Stag Party (Blanco County Mysteries Book 8)

by Ben Rehder

  Then Marlin heard a gunshot no more than two hundred yards away. A rifle, not a handgun. Just one shot. Hard to tell the direction of the shot for certain, because the sound bounced around in the hills. He thought it was due north, though, so he began to walk in that direction.

  Then he heard many more shots—maybe ten or eleven—in rapid succession. Somebody was firing a high-capacity semi-automatic rifle—what most people called an assault weapon.

  Right then, Marlin also heard at least one siren in the distance, coming from the east. Reinforcements. Had to be on the county road, not on the highway. That meant they were just five or ten minutes out. Assuming they could figure out where to go.

  Marlin started weaving his way through the trees again.

  Phil Colby, Red O’Brien, and Billy Don Craddock had each taken refuge behind the trunk of the nearest oak tree. Fortunately, this was a grove of massive, ancient live oaks, with trunks three feet in diameter. Colby was on the left, with Craddock in the center and O’Brien on the right.

  Just seconds earlier, the three of them had come to the edge of the grove and spotted two figures in the distance. One was huge. Aaron Endicott. The other, standing a few yards in front of Endicott, was much smaller. Jessi.

  Before Colby could even size up the situation, Endicott had wheeled around with a rifle, hoisted it to his shoulder, and taken a shot, sending them all ducking behind the tree trunks. Colby had seen that the girl had taken off running. That was the important thing. She was safe. By now she was long gone.

  Colby was more than prepared to haul ass off the ranch, back to his truck, but he didn’t want to get shot in the back. He glanced around the tree trunk, and Endicott, walking slowly in their direction, let loose with a steady stream of shots. He had an assault rifle, not a deer rifle. Colby was pretty sure he hadn’t seen a scope on it. That would limit his accuracy, at least a little.

  Colby was wishing he had his own rifle right now, rather than his handgun, a Beretta nine millimeter. He usually carried the .30-30 in his truck, but he’d removed it after he’d had the late-night trespasser, for fear it would get stolen. It was easier to carry a handgun to and from the truck as he came and went, so that’s what he had been doing.

  “You both all right?” Colby whispered.

  “No problem,” O’Brien said.

  “Guy can’t shoot for shit,” Craddock said.

  “Got any bright ideas?” Colby said.

  “Hell, yeah,” Craddock said. “Pop him square in the forehead.”

  “From this distance?” Colby said.

  “Pass it over,” Craddock said, making a gimme motion. “I’ll do it.”

  “Not a chance,” Colby said.

  “Hear that?” O’Brien said.

  A siren, just a few miles away.

  Colby snuck another quick peek. Endicott was getting closer.

  “How far?” O’Brien asked.

  “Forty yards or so,” Colby said.

  “He’s not leaving us much choice,” O’Brien said.

  “Nope,” Colby said. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “On three,” Colby said. “One...two...three.”

  Both men leaned out from behind their trees just enough to aim effectively. Colby squeezed off two shots and he heard O’Brien fire at least once—but it was hard to tell, because Endicott immediately began firing back at them. Colby ducked behind the tree and could feel several slugs slamming into the trunk behind him.

  A firefight was taking place. There was no other word for it. After the initial round of rifle shots, Marlin heard several shots from two different handguns, and then seven or eight answering shots from the semi-automatic rifle.

  Colby had said Red O’Brien and Billy Don Craddock were with him. Marlin suspected that Colby and either O’Brien or Craddock were firing the handguns. Aaron Endicott was likely firing the high-capacity rifle. He would have a huge advantage. Much greater accuracy at a distance, with or without a scope. And a lot more ammo.

  Marlin slowed his pace, because he estimated that he was no farther than a hundred yards away from the shooting. Right now, he had an even bigger advantage than Endicott did. Marlin didn’t want to reveal himself and give that advantage away.

  “Your turn,” Colby said to Craddock. The big redneck was unarmed, but he could still help out. It was his turn to peek.

  Craddock leaned his head to the right for a quick look, then moved it back.

  “He’s just standing there,” he said.

  Colby said, “Do you think he’s gonna—”

  “You’re trespassing!” Endicott yelled. “And you’ve got guns. That’s a threat, as far as I’m concerned, especially after someone set fire to my house. I got a right to defend myself—and my property.”

  He was a psychopath, but he was also pretty damn cunning. Colby knew he was laying the groundwork for a legal defense, if he should actually shoot one or all of them.

  Red O’Brien started to yell something in response, but Colby waved him off.

  “Y’all might as well make a run for it,” Endicott called out, taunting. “I’ll give you a five-second head start. Promise.”

  Again, Colby gestured that they should not reply. He had no idea if that was the wisest strategy or not. For now, though, help was on the way, so the longer they could remain safely tucked behind these trees, the better.

  “Gonna take another look,” O’Brien said. “See if he’s staying put.”

  Colby nodded. He was glad that O’Brien and Craddock weren’t turning out to be trembling wimps. He hadn’t known how they would respond under pressure.

  O’Brien dropped to his knees, then laid flat on the ground. Smart. Endicott wouldn’t be expecting him to peek from down there.

  He tilted his head to the left, around the trunk, and then said, “Shit, he’s coming this way. Slowly. Should I take another shot?”

  Colby said, “Think you can—”

  But O’Brien pulled his head back just as Endicott’s rifle roared again. Colby saw dirt fly right where O’Brien’s head had been just half a second earlier.

  “Crap!” O’Brien said. “That was too damn close.”

  “Careful, Red,” Craddock said.

  “How close is he?” Colby said.

  “Maybe twenty-five yards,” O’Brien said, lowering his voice. “If he gets too much closer, he’ll be able to hear what we’re saying.”

  “Is he out in the open?”

  “Yep. Guy’s a moron. Just standing there.”

  The good news was, Colby could make a reasonably accurate shot with his nine-millimeter Beretta at that distance. Well, he could when he wasn’t rushed or under pressure and he was able to take a proper stance. Could he do it now, hunkered behind a tree, when the consequence of a poor shot might very well be death?

  On the other hand, why not sit tight, and wait to see if Endicott would come even closer?

  “Last chance!” Endicott yelled. “You’d better haul ass while you can. Or toss your guns out and give up.”

  Bullshit. If they tossed their guns, he could do whatever he wanted to them, and not leave witnesses.

  Marlin heard yelling. One voice. Didn’t sound like Colby. Fairly close, but not so close that Marlin could distinguish the words.

  He continued moving in that direction.

  His hands were slick on the butt and the barrel of his .270. It was an amazing rifle. Accurate as hell. One-inch groups at one hundred yards—when your breathing was steady and your heart wasn’t pounding and you didn’t have sweat leaking down into your eyes.

  Marlin advanced as silently as possible over the rough terrain. The siren was nearing the ranch now, with several more right behind it.

  Marlin heard another rifle shot, then more yelling, no more than fifty yards away, just beyond a grove of live oak trees. Somebody—probably Endicott—was telling somebody else to toss their guns out and give up.

  Then Marlin saw movement, perhaps seventy yards away. Somebody was hidi
ng behind the trunk of a massive oak tree. Big man. Billy Don Craddock. Then Marlin realized Phil Colby and Red O’Brien were on either side of Craddock, also pinned down behind tree trunks. Marlin couldn’t see Aaron Endicott, but he had to be somewhere beyond the oaks.

  Marlin adjusted his course and began to circle to the right.

  “Endicott!” Colby yelled. “Hear that? The cops are almost here.”

  “He’s an Endicott?” O’Brien said quietly.

  Aaron didn’t say anything in response. Colby was facing the tree trunk, but he didn’t want to risk taking another peek. Not after O’Brien had nearly gotten his head taken off.

  “We got no beef with you,” he yelled. “We just wanted to make sure the girl was safe.”

  Still no reply. Colby wanted Endicott to speak, to give away his distance. Was he still moving closer, or was he staying put?

  “No reason anyone else has to get hurt,” Colby called out.

  “I say we unload on the son of a bitch,” O’Brien said.

  “Why did they burn your house down?” Colby said.

  “Come on out and we’ll talk about it,” Endicott yelled back.

  Good. Still some distance away.

  “Who are they?” Colby yelled. Buying time, or hoping to. “Why are they hassling you?”

  He hadn’t gotten an answer from the kid Liam. Hadn’t even asked. There hadn’t been time. Colby simply assumed Liam and Jessi were just two more entries on a long list of people who had reason to hate Aaron Endicott.

  Endicott answered Colby’s questions by slamming another round into the tree trunk. Colby could feel the impact even through three feet of hardwood.

  Marlin came around a Spanish oak and finally got his first glimpse of Aaron Endicott, roughly 200 feet away. The psychopath was standing in the open with what appeared to be an AR-15 cradled in his arms. Had at least a 20-round magazine. Possibly 30. So Endicott had at least a few rounds remaining, if not a dozen or more. Or he could’ve already inserted a fresh magazine. There was no way to know.

  Where was the girl? Marlin had to hope she had gotten away, because the alternative was grim. Had Endicott shot her? Clubbed her with the rifle, as he’d done to the boy?

  Marlin was east of Endicott’s position, and Endicott’s attention was focused entirely on the three men to his south, pinned down behind the trees. Marlin edged closer, and closer still, until he was forty yards away. Marlin squatted behind a mountain laurel for cover.

  He heard Colby yell, “Who are they? Why are they hassling you?” Endicott responded by raising his rifle and firing another round in Colby’s direction.

  No matter what had happened prior to this moment, Endicott could no longer claim that he was acting in self defense. Even if Colby, O’Brien, and Craddock had trespassed onto Endicott’s property with weapons, Endicott had options at this point. He could back away, leave the scene, and call the authorities. But he wasn’t doing that. He was continuing to shoot at men who weren’t shooting back. At least he wasn’t advancing. The three men were safe for the moment, as long as they remained behind the oaks.

  Marlin left the mountain laurel and dropped to one knee behind a cedar tree with a tall, straight trunk. He used his raised left knee to support his left elbow, his left hand cupping the barrel of the .270 and pressing it against the trunk of the tree for added stability.

  Marlin took a deep breath and found his subject in the crosshairs of the scope.Endicott was oblivious—no clue that Marlin could turn out his lights permanently with the simple squeeze of a trigger. Very simple shot.

  Another deep breath.

  Then Marlin yelled, “State game warden! Drop your weapon! Right now!”

  39

  Nicole Marlin’s cell phone rang at ten minutes after two o’clock, while she was in her office. The transplant coordinator from the hospital was finally calling back. The woman hadn’t answered earlier, so Nicole had left a detailed voicemail, stating who she was and what she wanted to do.

  After she had left the message, Nicole had wondered if she had sounded ditzy. Had she rambled incoherently? Admittedly, she was nervous about the situation. That was only natural. In fact, it would’ve been a red flag if she hadn’t been nervous, right? Surely the transplant coordinator was used to dealing with nervous donors. Regardless, Nicole had expected the woman—her name was Celeste—to call back immediately. But she hadn’t.

  Finally, an hour after leaving the voicemail, Nicole had said to herself, “You know what? To hell with it. I’m doing the right thing, and there’s no reason to get all worked up about it.”

  She had actually managed to concentrate on other things and continue with her day.

  Until now.

  Nicole recognized the phone number on her caller I.D. She composed herself and answered.

  “This is Nicole Marlin.”

  “Hi, Nicole. This is Celeste McCroskey from St. David’s. I just now got your voicemail. How are you today?”

  She sounded Nicole’s age or a little older. Friendly and casual.

  “I’m doing well. How are you?”

  “Oh, you know, just another crazy day. Too many meetings! But I was very pleased to hear your message.”

  “I hope I didn’t sound too scattered,” Nicole said. She was already feeling more at ease.

  “No, not at all. I’m the one running around like a chicken with no head, but you don’t need to hear all that. Instead, let’s talk about Heather Fitzgerald. In fact, what we should do, you and me, is sit down and have a chat.”

  The initial interview, Nicole thought.

  “That sounds good,” she said. “When?”

  “When would be good for you?”

  Liam had once found an orphaned bunny in his yard, and when he picked it up, he could feel the little creature’s heart hammering away. Liam felt the same way right now. Having an anxiety attack or a nervous breakdown or something. Or maybe it was a concussion. Could a concussion lead to a stroke? Or an aneurysm? He wasn’t sure of the difference between the two. Regardless, it wasn’t a good time to be driving.

  “Be cool, be cool, be cool,” Jessi said. “Here comes another one.” She was rubbing his right thigh with excitement. Liam was too terrified to even care.

  “I see him, Jessi.”

  A yellow truck with emergency lights mounted on the roof had just come around a curve, and now it zoomed toward them, siren screaming. It was the fourth emergency vehicle they had passed. The first one had been a sheriff’s deputy in a marked unit, and the next three had been volunteer firefighters in their own private vehicles. An actual fire truck hadn’t passed yet. Liam wondered how they managed to fight fires out in the country, where there were no hydrants.

  “Jesus,” Liam said after the yellow truck had passed. He’d been holding his breath again.

  “This is so fucking epic,” Jessi said. “I thought we were screwed. Didn’t you? Didn’t you think we were totally screwed? But this? The way it worked out? Just. Fucking. Epic. Who were those guys?”

  “No idea.”

  “You okay? You look...green.”

  They were nearly to the highway, and it took every bit of self-discipline Liam could muster to drive at the speed limit. He wanted to stomp the gas and get the hell out of there before some cop came along and pulled them over. He simply didn’t understand how they were able to drive away like this. Why wasn’t anybody stopping them?

  Earlier, Liam had returned to the car, just as those three men had instructed him to do. Liam had been hoping, for no good reason, that Jessi might be waiting at the car this time. But she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. Liam’s guess was obviously right. That huge, ugly redneck did have her.

  Then Liam heard something that sent a cold chill through his body. A gunshot. Oh my God. This had gotten way out of hand. What if the ugly redneck had just shot Jessi? Would he have done that? Maybe she tried to run and he shot her in the back.

  But it got even worse. Liam heard at least ten more shots, in rapid suc
cession. What in the hell was going on? Had those three men gotten into a shootout with the ugly man?

  Then Liam heard sirens. One at first, and then several more at a greater distance. Cops? Firemen? Whichever, they were obviously coming this way.

  Liam felt trapped and didn’t know what to do. He was tempted to simply drive away, leaving Jessi behind, but he knew that was the coward’s way out. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. So he sat in the driver’s seat, waiting, becoming lightheaded and even a little dizzy. Suddenly, he was nauseous, and he stepped out of the car just in time to barf his breakfast with great force onto the ground. Then he retched again. And once more.

  Finally, after several more rounds, his stomach was empty. He was still bent at the waist, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, when he heard sneakers crunching on gravel as someone sprinted toward the car. He looked up.

  Jessi.

  Oh, man. What a relief.

  Somehow she appeared simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.

  “You okay?” he said, standing, but she was waving her hands, meaning We’ll talk later. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here.

  So they did.

  He whipped the car around in a grassy area, and when he neared the county road, she hopped out to take the chain down. They didn’t bother putting it back into place. As he pulled onto the pavement, Liam couldn’t help noticing that Jessi was giggling again, like some sort of mental patient. Then she began to shake her head.

  “What?” Liam said.

  “Dude,” she said. “When that big guy was holding me at gunpoint, we were at the top of the hill—this was after he saw that his house was on fire...”

  “What? What happened?”

  “You’ll never believe what he told me.”

  Aaron Endicott turned slowly in Marlin’s direction. If he was surprised that he had been flanked, he didn’t show it. He was still holding the AR-15, but the barrel was pointed to Marlin’s right.

  Endicott was obviously having trouble spotting the source of the threat, but then his eyes came to rest on Marlin, still partially hidden behind the cedar tree.