by Gemma Bruce
J.T. rolled her eyes and pulled in after him.
She did not want to go in there. She was pretty sure there would be women dancing on the bar wearing practically nothing. She was wasting her time. She could scream with frustration.
She was about to give up and take herself to dinner across the road, when she noticed a familiar car. An Oldsmobile Cutlass, one that surely she’d seen at Gilbey Field. She leaned forward in her seat and saw Larry Chrysler get out and walk into the bar.
Holy shit. Something was going down. Because if Larry was just giving him severance pay, he wouldn’t have come to this dump.
And how the hell was she going to get inside without being conspicuous? A single woman going into a strip joint? She tucked her hair up under her cap and reached over the backseat for her Yankees jacket. Slipped it on and pulled up the collar.
Then she reached into her glove compartment for her tape recorder. She hardly ever used it. But it might come in handy tonight if she could get close enough to the two men.
She put the recorder in her bag, got out her digital camera, and stopped to take photos of both cars and license plates and a long shot of the bar. She didn’t know if this would constitute evidence if something did occur there, but she decided she’d better cover all the bases.
Nobody checked her ID at the door. There wasn’t even anybody at the door. There were no dancing girls, just several obviously single men and women sitting at the bar, a few couples at tables.
The place was dark; the walls were painted in a dark enamel and looked greasy in the murky light. There was a row of booths along the short wall of the room. Larry Chrysler and Bobby Kurtz were sitting at one.
The other three booths were empty. The one next to them hadn’t been cleared, but it looked like whoever had been sitting there was gone. Keeping her head bent away from the light, J.T. made her way to the empty booth.
She slid into the bench closest to Larry and Bobby’s table and reached into her bag to turn on the recorder. She doubted it would pick up anything but bar noise. Too bad she didn’t have one of those super-duper James Bond microphones.
She plastered herself to the back of the seat and listened. Jumped when a voice said. “What can I get you?”
“Club soda,” she whispered.
“You’re putting me on.”
“And a whiskey,” she hissed, and shooed him away.
She could hear mumbling from the next booth. It wasn’t even loud enough to hear who was talking. But it sounded urgent. They were whispering. She could have kicked them.
Her drinks came. She pushed a twenty at the waiter and he left.
She scooted to the very edge of the booth and caught a snatch of conversation. “That’s crazy.” It was definitely Kurtz’s voice.
“Look, do you want—” Someone turned on the jukebox and Green Day blared into the room. Kurtz stood up. J.T. had been leaning so far out of the booth trying to hear, she barely had time to throw herself back on the bench before he passed right by her.
She put her elbow on the table, hiding her face, and watched through the angle made by her arm. As expected, Larry got out of the booth. He dropped some money on the table and reached in his pocket for his cell phone.
J.T. peered around her hand. He punched a speed-dial number and started walking across the room. She saw the waiter returning with her change. Damn. She grabbed her bag, slid from the booth, and went to intercept him.
“Keep it,” she told him, just as Larry said, “It’s taken care of.” He closed his phone and strode toward the door.
When she got outside, Kurtz’s SUV was gone. Larry was pulling onto the road. J.T. ran for the Taurus. A second later she was following Larry’s car. They were traveling away from the highway though she guessed only to the first jug handle U-turn.
She was right. She saw the SUV traveling back toward her. Larry took the U-turn exit. J.T. followed. It looked like he and Kurtz were both going back to the highway. Probably back to Gilbeytown. So why come all the way here to meet?
Because they didn’t want anyone to see them. And whatever it was, it was taken care of. Something nefarious, she bet. Or why meet in secret.
It was all conjecture. But it was all she had.
They made a nice little convoy, and J.T. was afraid that Larry might catch on. She let a car get between her and the Olds.
Up ahead, Kurtz turned off the road and Larry shot past him. After a split second of indecision, J.T. followed Kurtz.
He was going into a Pep Boys auto store.
Geez. All that adrenaline she was pumping and Kurtz was going shopping. She waited anyway and in a few minutes, he came out carrying two large red gasoline containers. He opened the back door and threw them inside, then he got in and drove away.
J.T. followed.
A block later he pulled into a gas station, J.T. stopped in a Dunkin’ Donuts lot while he filled the cans, then she was after him again.
She couldn’t figure it out. Why was he buying extra gas? There were gas stations everywhere. Unless he was going camping? Hiding from the press? That was ridiculous.
He took the highway north, got off at the Gilbeytown exit. Then drove straight past the Holiday Inn Express.
And suddenly it hit her. What did you do with gasoline besides put it in your car?
Start a fire.
Her imagination leaped ahead. He was going to start a fire. Gilbey Field. That had to be it. His revenge on the team for suspending him.
And Larry was helping him?
It didn’t make sense. Larry’s livelihood depended on the team. Bernie had plucked him out of obscurity, selling insurance or cars or something, to be general manager. But she remembered him sitting with the mayor and the scout at the Drillers game.
And she also remembered his lack of enthusiasm when Boskey’s home run won the game.
She’d thought he was just being polite at the time. Now she was off on a wild surmise. But she couldn’t make sense of it. Even if Larry would betray the team, what could he possibly expect to gain?
Kurtz was proceeding straight toward the field. She reached for her phone, started to punch in 911, then stopped. What would she report? Suspicion of someone en route to possibly commit arson, maybe at Gilbey Field. Maybe not. That would be real convincing. And if she had to leave her name, they’d probably hang up on her.
She had a feeling the people of Gilbeytown wouldn’t forgive her for a long time. No matter how many articles she wrote.
Her mouth was dry and she frantically tried to think of what to do. She grabbed her phone, pulled up her missed calls log, and scrolled down until she found Tommy’s cell number. She pressed CALL before she could talk herself out of it. His voice mail picked up.
She screamed in frustration. “Tommy. It’s J.T. If you’re there pick up. Damn it. Pick up. The team—Kurtz—Tommy please, I don’t care how you feel, you’ve got to—”
“J.T.? Is that you?”
“Thank God. Now just listen.”
“Where are you?”
“Tommy, shut up and listen. I think Kurtz is going to set fire to the ballpark. I’m on my way there now.”
“You aren’t in Atlanta?”
“No. I’m here and I’m following Kurtz. He met with Larry and he’s got two full cans of gasoline. He’s headed toward the field. Call nine-one-one or something. I didn’t think they would listen to me. I’m not even sure what he’s up to, but call just in case.”
“J.T., I don’t—What are you talking about?”
“Kurtz is going to burn down Gilbey Field. Get help.” She hung up.
The field was just a few hundred yards away. Kurtz drove right past it.
She’d been wrong. He wasn’t going to burn down Gilbey Field. She’d made a fool of herself. Again. This time nobody would forgive her.
Her breath stopped on an intake of air. Not the field. The mill.
She groped for her cell. Nearly drove onto the curb trying to get it open and punch the REDIAL butt
on. It went right to Tommy’s voice mail. He must be on the phone to the police.
“Not the field. The mill.” Her voice shrieked in her ears. “The mill.” She hung up. Took two long, deep breaths. She had to stay calm.
Kurtz turned into the factory lot and stopped just inside the chain-link fence. J.T. cut her lights, pulled to the curb, and turned off the engine. Kurtz got out and ran around to the back of the SUV. He took out the gasoline cans and ran across the asphalt to the building.
J.T. listened for the sound of sirens, but heard nothing but her own breathing.
Had Tommy even called for help? He probably thought she was crazy. Trying to get attention. Maybe he didn’t even think it was really her. Just a crank call. She slipped her cell into her jacket pocket. Started to cross the street, then went back and popped the trunk.
Like the reporter she was, she’d moved everything from the Mustang to the Taurus at the rental place. Just in case she needed it. And she needed it now. Her equipment bag. She tore open the zipper, pulled out her Easton Stealth bat. It felt perfect in her grasp.
She didn’t plan on getting close enough to Kurtz to use it, but she’d beat him to a pulp rather than let him burn down Tommy’s community center.
She ran across the street, hunched down as she sprinted toward the factory. Not that Kurtz would see her. He’d gone inside. Not into the massive brick building, but to a wooden addition that might have once housed offices. Now it was a tinderbox.
She stopped at the outside wall. Could hear Kurtz climbing around in the detritus. Imagined him dousing everything with gasoline.
Then she heard sirens. Tommy had come through. Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket at the same time she heard the sirens stop. They’d gone to the field. She took her phone out.
“We’re at the field. Where are you?”
She turned toward the brick wall and put her hand over the mouthpiece trying to muffle her voice. “The mill. He went to the mill. He’s inside.”
“What?”
“The mill.”
“On our way. Don’t go after him.”
“I won’t.” She folded her phone and turned around right into Bobby Kurtz’s fist.
Chapter 30
It connected with her temple. Her head snapped to the side, taking her body with it, and she hit the asphalt.
She lay there stunned, heard the whoosh of the gasoline as it ignited.
And saw red. Not from the flames, but from an anger so intense that it would have scared her if she’d been thinking more clearly.
She pushed to her knees as another whoosh echoed around her. She could feel the heat of the fire as it coursed through the dilapidated wing of the factory. She struggled to her feet, grabbed the baseball bat. It might be too late to stop the fire, but by God she’d stop Kurtz if she had to whack his head into the next county.
Her head was swimming as she searched the parking lot for movement. Froze with fear when she didn’t see Kurtz running toward his car. Surely he couldn’t still be inside. She moved closer, but the heat was too intense.
Then Kurtz appeared out of the flames like the devil himself.
At first J.T. was afraid he was on fire and her stomach lurched, but as he staggered toward her, she saw that he was only smoking. His hair was singed; it stuck up in smoldering spikes. His face was black with soot and probably a few third-degree burns.
Stupid ass. It happened to beginning arsonists all the time. They didn’t realize how quickly flames could race up an accelerant.
Something crashed behind him and a shower of sparks rose in the air and descended like fireworks.
The fire department was on its way. She could hear the sirens coming closer.
Smoke billowed out of the windows and the opening where the roof had caved in. A second later the remaining shingles went up in flames.
J.T. fell back. Ran until she reached a safe distance. She looked for Kurtz, turned in a quick three-sixty and saw him running toward his SUV.
She started after him, the bat held in both hands, as two fire trucks careened through the gate. Kurtz jolted to a stop, caught in the headlights. The truck’s horn blared.
Panicked now, he whirled around, dashed between the two trucks.
J.T. lost sight of him again as the trucks stopped and firemen jumped out and began unrolling hoses.
She raced opposite them. Kurtz was getting into his car. None of the firemen seemed aware of him. And she’d be damned if she’d let him get away.
She heard more vehicles, more sirens, saw whirling police lights. Headlights. Doors slamming. People yelling and running. She was almost at the SUV and Kurtz was having trouble getting the door open. She raised the bat over her shoulder.
Felt movement, saw uniformed men surround her and the bat was snatched from her hands.
“You already hit one out of the park, slugger. Let the police take it from here.”
“Tommy.” She collapsed into his solid, safe arms.
Kurtz was dragged from his car and handcuffed.
“The mill.”
“It’s okay, baby. You tried to stop him.”
“The mill,” she repeated, and burst into tears.
He smoothed her hair back from her face. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I thought you’d left me.” His arms tightened around her.
They clung to each other as they watched the firefighters pour streams of water into the annex. It was lit up like a carnival—more like Armageddon. J.T. kept waiting to see flames licking out of the rest of the factory.
Prayed that it wouldn’t burn that far. That the fire department would manage to contain it to that one section.
Bernie arrived, out of breath. “Sarah Muggins at dispatch called me. Damn, of all the bad luck.”
“It wasn’t bad luck,” said Tommy. “It was arson.”
“You’re shitting me. Kids?”
“No,” said J.T. “It was Bobby Kurtz.”
Bernie’s mouth opened, closed. “Kurtz? It couldn’t be. Why would he—”
“Caught red-handed,” said Tommy grimly. “They just read him his rights.”
“I don’t believe it.” Bernie frowned, peered at J.T. “How did you get here? I thought you’d gone back to Atlanta. What happened to your face?”
J.T. touched her cheek and winced.
Tommy released her and turned her toward him. “Where? Did you get burned? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t get burned. Kurtz popped me one.” She tried to laugh it off, but it sounded close to a sob.
“I’ll kill him,” said Tommy. J.T. and Bernie both grabbed him. Bernie’s crutches clattered to the ground, and Bernie started to fall. Tommy reached for him and set him back on his feet, while J.T. collected his crutches and handed them to him.
“So that’s who Jeff had in the back of the squad car. That son of a bitch. You and J.T. were right. The boy’s out of control. I shoulda seen it. Hell, maybe I did and just didn’t want to know.”
Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. “It isn’t your fault, Bernie. He’d been clean on the last test. He must have been overloading himself like crazy. It’s incredible that he didn’t give himself a heart attack.”
Bernie frowned at the smoldering building. “He should have.” His voice was bitter. And J.T. realized that it was on Tommy’s behalf. “But why the mill?”
“I don’t know,” said Tommy. “To get back at me for the drug test? Me and J.T.”
“More than that.”
Both men looked at J.T.
She shrugged, feeling a little stupid. “I think Larry knows the answer.”
“Are you nuts? Why would Larry know anything? We didn’t even know where Kurtz was. We figured he’d cleared out. He hasn’t been at practice. Nobody’s heard from him.”
“Larry knew where he was.”
Tommy was looking at her so intently that she was suddenly afraid.
“I’ve been staying at the Holiday Inn out near the highway. Kurtz was
staying there, too.”
Tommy shook her. “You’ve been here the whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I…couldn’t. You…It was sort of a snap decision. Fortunately, that motel is the only other place to stay. It was pure dumb luck that I ran into him.”
“Or a reporter’s instinct,” said Tommy.
“Thanks, but I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. We could have both stayed there for weeks and never known the other was there. I was sitting in my car having lunch and he drove by.” She laughed. Cut it off before it turned hysterical.
“But what does this have to do with Larry?” J.T. had a hard time looking at Bernie. Larry was his friend and she may have misread what passed between the two men in the Baby Doll Lounge. But she didn’t think so.
“I’ve been following Kurtz, trying to figure out why he was still here.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t do much else. I knew nobody would talk to me.”
Tommy squeezed her. “They’ll change their minds.”
She doubted it, but she didn’t say so. “Tonight he drove to a bar outside Pittsburgh.” She hesitated. Swallowed. “He met Larry there.”
Bernie exploded. “What?”
“Are you sure?” asked Tommy. “Of course you are. That was a stupid thing for me to say.”
“I have pictures of the two cars. I was afraid to take any of Larry and Kurtz, because of the flash. I managed to sit in a booth next to them. I couldn’t hear much. Then Kurtz left and Larry called someone and said it was taken care of.”
She frowned at Bernie. “Did he call you?”
“Me? No.”
“Then who?” She broke off. Until a few minutes ago, she’d hoped that Larry had fired Kurtz and had called Bernie to say that he’d let Kurtz go. That was why she assumed Kurtz was going to Gilbey Field. For revenge.
It had never been the field. But the mill.
But if Larry hadn’t called Bernie, who had he called and why?
Bernie was having a hard time taking it in. “Are you sure that’s what Larry said. It’s been taken care of?”