay, late forties, salt and pepper hair buzzed off, chunky build, broke into a chuckle. “As if we’d let you take us alive, you punk.” McKay made a grab for the rifle lying on the floor beside him and Blaine squeezed the trigger of his rifle.

  The deafening shot took McKay in his forehead—dead center. His body jolted backward, blood, tissue and brain

  matter spurting like a rosy-pink fountain out of his head. The splatter shot up the tile wall and rained down like confetti

  onto the girl’s face and into her fair hair.

  Logan edged towards the gun while the girl continued her hysterical screaming. The guy raping her—best guess, Bruce Kelly—the rapist—younger than McKay and a lot uglier, put his sexual urges aside, jumped up off the girl and spun around. He charged. Head down, he let out a roar of fury and rammed Logan in the gut. Logan stumbled backwards, cracked his head on the Dyson hand dryer and fell to the floor.

  Blaine gave a holler, twisted around and swung the

  Remington in a vicious arc. The end of the barrel took Kelly across the face and the point of the sight ripped a bloody strip across his cheek. Kelly screamed and ran for the exit with Blaine hot on his heels.

  “Stop him, Farrell,” Blaine shouted as they ran through the hallway that separated the women’s washroom from the men’s. Blaine heard the shot, kept running and had to jump over Kelly’s body, as it lay directly in his path. Farrell stood over Kelly’s corpse, his rifle at his side.

  “Where’s the third one?” asked Blaine.

  “Searched all the stalls for him in the men’s,” yelled Travis. “He ain’t in there. Don’t know where he is. Is he

  hiding in the women’s’?”

  “Both of you, search the women’s bathroom while I call this in. And help Logan up. I think he got knocked out.”

  “Fuck,” said Farrell.

  Blaine ran down to the trooper still sitting behind the wheel of his vehicle. “Block the black truck, would you sir? We got two of them, but the third might make a run for the truck.”

  “Yep, sure, son. Got two down?”

  “Yes, sir. Called it in. Help will be here soon. Need an ambulance too. Girl raped in the bathroom.”

  “Animals,” said the trooper and spit out his window.

  “Least she ain’t dead.”

  Blaine ran back up the grassy slope to the brick building that housed the washrooms and watched the trooper move his vehicle and park behind the black Silverado. He hollered to Travis, “Any sign of the third guy? Who’s left, is it Hatch?”

  “I don’t know which is which, but I haven’t seen a young guy yet, so I guess it would be Hatch.”

  “Washrooms cleared?”

  “We’re clear in there, boss. Girl is still crying. I told her to hang on, medics were on their way. Logan is okay. He’s sitting on the floor with
her, trying his best to calm her down.” Travis rubbed his head. “Logan has a helluva goose egg on his head.”

  “I’ll get the medics to look at it,” said Blaine. He waved an arm towards the truck. “Okay, Farrell, get the dogs. See if you can pick up a scent in the ladies’ bathroom. If Red gets anything, follow and see where that other asshole went.”

  “Yep.” Farrell took off running for the truck. Travis

  followed to leash Bluebelle. Two dogs were better with two handlers.

  RED BLASTED OUT of the ladies’ washroom with his nose to the ground, pulling Farrell at a speedy jog behind him. Travis followed with Bluebelle as Red led the way down the steps from the brick building, across the parking area, then across the secondary area designated for the big rigs. Without

  hesitation, the big bloodhound ran through the dog walk area, past the picnic tables and into the woods.

  Blaine lost sight of them as they went over the bank, but he couldn’t leave the scene until first response arrived. Not more than a couple of minutes passed, and he heard the sirens. He paced and smoked in the open area in front of the line of vending machines.

  Chances were good, when the cops arrived, they would take his rifle and Farrell’s. Luckily, he still had his Beretta in his waistband, but a rifle would be better in this situation. Damn, he liked using his own weapon, and he’d seen the piece of shit that Logan carried. That was a joke. He’d have to ease him into a rifle or at least a shotgun, if he made it through his probation.

  Sirens whined down, and a convoy of vehicles parked at the curb. Three squads, one ambulance, the medical

  examiner’s van and the crime scene unit’s truck. All personnel spilled out and swarmed the building at breakneck speed.

  The first officer, a large man in uniform with dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, strode up to Blaine and said, “Where’s Ranger Powell? He called this in.”

  “That’s me. Blaine Blackmore-Powell.”

  “Jesus, sir, never seen you in person,” He shook Blaine’s hand as he eyed him up and down.

  Blaine grinned. “Don’t think I’ve met you before either, officer…?”

  “Blake… Sergeant Ted Blake.”

  Blaine pointed to Kelly’s body blocking the walkway into the restrooms. “First one is here. I believe this is Kelly.” He directed the flow of traffic around Kelly to the ladies’ room.