Murder Unleashed

by Rita Mae Brown

  Lonnie knocked on the front door. No answer, so he kicked it open, still standing to the side. With no gun, he hoped to divert Michelle so Francie could move in and get her.

  As he did so, Pete and Francie flattened themselves to the side of the back door, out of sight.

  Lonnie still didn’t go inside. He heard a light footfall moving away from the front door. The houses had a similar floor plan, he hoped he knew the layout. Michelle had two places to protect herself and nail him if he stepped in.

  He waited, sweat running down his back.

  Pete and Francie waited, too. Baxter’s keen ears pricked up. The little dog moved toward the back door.

  Pete noticed, signaling Francie.

  The door opened a crack. Michelle couldn’t see the two officers, but she knew one officer wouldn’t be out there alone. She stepped out, turned right and fired, just missing Francie.

  Baxter leapt forward, sinking his considerable fangs into her calf. Michelle hadn’t seen Pete on her left who rushed up and clubbed her hard. The crack was loud. She went down, Baxter still hanging on to her leg.

  Running through the house, Lonnie came up on Michelle.

  Francie and Pete knelt over her.

  “She’s dead,” Pete said. “And I’m off duty.”

  Francie handed Pete her gun, taking the baton from him. “I hit her,” she declared. “We good?”

  “Yeah,” Lonnie agreed.

  “Francie, they’ll drag you through an inquiry,” Pete half protested.

  “And I’ll be cleared. Do it my way.”

  Walking back from the parade, Bunny held CeCe’s hand. Both he and Irene carried all the treats.

  Coming in the opposite direction, slightly tight, walked a white man, fortyish. Irene couldn’t hide but she ducked her head.

  “Hey, don’t act like you don’t know me,” he said swaying slightly on his feet, then he looked up at Bunny. “Best blow jobs in Reno, but you already know that.” He affectionately tapped Irene on the shoulder as he walked away.

  Bunny dropped CeCe’s hand, turning to run after him and knock his teeth down his throat.

  Irene slid to her knees, holding Bunny’s knees. “I didn’t know what to do. We had nothing to eat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Seeing her mother sob, CeCe put her arms around her. “Don’t cry, Mommy. Don’t cry.”

  Oblivious to the people walking around them, Bunny sank to his knees and held Irene. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. You’re safe now.”

  Sunday’s paper, May 1, carried an article about officer Frances Shelton killing Michelle Speransky, a suspect in three murders, in the line of duty.

  Norton cooperated, telling Pete and Lonnie that Robert Dalrymple and he had set up a corporation in the name of two old ladies: Robert’s and Norton’s maternal aunts. The old women readily signed the paperwork in exchange for five thousand dollars apiece. When the time was right, the corporation would buy the foreclosed houses for a song.

  Knowing how a bank operated, Dalrymple was smarter than anyone thought and had figured out Michelle’s plan. After getting in on the action though, Dalrymple decided he wanted a bigger cut, which proved fatal. It was easy for Michelle to lure him to an abandoned house in a neighborhood they hoped would become profitable. That same murderous strategy worked for Patrick, too. Norton didn’t know how Michelle got Tu’Lia to go with her.

  It had been the best school bus expo ever.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  A week had passed since the school bus parade. Congratulations rained on Howie for the affair. The car chase and the yellow bus leaving the route hurtling down the avenue was seen by some bystanders. All agreed it was the most exciting school bus parade yet. Howie accepted the accolades, but would smile and say he thought it might not be possible to guarantee a similar episode next year.

  Howie had sent Tito back to Wings. He felt he prevailed long enough on Jeep’s good will in using the young, strong worker on his ranch.

  The sun setting behind the Peterson range cast a few long slanting rays between the ridges.

  Jeep and Howie moved in from his back porch as the temperature always plummeted with the sun in the high desert.

  Jeep noticed the tiny dust particles reflecting the last of the light as she carried in the salad bowl.

  The two, dogs in attendance, had been gorging on Carlotta’s chicken barbeque, not too spicy, not too bland, no one made it like Carlotta. Jeep threw together the salad once she arrived at Howie’s and the two dear friends ate out on the porch for the temperature, then in the middle sixties, invited being semi-outdoors.

  She set the big salad bowl on the table as Howie, gloves on, put the barbeque on a trivet. He then walked back out for their drinks—a whiskey sour for him, straight bourbon with a tonic water chaser, lime on the side, for Jeep.

  King, ears forward, mouth slightly open in a smile, sat next to Jeep.

  Baxter, allowed by Mags to go with his friends, observed this. “She’s not going to give you any.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to try.” King never took his eyes off the barbeque.

  Zippy, not as large as King, couldn’t see the top of the table, but she could certainly smell the tantalizing aromas. Commercial dog food was okay, but nothing compared to food off the table.

  Toothpick, happy to be in a kitchen, any kitchen, sat next to King.

  Jeep felt King’s breath on her thigh. “Move away a bit, buddy.”

  Doing as he was told, King grumbled, “All I want is one big mouthful of Carlotta’s barbeque.”

  Zippy piped up. “King, barbeque is sloppy. The only way we’re going to get any is if they put it in bowls and from the way those two are shoving it in their mouths, I don’t think so.”

  Howie played with the stem on the cherry in his drink. “Ronnie made the best damn whiskey sours. I can’t quite match it.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t drink a cocktail or mixed drink when I was young. Thought it was too girly. But one night to please her, I drank one of her whiskey sours. You know, they’re really good.”

  “Soon it will be time for gin and tonics, vodka tonics. I’m not much for mixed drinks, either.” She stopped to look at Howie with a devilish glint in her eye. “Too butch, you know, but I do love those gin and tonics in the summer.”

  Howie smiled. “Jeep, you’re a beautiful woman. Always were, always will be. I don’t care if sometimes you’re more a man than I am.”

  They both laughed uproariously.

  “You remember my sister, Catherine? She was the great beauty.”

  “In a different way, Mags’s sister looks a lot like her. ’Course the dye job in the hair ruins it. Hear much from Catherine the Second?”

  “No news is good news.”

  “Well, she hasn’t made any more movies. I always go to Susie’s to look for her.”

  Jeep put her fork down in feigned shock. “Howie Norris, you go to the sex shop? I am horrified.”

  He dropped his eyes, a little grin on his lips, then looked up at his oldest friend. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you there.”

  They laughed again.

  “Hey, did I tell you the Japanese are making porn movies for older people? No joke. They’re using good-looking golden oldies. Just think, Howie, new careers for us.”

  “I could never do it. I have such a good life here. That would just destroy my privacy. I mean, all those sixty-year-old-plus women knocking on my door.”

  “Of course, I forgot about that.” She speared an artichoke heart in her salad.

  After finishing their supper, as well as exhausting the endlessly fascinating subject of sex, the two, no room for dessert, did the dishes. She washed. He dried.

  Jeep peered out the window over the sink. “Clouds coming in. Can’t see the stars. I don’t think it’s going to rain. Hey, did I tell you I planted alfalfa, corn, strawberries—the list goes on—and I irrigated those thousand acres for the first time.”

  “Big project.”

  “
Yeah, it is, but I can’t sit around.”

  “Jeep, when have you ever sat around? You’ve got the cattle, your business interests, and every now and then you roll that old plane out of the hangar and take ’er up.”

  “What’s the point of sitting on your butt?”

  “Don’t know, but millions seem to do it.”

  “Howie, we ate so much—let’s walk it off.”

  “Good idea. How about it we check the fence line the boys repaired? So far the cattle have stayed in. They’re putting on weight fast.” He glanced down at Toothpick. “So is your rat terrier. He’s a handsome thing.”

  As Howie got their coats, Jeep knelt down to pull on Toothpick’s sweater. “It’s colder than you think, squirt.”

  “Anyone ever tell you how fetching you look in turquoise?” Baxter teased the Manchester terrier.

  “Anyone ever tell you your moustache droops every time you drink and you drop water all over the place?” Toothpick replied.

  Once outside, the crisp air encouraged walking. Howie opened the gate near the house and they walked through the first lower pasture, then began the climb up the first low ridge.

  “This is our chance to get them to the treasure,” Zippy called out to her buddies.

  “Let’s do it.” King’s deep voice rang out.

  As the two humans pushed up the low ridge the dogs pranced, twirled around, and called out encouragement.

  “Somebody’s got their knickers in a twist.” Howie smiled, for he loved to see animals happy, especially Zippy.

  “Come on.” Zippy ran back and took his hand in her mouth.

  Howie looked down at the bright eyes. “What do you want?”

  Dropping his hand, Zippy stated simply, “Follow me.”

  King likewise encouraged Jeep.

  “They know something we don’t.” She fell in with the dogs.

  “Usually do.” Howie stepped over a prominent rock. “Maybe I should have brought a flashlight but I like walking in the dark, then turning for the lights of home. Just feels so good.”

  “Does. Anyway, we can see a bit.”

  He added, “I’ve got a mess of coyotes out here but they haven’t been much of a problem.”

  “Because I leave out treats.” Zippy knew he didn’t understand but she had to say it anyway.

  “Good foraging right now.” Jeep put her hand in her pocket, feeling the Glock she usually carried somewhere on her person or in her purse.

  Jeep favored revolvers, but in the service she was issued a pistol to carry as a sidearm, easier to pack than a revolver, which required a true holster. A pistol she could jam in her flight jacket or even her belt. But she still carried a revolver when she rode her cow pony and there was one in the old World War II–issue jeep. Jeep thought guns and rifles small works of art.

  The two humans stopped, considered walking up toward the second ridge, but Zippy wouldn’t have it. She blocked Howie, grabbed his hand again.

  “She has a mission.” Jeep laughed.

  With patience, the dogs prodded, pulled, and bumped the two humans to the den. The female coyote had left it to go to a den higher up with Ruff.

  King, eyebrows knitted together, pushed Jeep. “Come on, Mom. Just a few more steps.”

  Finally in front of the den, Zippy, voice calm and low, as though encouraging a puppy, said to Howie, “Watch me.”

  She wiggled into the opening.

  “Me, too.” Baxter followed while Toothpick stood at the entrance.

  “All right, you guys. Come on out,” Howie said.

  Inside Zippy grumbled. “He’s so stupid!”

  “Is there anything we can take outside? They might get the message then,” Baxter suggested.

  They could smell the leather in the dark, smell the dried-out wood of the boxes.

  The two tugged on a saddlebag but it wouldn’t budge.

  King, nose to the air, said, “Lemons. I smell lemons.”

  “Shit. It’s him.” Zippy shot out of the den as did Baxter.

  “Who?” Toothpick asked.

  “The man stealing this metal. The man who shot Daddy.” Zippy looked toward where she knew the access road was but her eyes weren’t that great. She could smell him coming, though.

  High on the second ridge, Ruff with the mother and four pups, looked down at the dogs and two humans in the distance, and observed the lone young man coming up at the bottom of the ridge where the old den was. He had a pole with a hook on it strapped to his back.

  “Watch out. He’s climbing up!” Ruff called out in his clear, eerie voice.

  “Make a racket.” The house dogs began barking at King’s command.

  Howie’s voice carried. “That’s enough.”

  The thief heard Howie’s voice, knew he was old, and figured he could easily dispose of him.

  He spotted Howie on the ridge, perhaps one hundred and fifty yards away, but he didn’t see Jeep. Running to get within firing range, he fired once.

  The bullet passed over Howie’s head.

  The two humans dropped to the ground. The dogs, quietly, so as not to attract attention, filed down the side of the ridge out of the man’s sightline. They intended to circle behind him.

  On the high ridge, Ruff called out, “He’s moving up.”

  Jeep reached in her pocket for her gun. “Howie, where’s your gun?”

  “Don’t have it on me.”

  “Goddammit, I told you to carry a sidearm.” Then she whispered, “You’re as useless as tits on a boar hog.” She crawled on her stomach to get behind the rock outcropping that housed the den.

  Howie peeped over the rocks. “You could hit him now.”

  Voice soft, Jeep replied, “No. If he knows I’m armed, he might turn tail and run. This is the bastard that shot at you. We need to know who he is and hopefully bring him down.”

  Howie ducked back down. “Right.”

  “I could kill you for not carrying your gun, except he might kill you first.”

  Enlivened by danger, Howie grinned, “It’s so nice to be wanted.”

  Jeep could hear him now, hear the roll of the stones under his boots. She picked up a baseball-sized rock and threw it over the den. He fired at it instantly. Pleased, for now she knew he was jumpy and impulsive, she waited coolly.

  Howie started to pop his head up. Jeep tugged him down. The minutes ticked by from the sound of his footfall, clear now, Jeep figured he was maybe thirty yards away. He knew they were there for he had heard Jeep’s voice when she said “Goddammit.” If she jumped up, there was every chance he’d fire first. If she fired and missed, well, that was not a good thought.

  Ruff sang out, “Zippy, he’s closing in.”

  Zippy, hearing this, tore around the side of the low ridge, King right by her side, Baxter and Toothpick on their heels.

  “Bark now!” Zippy hollered.

  The four dogs growled furiously as they closed in on the man, turning now to meet these attackers, thinking all he had to do was pull the trigger on his long-barreled revolver then go forward to finish off Howie and Jeep.

  Jeep stood up as the dogs barked. He turned to fire at the dogs, and that fast she got off three shots, each finding their mark. He went down with an oomph, crumpling on the pole and hook strapped to his back.

  Zippy immediately pounced on him as King grabbed his gun hand, fangs sinking deep into the flesh. Baxter and Toothpick leapt onto him, too.

  Jeep strode down to the figure. “Howie, it’s safe. He’s dead. Leave it,” she ordered the dogs, rolling him over with her boot.

  Howie, sliding down beside her, exclaimed, “Ben Huxley, the Bureau of Land Management agent. Thank God you had your gun, Jeep. I can’t believe what a fool I was.”

  “I can.” She smiled at him, relieved this was over.

  Howie knelt down, feeling Ben’s pockets. As he pulled out a map, he looked up at Jeep. “There’ll be a big to-do now. You killed a man.”

  “This was self-defense.”

  “C
ool as a cuke. Always were,” he said admiringly to Jeep as he stood up with a map in his hand.

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know how the world really works. And if he were lying there groaning in pain, I’d put him out of his misery. He tried to kill one of my best friends. Life’s not really that complicated. You take care of your own.” She knelt down and patted each of the dogs. “They know that. If they hadn’t distracted this joker, well, maybe we’d have gotten off unscathed and then again maybe we’d have some lead in us.”

  “I’ll protect you, Mom, always and ever.” King licked her hand.

  Howie fished out a tiny keychain with an LED light on it, shining it on the map. “Jeep, he has this spot marked, this spot right here.” He handed the map to Jeep as he followed Zippy to the den’s entrance.

  “Zippy, thank God for you.” It was dawning on Howie that his dog very well may have saved his life.

  Zippy squeezed into the den, followed by Baxter and Toothpick.

  Jeep, folding the map, watched Howie get down on all fours, butt in the air. She bit her tongue as a rude remark was on the tip of it.

  Howie pinched the tiny keychain and saw what was in there. Rising, he handed her the little keychain. Kneeling down she saw the reflection of three pairs of eyes, then she saw the saddlebags, the wooden boxes. On some of the saddlebags the Sunrise brand was clear, others bore the double back-to-back Fs for the Ford brothers.

  “Sweet Jesus.” She got back up. “The Garthwaite treasure. Some of that’s mine.” She laughed out loud. “And I owe you a heifer.”

  The two fell into each other’s arms, laughing and crying.

  Finally, Howie wiped his eyes. “You know what I’d really like?”

  “Name it.”

  “Two things really. You have a photo of you and Ronnie moving cattle. I’d like a copy in a silver frame and”—he looked at the dogs, for the three in the den had wiggled out—“a silver-framed photo of our best friends.”

  “Yours.” Then Jeep looked at the dogs. “I don’t think you all want photographs but I bet we can make sure you get steak a couple of times a week.”

  “Now they’re talking sense.” King sighed.

  High on the ridge Ruff called out, echoed by his new mate and the puppies. “Okay?”