Outlaws

by Tim Green

  "Well, 1 can't stand it," she told him. "Besides, we're almost there. We'll eat, I'll drop you off, and then I'll go home. I want to have dinner with you."

  Madison took him to Chiang Juang's for Chinese food. There was a booth in the back where they could sit undisturbed. She knew the people who worked there wouldn't know a football player if he fell on them,- and even if they had seen Cody on the news, they would be too shy to make any kind of scene.

  "So," he said after they'd ordered, "what do you think about Marty?"

  Madison shrugged and said, 'He must be on to something. Marty's like that. When he gets into a project, he'll just keep digging until he finds the answer, like with the Lopez stuff."

  "What about the trial," Cody said, "how do you think that's going?"

  "1 knew you were going to ask that," she said.

  'Why? Because I haven't asked it in five minutes?"

  She looked at him seriously and reached across the table for his hand.

  "1 want to tell you that it's in the bag," she said quietly. "I want to tell you that more than anything in the world. I'd give everything I have except my son to have that jury acquit you. If they don't, I don't know what I'll do. I don't...

  "But the truth is," Madison continued, "that a jury is the most unpredictable thing in the world. People settle cases for millions of dollars in order not to face a jury and take a chance. There are no rules. There's no rhyme or reason."

  'We've got to have good odds," Cody said with a hopeful smile. "I mean, with you and everything ..."

  "Don't say it like that, Cody," she said, wincing at his words. "I'm not the answer. I'm a good lawyer,- yes, 1 am. But the case against us is bad. It's very bad, I'll be honest."

  "But you've been killing their witnesses. You make them look so bad. Look what you did to Jenny. I thought she was going to come over that railing and try to tear your eyes out. Look what you did to Hauffler, all those other cases you threw in his face. The jury's got to believe us!" he said, squeezing her hand.

  "We can win," she said, "don't get me wrong. I just don't want you to stand there in shock if they give us a guilty verdict and the bailiff steps up to lead you away. I want you to be ready. It could happen but I don't want it to.... I don't know. I just want you to be ready.

  "Believe me," she told him, "it would be so much easier for me to just talk about how good everything is and how we should win this, and then if we lose, they take you away and I feel bad, but my life goes on. But that's not how it can be ... I love you, Cody. I do. I know that might sound strange. In a way we don't even know each other. But in another way I feel like I've known you all my life."

  Cody looked at her without saying a word. He just held her hand and wished with all his heart he had met her, somehow, years ago.

  'The day I saw you at the jail, I felt it then, something," she said. "I fought it. Oh, I fought it hard. I wanted to hate you. You were everything I thought I hated. You were like another Joe Thurwood to me. Then, over the past two months, I couldn't help but see that on the inside you were the furthest thing from Joe Thurwood a man could be. And that makes me love you even more, the fact that you can be so hard and so tough and so handsome, but at the same time, good and gentle and kind."

  They sat quietly looking at each other for a few moments before Cody said, "Thank you, Madison. Thank you. I feel the same way about you. I'm so confused and lost right now that I almost can't believe you're real. It's like while my whole world is being destroyed around me, I finally found the one thing I always wanted, but the one thing I never had. It makes me think that maybe that's why I've been so angry for so long, at least angry some of the time, when I play football, when I fight. So I just can't believe anything except that the jury will see the truth and let me go. I don't see how they couldn't. I'm too close to having you. I finally know what it is that I want and what it is that I need, and I've found out that you want me too?"

  Madison was crying silently now. The food arrived. The girl noticed Madison's tears, so she set everything down quickly and left. Steam rose up from the blue-and-white porcelain bowls filled with soup and the egg rolls that sat on smaller, matching plates.

  Madison was crying because she'd seen it before. She'd seen people believe before. She'd seen their hopes be'placed in her skill, seen them believe that God would never send them away for a life of agony in a prison full of animals. But it happened--not often, but it did. If the evidence was against you, the jury just might send you away. Madison had never had a case where she was so totally convinced that her client was innocent and the hard evidence was so heavily weighted against him.

  "I just don't want to lose you," she whispered.

  Cody leaned across the table and kissed her softly on the lips.

  "You won't," he said quietly. "Something will happen. Marty will find this guy. Maybe the bullets will even match. Hey, if not, I'll get on that stand tomorrow or Friday and I'll show them. They'll believe me, Madison. They will."

  Striker knew that you couldn't huny an interrogation. He'd seen North Vietnamese officers tear the fingernails out of every finger and toe, sending the victim into shock that sometimes took hours to bring them out of. The inexperienced interrogator would inevitably get frustrated and mad and end up killing his prisoner without learning a thing. Striker had also watched master interrogators within the agency extract information from the most hardened and ruthless people imaginable in a matter of hours. The anticipation of physical suffering, not necessarily physical suffering itself, was what caused most people to break. The body had mechanisms for dealing with pain, shutting it off, but the mind did not.

  When Marty came to, he found himself naked and facedown on top of Striker's bed. He was hog-tied and soaking wet. Striker knew from his wallet that his visitor's name was Marty Cahn and that he was a lawyer. It was easy to make the connection with Madison McCall, then check the yellow pages and find that she was a member of his law firm.

  Marty began to straggle and moan as soon as he realized where he was. His hands and feet were bound tightly behind his back with tape, and his legs were pulled up and secured to his wrists with more tape. A rubber ball filled his entire mouth, making it impossible for him to scream, bite, or swallow his tongue. The ball was secured with a band of tape that circled his head but still allowed him to see and breathe through his nose.

  Striker had a large twelve-volt flashlight battery on the floor with two long wires coming out of it. One he had attached to a metal bolt that he'd inserted into Marty's rectum while he was unconscious. He held the end of the other wire with a pair of needle-nosed pliers whose handles were insulated with rubber. He jammed the pliers into Marty's ear until his body started to tremble and smoke. That settled him down a bit, and Striker was ready to go to work. He had a lot of questions to ask, but he wouldn't even ask his first question for another hour. First he would do what was necessary to get Marty in the right frame of mind.

  Joe waited until the sun went down before he left his Blazer and walked to the house. He didn't want to sit around forever in the bushes, but he didn't want to miss Cody Grey, either. He had plenty of snort to keep going, so he wasn't worried about not being able to hold up even though he hadn't had more than three hours sleep today. While he sat, Joe began thinking about Madison. In order to help keep himself under control, he'd made a promise to himself that before he left for New Orleans, he'd have her one last time. He would drug her and take her where he could really work on her. He'd leave the bitch with a fucking she'd never forget. That's what he promised.

  He started thinking about New Orleans and the good life he'd have there, no more bullshitting around. That city was the big-time for him. Not for the first time, he thought about simply taking off. Fuck his lawyer,- he didn't give a shit about that rat turd. The money he would like, but it was pissing him off that it was taking so long. He figured the bitch would have tossed an easy six figures out on the table by now, but they weren't even close. Maybe he'd just give her her f
ucking and bolt, go to New Orleans and get on with it. He could pop his long-haired boss for a couple of grand just by keeping the stash he'd collected today. That would be enough to get him there and buy him a new suit. Yes, maybe that was the way to go. The car and the apartment he wanted could come later. Well, he'd have to see what happened tonight. If he pounded the hell out of Cody Grey without a hitch, maybe he'd stay. If the shit went bad, though, he'd rape his ex-wife and then blow town. That was a good way to do it. Let fate determine where he would be tomorrow.

  Inside the house, Madison finally got Jo-Jo off to bed. She thanked Lucia and sent her off to bed as well, then picked up the paper and made her way down the hall into her office. The light on her answering machine was blinking, and she sat down at her desk to listen to her messages. There were two. She hoped one was Alice, and it was.

  "Honey," came the voice from the machine, "I'd say we got ourselves a mystery here. I checked these two bullets, and there's no doubt they came from the same gun. I got the slug back to the D. A.'s vault already, so no one except my friend knows ... I hope this helps. Let me know if you need any more help, honey. Bye."

  Madison clicked off the machine and jumped to her feet, she was so giddy with excitement. She dialed Marty's house and let the phone ring a dozen times before she tried him at the office. She finally gave up and called Cody.

  'The bullets match," she told him the instant he picked up the phone.

  "Madison," he said, "that's great!"

  "I know," she said. "Now when we find out who this guy is, we can go from there. But I've got a feeling, Cody. I think this whole thing is going to blow wide open."

  "Cod, Madison!" Cody said. "My Cod. Thank you so much."

  "I didn't do it yet," she said, 'but maybe. I've really got a feeling."

  'Should I come over?"

  "Yes," she said, "come. We need to work on your testimony anyway. I'd try to get an adjournment, but I know Rawlins and Walter Connack wouldn't go for it."

  "I'll be there in a little," Cody told her.

  When she'd hung up, Madison tried Marty again, wringing her hands the whole time. She gave up and sat back down, trying to calm herself. She should get her papers ready for Cody, and she still wanted to take a shower. Then she realized that the light was still blinking on her machine. Someone had left another message.

  "Madison, hi. It's Marty. I found the guy. His name is William Moss. He lives at 1100 Colorado Street, downtown, in apartment 18-G. I'm outside the building now, and I'm going to go in and check it out. I know you told me not to, but someone has to, and 1 can do it just as well as anyone. Don't wony, I had someone give me some help on getting in. I'll see what I can find, and hopefully I'll see you later tonight. Bye."

  "Oh, my God," Madison said. She yanked the phone from its receiver and dialed Cody.

  "Listen," Cody told her, "just calm down. I'm sure everything's fine, Madison. I'm sure Marty is fine."

  "But I haven't heard from him!" she was near hysterical. "This man is a killer, Cody, and Marty was going in there!"

  "Hey," Cody said, "this guy may not even be around. He's probably somewhere around town with my wife. Listen. Relax. I'm out the door now. I'll go downtown and check it out. You wait there and don't do a thing."

  "Should I call the police?" she said.

  "And tell them what?" Cody replied. "Let's just see what's going on. I'll check it out and call you from there. Marty will probably call you before I do. Okay, let me run."

  "Go," Madison said. "I love you."

  "1 love you too," he said, and then he was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Even though hp was nearly inaudible, Marty was crying uncontrollably His body was limp. Every ounce of energy was gone, drained from the shock waves of pain that had racked his body for what seemed like forever. His mind drifted into a moment of clarity, and he realized he'd never known what pain was before. He never knew unending pain existed. He only hoped Moss would kill him. He didn't want this. Death would be a welcome reprieve. It seemed so simple, so peaceful. Marty felt the pliers touch the skin in his armpit and his body was wracked again with the burning shock that tortured his entire body. He welcomed the smell of his own flesh burning because he knew it meant that soon the shock would stop, and it did.

  His mouth worked slowly. He was thirsty beyond description. Moss had taken the ball out of his mouth a while ago. By then he was beyond the point of screaming, and Moss seemed to know it.

  "So there is no one else who knows?" Moss was saying for what seemed like the tenth time. His voice seemed to come out of nowhere. It was a soothing voice, a voice Marty had come to love. When he heard the voice, he knew there was no pain. It was only when the voice stopped that he knew it was coming. That was the pattern. It hadn't taken him long to learn it. Nothing left an impression quite like wave after wave of excruciating pain.

  "No," Matty whispered. Then he was struck again with another moment of lucidity and remembered telling Moss about Pollgraft and Madison. How could he have told about Madison! In his mind he could still hear the flipping of pages as Moss went through the phone book looking for what Marty knew, even in his state of shock, was Madison's home address.

  Tears from some unknown source in his completely dehydrated body began to stream down his face once more.

  "I believe you now," he heard Moss whisper suddenly. He smiled. He wanted Moss to believe him.

  When Marty felt the barrel of the gun poking gently at his lips, he knew what it meant. He was sad, but he didn't even bother to struggle,- he was afraid that if he did, the talking would stop again, and then ...

  He never heard the sickening, muffled spit of the .22.

  Striker was about as angry as he had let himself be in a long time. He knew from Marty that the whole thing had been caused by the fucked-up thing he'd done months ago, totally unrelated to the operation. Well, damn it, he told himself, he certainly deserved it. He deserved it if the cops came blowing through his door and shot him dead where he stood right here and now. It was so stupid to get involved in someone's personal life, and it was totally uncharacteristic. He didn't care about anyone. Who the hell had he thought he was, getting involved with Clara and her son? He knew better. He'd known better than that for a long time. Now he was going to have to kill two people in one night, and not quickly either. He had to find just how far the word had spread about him. If the cop had told his wife, she'd have to go too. If the lawyer told the judge ...

  "Damn!" Striker said, jabbing Marty's corpse angrily with the butt of his pistol. If too many people knew about the killings, he'd be forced to take the pit and run. That could possibly cost him the nine million he would get from Jamir. He was not an easy man to make contact with. No one knew exactly who he was or with whom he did his business. Taking and delivering coded messages from his office was an essential link in the intricate network necessary to communicate with him. If Striker fried to reestablish communications any other way, Jamir might think it was a trap. The procedure had been prearranged,- there had never been any reason for Striker to believe that there would be any difficulty whatsoever in staying right here where he was until the deal was complete.

  And he had this mess to clean up as well. Well, the maid had been in already today, so he didn't have to wony about anyone coming. He'd just have to leave this and see if he could get the other things straightened out before daylight. He looked at his watch,- it was 9:15.

  Cody raced through the streets of Austin and pulled up into the circular drive at 1100 Colorado Street. His heart began to race. He'd seen Marty's silver Fleetwood on the opposite side of the street as he pulled in. He hopped out of his truck and went in. The doorman looked up pleasantly at him from his desk.

  "Hi," Cody said with a nervous wave, as if he had every right in the world to walk into the building and proceed upstairs. He had no intention of stopping to talk or to answer any questions. Marty's car meant Marty was here either going through the killer's apartment or snared b
y the killer himself.

  "Excuse me," the doorman said, leaning across the side of the desk to address Cody as he stepped onto the elevator. "Can I help you? I need to announce you, sir."

  Cody stepped onto the elevator and punched number eighteen before he turned to face the doorman.

  "It's okay," Cody said with a calm, knowing smile and a wink, "I'm Cody Grey."

  Cody could see instant recognition as well as befuddlement on the young doorman's face as the doors closed. Just before he was blocked from sight, Cody was sure he saw the man give him a half-smile and a nod. Everything was fine. He was a celebrity, and that meant he was always welcome. Besides, Cody acted like he'd done this before.

  In truth, Cody thought to himself as he shot upward, he didn't care if the guy followed him or even called the police. Something wasn't right. Cody knew that for certain. The more he thought about it, the more nervous it made him. Cody's adrenaline carried him down the hall to 18-G. He paused briefly in front of the door, wondering what in hell he should do now. He knocked. There was no answer. Cody felt the rush of adrenaline that made him feel like it was ten minutes before kickoff in a big game. He knocked again and listened. Nothing. He looked around. There was no sign of another person on the entire floor. Cody rocked back and with his good leg kicked the door as hard as he could. The noise seemed incredible, but the door didn't budge. This only gave him an added boost of adrenaline. He reared back again, this time aiming carefully for the part of the door closest to the knob. The door burst inward with a splintering crash, and Cody raced inside.

  "Marty?" he yelled, truly scared now. "Marty! It's me! Cody! Are you in here!"

  Cody wanted to find his friend and get out. He didn't want to be here when the owner returned or if the police showed up. He dashed through the unfamiliar apartment. When he burst through the bedroom door, he froze.

  "Oh, no," he said out loud. "Oh, Cod, no! Marty."

  Slowly Cody approached the bed, as if he were sneaking up on a wounded wild animal.