by Edward Goble
Chapter 22
Andy, Simon, Garfunkel and Mrs. Robinson went to the office to work on the story. Andy scanned a few paragraphs from the writing frenzy of the previous night, and took off from there.
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Appalachian Malady - 11
“Ran, God. I’m glad you called,” Tami said from her car, picking up the phone on the second ring.
“Great minds think alike, as they say,” he said calmly. “So, you got something cooking?”
“I’ll say. Good tip on Williams, by the way, sounds like Lecter is in the sheets with him, big time. I guess they’re both headed to Kentucky tomorrow for some meeting. They’ve been meeting quite a bit the last couple of months.”
“That’ll do,” he said. “You about ready to write a story, Spin?”
“Does that mean this is about over?”
“I can almost hear the fat lady,” Rance said. “Gotta go.”
“Jim Tate.”
“Hey Bud, ‘bout ready to play some ball?”
“Been waiting for the call, Rance, we’ve got nothing up here.”
“Okay, here’s the deal, and timing’s critical on this, huh?”
“Shoot.”
“I believe A.D. Williams ordered the hit. No way to pin that on him at this point, it’s just a hunch. But leave that one alone for now, okay?”
“Got it.”
“Next, Lecter and Williams are the D.C. links. They’re working with James Rafferty, William Prate, Sheriff Buddy McCoy and John Welsh, an accountant in Lexington. They call themselves “Investors.” They own equal shares in a company called Alta Loma Distribution in Rose Park, Ky. They run the whole deal out of the old Cedar Ridge Mine a few miles north of town on Hwy. 289. The company makes crackers... I’m meeting with all the investors tomorrow. I don’t have a time yet, but I’ll give you plenty of heads up. I think that’s when the cavalry charges in, so be ready for that, I’ll fill you in on the details. Keep it to yourself for now. With me?”
“Wait a minute. Crackers?” Jim said.
“That’s the story. The mine is huge, heavy with guards, and lots of automatic weapons. I think they’re smuggling the pot out of the area in cracker boxes. That’s just a hunch at this point. I think they’ve retrofitted the mine to be an underground hydroponic marijuana farm.”
“No way.”
“And, through tax incentives and what not, I think the feds are inadvertently financing the whole thing.”
“Ran, this is too far out there… Is there anything I can do on this end?” Tate said.
“The Investors use the Bank of Austria in the Caymans. I’m thinking you’ll find accounts there for Lecter and Williams, probably the rest of them, too. Locate them and get ready to freeze them. But its just information gathering at this point, don’t move on any of this till you hear from me.”
“What did you do, take the week off?” Jim said in jest.
“Yeah, you know, just laying out by the pool. Be ready, huh?”
“Be careful out there.”
“Always,” Rance said, and disconnected the line.
Appalachian Malady - 12
Rance Broadback was an expert at chess. His forte was patience. He would wait until his adversary had tipped his strategic direction before engaging his own offensive. He wanted to drive or fly immediately to Rose Park and find John Sanchez. His friend sounded hurt, and he wouldn’t put it past these people, based on what happened to Senator Hagin, to kill him and bury him in a forest hollow. But he had to believe that John could hang in there for one more night. Rance forced himself to eat a light dinner and close his eyes. The puzzle was coming together but would require a few parts to move in to place that he had little control over. He could only wait.
At 10:30 pm his cell phone rang, it was James Rafferty.
“Pena,” Michael/Rance answered.
“We’re all set. Damn this is going to be a hassle. You realize that, don’t you?”
“It’s your company, Jim. You pull the plug and I go away. There are plenty of truck drivers out there to haul your crackers.”
“No. Look, I’ll have a car pick you up there at the hotel at 10:00 am. The meeting’s set for 3:00 pm. everyone will be there.”
“I’ll drive myself, if that’s all right. 3:00 pm’s fine, though. At The Alta Loma Distribution office?”
“Right. But listen, everyone would sure rather just meet at my place, much simpler all the way around.”
“Thanks for humoring me, then. I need to do it this way for my own peace of mind.”
“You realize that there is a lot on the line here...” Rafferty said. It wasn’t a threat, exactly, but he made it clear that there would be much expected in return for the accommodation.
“I will not disappoint you, Mr. Rafferty,” Pena/Broadback said in a way that let the older man know he understood what was between the lines.
“I’m glad you understand,” Rafferty said. “See you tomorrow afternoon, then.”
“I’ll be there a little before three,” Michael/Rance said, and hung up the phone.
“Tate.”
“Hey Jim, Any luck?”
“Rance, God. The Austrian Bank links all of them.”
“Great, listen. It’s all going down tomorrow at the Cedar Ridge Mine just outside Rose Park. I need you to be ready to hit that mine like your invading Baghdad, okay? Timing on this is everything. The meeting is scheduled for 3:00 pm at the Cedar Ridge Mine. There is a fire road and an exit drive door at the following coordinates: 86.25 longitude by 36.73 latitude. Be ready to move some units in from that direction. Have the rest of the troops come in the front door and by chopper. There’s no way to sneak up on the place and the whole town is wired in, so if any feds are lurking around early the game is over, got it?
“Okay. We hit the place when?”
“3:15 pm est. exactly, not a second earlier or later. Jim, have a squad secure the vehicles so the dignitaries can’t escape. Everyone should be in combat gear and ready for a fire fight.”
“Will you be around?”
“If I am try not to shoot me, huh? Listen, I’ve got a couple of reporters who might wander by to document the whole thing for you. They won’t be there till after you’ve got things under control.”
“You promise somebody a story?”
“Not is so many words, but you know how it goes, everybody has to make a living.”
“Okay, I guess I’ve got some work to do,” Tate said.
“If I don’t see you tomorrow, we’ll meet for racquetball down the road, okay.”
“Deal.”
Rance hesitated making the next call, because it breached protocol from every angle and could be the piece of this elaborate puzzle that blew up in his face. But he knew it was a critical piece. He dialed the phone.
“Madden.” The voice was sharp.
“Secure line?”
“Hold.” Ten seconds passed as General Madden pushed a button on a small plastic black receiver in his lower desk drawer. After it chirped to life and gave him a solid line of green lights he came back to the phone. “Secure,” he announced.
“Sir, sorry for the interruption,” Rance began.
“How can I help you?” The General asked, not mentioning a name, although he knew exactly who was calling.
“There’s a complication, sir. I need your help. Timing is critical.”
“Go on.”
“I believe A.D. Williams has obtained your Contractor List.”
“That’s impossible,” the General said.
“Maybe so, sir. My own position may be compromised.”
“What do I need to do?” the General asked.
“Tomorrow morning sometime, A.D. Williams will leave the office for the day. At 15:15, his office needs to be sealed, his computer unplugged, and his assistant relieved of duty and placed in temporary custody.”
“You can’t just waltz in to the FBI and shut down the Assistant Director’s office.”
; “That’s why I’m making this call, sir. You’re the only person who could pull it off.”
“I’ll have to inform the Director.”
“You work it however you need to on that end, just don’t move before 3:15 pm.”
“Okay, why 15:15?”
“If it happens before that, the op will be exposed. I need him to believe he is safe.”
“And what has he done?”
“I believe he ordered the hit on Senator Hagin and is intimately involved in the operation I am investigating.”
“I thought this might percolate to the top,” the General said.
“Fortunately, I believe this is as high as it goes.”
“15:15 tomorrow.”
“You won’t have any other interruptions from me, sir.”
“Not a problem. Come home safe, huh?” Madden hung up the phone and considered his options. He didn’t normally become personally involved in operations any more. He had led his share and was now more than content calling the plays from the booth. But Rance was right; he was the only one that could ambush the AD. The Director would need to be involved, but past that, it would be a stealth operation. The fact was that Madden was certain that Williams didn’t have the Contractor list. The legend that it was held securely in the mind of General George Madden was true, he didn’t have it written down. He knew every name and number and he never shared the information with another soul. It was not only his creed—it was his livelihood. If he were out of the picture, the Contractors would no longer be available, and that possibility provided him with a wide swath of power inside the beltway among those at the highest levels of government. He wasn’t one of the Joint Chief’s but they all had his number memorized in case they needed help. And he, like his short list of Contractors, was very well compensated.
“The love of money is the root of all evil,” he reminded himself as he considered how to handle A.D. Williams. Williams had approached Madden about hiring a contractor for an off-the-books job. Madden explained to the young bureau executive that he had no idea what he was talking about. “I haven’t been in that game for a long time,” Madden remembered saying. Funny how your memory improves when someone deposits a million dollars in to an offshore account in your name. He regretted doing it, but he had given Williams one name, not one of his contractors, they would never conduct an operation against an American Senator. The name he provided was that of a Russian freelancer that Madden had flipped during the cold war that was currently supplying muscle and information to the highest bidder. It was this chimp, which could be somewhat easily dispatched, that Madden had given to Williams.
The question was, would Williams give up him up to save his own hide. The General was pretty certain that the weak man would. Madden had to believe, at that level, that it would be Williams unsteady word against the impeccable record of the General. He called the Director to arrange a morning meeting. Next he arranged a wire transfer of his ill-gotten money from the bank in the Cayman Islands to an account in Sweden where he regularly padded his nest. He closed the account at the Bank of Austria and instructed the manager of international banking to delete his name from the account records. He was assured that they would when in actual fact account records were permanent.
“Hey Ran,” Tami said”
“Just checking in. How’s your story coming?”
“Lot’s of loose ends but these things take time.”
“You’ll get it. Hey, got a question for you.”
“Sounds like more work...”
“Well, I can always call my girl at the Times...” he laughed.
“Bum. What do you have?”
“I was wondering if you and maybe your Kentucky reporter friend might like a front row seat to a little party that’s being thrown tomorrow.”
“I’m listening,” she said, moving to the edge of her office chair.
“I think all those loose ends might tie up rather nicely,” he said. Rance proceeded to give Tami Beatty the details of where to go and what to expect. He stressed the need for accuracy in her timing of arrival and told her to be very careful and very discreet.
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Tuesday morning Andy was up and showered by 8:00 am. He was standing at the blinds watching for the installation truck that wasn’t supposed to begin till 9:00 am. He decided to walk for coffee since and bring some back for Mr. Martin. This was much more fun than paying the scummy nephews debt. This felt like something that was really going to help his friends get back to their normal life. And, subconsciously, Andy knew that would help him maintain his normal life. He sat down for a coffee and a toasted bagel slathered with cream cheese out of a little plastic carton. It was Light cream cheese, so he used two. Then he bought two coffees’ to go and walked back to the Deli. The installation truck had parked in the back alley and three men were already at work taking measurements and constructing the metal rail upon which the chair would climb. Mr. Martin was in the alley watching in amazement. Andy brought the coffee and stood alongside his friend.
“Here you go,” he said.
“Oh, Andy, thanks. My God, would you look at all this? How does this thing work, anyway?”
“I don’t know, really.”
“It looks like she will fall right out of the thing,” Mr. Martin said. The crew laughed and said it was as simple and foolproof as could be. In two hours they had the rail set and were attaching the chair. It was a neat little contraption that sat, at the lower level, on the ground like any other chair. Mrs. Martin would just walk over to it, or roll over in a wheelchair, fold down the seat, and sit down. There was a large plate on which to set your feet and a seat belt. After she was secure, the installer demonstrated, “You just push the up arrow, and there you go.” The men watched as the little chair began a straight path up the stairwell, parallel with the stairs. It came to rest on the top and pivoted locking in to place in a way that would allow Mrs. Martin to step off and enter the apartment, well away from the top step. Inside of two hours they were ready for a weighted test run. One of the workers sent the chair down again and they asked Mr. Martin if he would take it for a spin.
“Hey, I could get used to this,” he called as the chair quietly ascended the stairs and pivoted into its finished position. He pushed the down arrow and returned to the bottom, shaking his head with delight. “Now this is going to be perfect, I’m telling you. Perfect!” He shook the hands of the installers and told them to come back for the party the following night. “My Maria, she’ll want to thank you, and we’ve got some pretty good German beer to serve, am I right, Andy?”
Andy nodded and thanked the installers. He checked his watch. He had plenty of time, but he did want to do a little work today before his dinner date. He excused himself from Mr. Martin who was still admiring the new construction, and returned to the house. He ate a light lunch and sat down to rejoin the story.
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Appalachian Malady - 13
The clear blue sky and crisp air of a beautiful fall morning greeted Pena/Broadback as he checked out of the hotel at 9:00 am. He returned his rental car to an off-site office that he’d found in the phone directory and walked to a nearby car lot where he strolled to the back of the service department and hot-wired a late model pickup that was probably a trade-in vehicle. He eased out of the lot through the front entrance, waving to the salesmen who were standing around waiting for business. At 11:00 am he was half way to Somerset and placed a call to a number he had called twice this week.
“Hello?”
“Sophia, Michael,” he said.
“Hello Michael, I miss you,” she admitted.
“And I, you,” he said, and meant.
“Listen, I’m almost done here in the area, we’re wrapping up our contract this afternoon.”
“I know, very exciting,” she said. James had told her in passing earlier in the morning that Pena was joining the team and that she could expect to see a lot more of him in the future.
“Well, I was j
ust thinking, I’m going to take a few days off after today, you know, just to get ready for the new business, and all. And, I was wondering, maybe, if you would like to join me, you know, meet me somewhere.” Rance/Michael was acting innocent enough, but he really did want to see her again.
“Michael, I don’t know...” she began.
“I know it’s short notice, it’s okay if you can’t...”
“It’s just...”
“I understand, believe me,” he said.
“No, I want to, uh. We’re will I meet you?”
“At the county airport in Knoxville, Tennessee, I have a plane waiting. 5:00 pm.”
“Knoxville? I’ll have to leave here by 2:00 pm? That’s only three hours.”
“It’s up to you. I know it’s the spur of the moment, but I’d really like to see you again, just the two of us.”
“I’ll try to be there,” she said.
“I really hope you can make it. I really do.” he said, and disconnected the line. He drove in silence stopping only for gas. He hoped that Sophia would figure out a way to make it. It would guarantee that she was out of harms way, and was an ironclad alibi for him if Rafferty found out about it. Rafferty would expect a relationship with Sophia would only make the deal more appealing to Pena, even though Rance didn’t expect that she would inform her boss of her weekend plan, unless she was forced to.
A convoy of SUV’s departed the Rafferty farm at 1:30 pm with passengers Prate, Welsh and Rafferty who were meeting the Senator and Assistant Director at the Lexington Airport and caravanning on to Rose Park for a short meeting. Sophia didn’t know why they needed multiple vehicles and most of the farm security personnel, but she had a plan of her own to conduct and the less people around the farm, the better.
Rance grabbed a backpack of special gear he’d picked up at a surplus store and drove as fast as possible to Alta Loma County. He found the coordinates that Sanchez called out and located the southern fire road and gate. He checked his watch. He had an hour and fifteen minutes until the meeting began, and an hour and a half before Jim Tate stormed the mine with God knows how much manpower. But if he knew Jim, he knew it would be plenty. The motto of the DEA was always; if five can do the job, then send twenty.
He stowed the pickup in the brush 100 meters outside the gate and took off on foot just off the road. He was normally a seven-minute miler, but with his good friends life on the line and a group of Investors to meet, his clip was more like 6:15 on the gravel fire road.
The first guard shack he saw was on the road a few kilometers from the gate. He slowed his pace and observed the small metal building as he approached, still just off the road, walking steadily. There were two guard’s playing cards in the shack. Rance stepped in to the shack with a smile. “Good morning men,” he said, startling them. They both jumped up from their seats and reached for their guns. They were much too slow to save their lives as they were dispatched by two lethal thrusts of his knife. Rance propped their limp bodies back up to the table and continued down the road.
Rance paused and took cover as he reached three kilometers. He checked his mobile GPS and took note of the coordinates. He was close. Staying off the road he continued, at a slower pace, down the fire road and began walking slowly as he came to a blind, right hand turn. He edged to the corner, behind a sizable boulder and looked. There was the drive door, hewn in to the side of a shear cliff. There was a gravel parking area and a few vehicles parked along the perimeter. One truck was the site of a cigarette break for several guards who were smoking and playing country music. One of the four of them broke away and went over to the metal walking entrance door and pushed a red button. He peered through the door and it clicked, unlocking it for entrance. He disappeared inside.
It was about fifty meters across the gravel lot, so Rance chose to back up around the corner, cross the road and climb the hill on the other side, circling around the guards. He approached the front of the truck as two guards sat on the tailgate and another leaned against a Celica that was parked next to the pickup. The windows were down in the truck and Toby Keith was singing about being an American Soldier, Rance couldn’t shake the suspicion that these losers probably fashioned themselves as American soldiers, something that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He walked calmly to the Celica side of the truck and startled the guards, first the one on the car and then the other two. Rance left them lying in their own blood with three swift, almost elegant strokes of his Buck and pulled them all back in the bushes and tossed their guns in the woods. He turned off the ignition switch and pulled the NASCAR 24 key ring, pocketing the set for later, and walked calmly toward the entry door. He pushed the button like he owned the place and waited to be buzzed in. The small guard room on the inside of the door was open and the guard was sitting with his feet up making his way through a package of Twinkies. He didn’t recognize Rance and jumped to his feet, Rance stepped in to the office and struck the man in the neck with a chop that severed his windpipe. He eased the gasping guard back into his chair and leaned him over on the desk for a long nap.
Staying close to the wall, Rance made his was across the staging area—the room was enormous. There were shrink-wrapped pallets stacked floor to ceiling on huge metal shelves like you might see at a warehouse store. He stepped behind one of the pallets and cut through the plastic into a carton. He pulled a box of crackers out of a carton, Cheesy Wheat’s, “Yummy,” Rance whispered, pulling open the box top and sliding out the contents, a sealed 12 ounce bag of little brown crackers coated with a mixture of salt and cheese flavored powder.
Rance looked around wondering if he had misread everything. Quickly, he cut a big swatch out of the palletized plastic and removed an entire carton of Cheesy Wheat’s. He tore in to the tops of three random boxes. All crackers. He stood up and started to sweat. He needed to think like Rafferty, think like that devil McCoy. They were smart, but not that smart. What had they done? He studied the pallet, four cartons high by four wide. He squinted, his brain too pumped at the moment for grade school math. If the outer layer of cartons were all crackers, that would still leave, “What? Twelve interior cartons?” he thought. He ripped the shrink-wrap and silently lifted three more cartons from the exterior wall of the pallet. He reached across and pulled a carton from the center, quickly opening it and extracting a box of Cheesy Wheat’s to test the theory. Opening the seal he dumped the contents, a vacuum-sealed brick of dark green marijuana. Jackpot.
He looked around the storeroom and realized there must be ten thousand cartons stacked in here, each with twelve boxes of marijuana-brick ‘crackers’. Rance dropped the box back into the carton and ran across the room, escaping notice from the forklift drivers who were unarmed and could care less who was running through their warehouse. He stopped behind the last row of pallets and looked across at a long grey wall that extended the length of the warehouse. There were two large drive doors, both closed and one entry door that was guarded by two men who appeared to be more alert than those he had met so far.
It was a thirty-meter distance that he couldn’t span on foot without being easily spotted as an intruder, so Rance retraced his steps and scanned a few aisles till he saw a forklift driving the opposite way down an aisle. He ran up to the unit from behind and confiscated it from the driver by way of a crashing blow to the back of the neck. It rendered the driver unconscious as he never knew what hit him. The forklift sputtered as the driver’s foot fell limp and Rance pulled the man off the seat and laid him between two loaded pallets. He got on the forklift and headed straight for the guarded door, keeping the fork at a just the right height so they couldn’t see who was driving. As Rance approached the door the guards became a little nervous and one stepped out toward the lift and held his arm out motioning Rance to stop.
Rance pulled the lift to a stop and, with his head down, hopped out of the lift and into the face of the guard who didn’t expect to feel the cold steel of Rance’s blade as it was thrust in to his stomach
and up under his ribs. Rance helped him down to the floor, hiding the weapon, “What’s wrong, hey, come help him!” he cried. The other guard took two steps and saw a flash of steel as Rance removed the blade. The guard stopped and swung his weapon around. Rance lunged and slid across the concrete, taking the guard down by the legs before he could discharge a round and quickly pivoted to the top of him before he could react and swiped the knife across his throat. “Sorry, no time for pleasantries,” he whispered.
The door was locked so Rance shoved the blade of the buck knife in to the edge of the lock mechanism and pried the door open. He opened it an inch to be certain there were no guards on the backside. Instead, he found the mother lode.
Behind the grey door was the largest room he had seen thus far. It was roughly the size of a football field. It was lined with row after row of raised planting beds with growing lights and hydroponic watering systems. It looked like a forest of marijuana. The plants were at various stages of growth, there were a few people tending the plants, people in white lab coats with clip boards, walking around writing down numbers and checking leaves. Others were gardening, carefully tilling, primping and caring for the plants. This was an operation the proportion of which Rance had never dreamed.
He quickly exited the door he had come in and tossed the bodies of both guards on the empty pallet on the forks of the lift. He continued through the warehouse in a westerly direction until he found a good place to stash the forklift and it’s passengers. He continued by foot. He checked his watch. It was 2:15 pm., he needed to find John Sanchez and get out of there, if that was even possible at this point. He passed through a door, still heading southwest, figuring he would eventually reach the docks and an area that was more likely to be populated. He entered the loading/staging area and noted that there were a few guards walking around, but the one thing that had remained the same since he was last here was the old truck that was standing on the far side of the room in front of a row of offices. There was no way to make a discreet approach, so Rance stayed close to the wall and walked slowly, he didn’t really blend in, but his step was quiet and the two young men were more interested in their conversation than in actually guarding the door. He stepped behind the first guard, stealthily, and grabbed him from behind twisting his neck quickly one way, and then snapping it back the other violently, making an audible popping sound. His partner turned toward the sound and Rance pounced, dropping the guard with a lethal blow to the throat. Rance put both bodies in the truck and turned on the radio. “Enjoy,” he said quietly.
The door was locked and Rance had no idea but that there were dozens more weapon wielding rednecks just inside the door. But he pried it open with his knife nonetheless and stepped in like he owned the place. The fluorescent lights in the room illuminated the slumped body of John Sanchez, sitting in a metal chair with his face on the table resting in a pool of his own blood and vomit. He was cuffed to the chair, hand and foot, and unconscious. Rance ran to him, “Cavalry’s here buddy,” he whispered. He checked his partners’ pulse and found hope in the slow but regular beat. Sanchez stirred to life, recognizing his friend.
“How’d you find me?” he moaned.
“Follow the rednecks,” Rance said. He quickly picked the cuffs with his knife and cut the zip ties. “Can you walk?”
“I’ll try. Maniac Sheriff busted me in the knee,” John said. He attempted to stand. Searing pain shot through his body with a jolt, he nearly passed out, instead, he convulsed, hurling a string of bloody bile on to the table. John gritted his teeth against the pain and slumped back in the chair.
“Take the weight off that leg and hold on to my shoulder,” Rance said and grabbed John around the waist. “Let’s get out of here.” He felt his friends body tense for the pull, then John let out a sigh and slumped backward. “What? John?”
“Well. Mr. Pena…” Sheriff McCoy said as he shut the door behind himself. Rance lowered John Sanchez back into the chair and stood slowly. Buddy McCoy had come to check on his prisoner, maybe extract a little more information out of him before the big meeting. He stood with arms crossed, the heavy framing hammer in his right hand. His head was tilted slightly, pleased with himself, his beady black eyes and rattlesnake grin full of playful rage. “You had us all going, there, didn’t you? Going to dupe all the rednecks and, what? Take over the operation? Do you think you’re that smart? Do you think you’re that tough?”
“Buddy, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rance said, trying to buy some time so he could get in a better strike position. He was behind the heavy table a good eight feet from McCoy who held a hammer, a holstered Colt 45, and, most importantly, had some room to maneuver.
“Son, I just drove up from the back door. I saw the broken pallet. I saw what was left of my guards!” He raised his voice momentarily and grit his teeth, mindlessly adjusting and tightening his grip on the hammer.
He was right handed; he would have to do something with that hammer before he went for the gun. He’d either throw it at Pena/Broadback, or trade hands, or something. That would be Rance’s only opportunity before John and he were target practice.
“So, Mr. Pena,” Buddy said, settling himself down to a boil, “What do you think of my little operation?” Buddy was going to kill them. He decided that as soon as he opened the door. But his ego was hungry. The brilliant hydroponic growing system had been his idea. There were so few people who knew about it. And no one he could brag to. He wanted someone to tell him how great it was. “Well?” he smirked.
“Honestly, Buddy,” Rance said, now smiling, “It’s amazing. I can’t wait till it’s all mine.”
McCoy’s smirk turned into a frown and his black eyes disappeared into a wrinkled squint. Without a word he dropped the hammer to the concrete floor where it bounced between the table and the wall and, in the same motion reached for his gun. Instantly, Rance dove blindly over the table in the direction of the hammer, grabbed the handle with his left hand and rolled to his back. His eyes trained on McCoy a split second before the Sheriff had his gun up. McCoy pivoted, bringing the weapon from right to left as Rance flung the framing hammer striking the Sheriff between the left eye and the temple with the force of a Roger Clemens fastball, making a dull cracking sound and burying the two wide steel claws two inches into McCoy’s skull. The Sheriff convulsed, dropped the Colt and collapsed against the wall.
Without a word Broadback jumped to his feet and kicked the gun to the far end of the room. He found McCoy’s keys and returned to Sanchez. “Let’s try this again.”
The two men exited out the only door—all was still quiet. Rance helped Sanchez into the passenger seat and he took the Sheriff’s place in the driver’s position, complete with the hard-brimmed, Smokey the Bear hat. “Let’s get out of Dodge,” he said, throwing the cruiser into reverse.
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Andy tore himself away from the story. He was tempted to call Debbie and reschedule. As bad as he wanted to see her, he was in the heat of the climax and intoxicated with the narrative. They had reservations at Izzy’s for 6:00 pm. It was only a mile or two from his house. He could stop now and walk, or type a little longer and drive. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the palms of his hands. He clicked ‘save’ and made a good choice.