by Rick Reed
The police car’s door opened, and the officer approached the Crown Vic. The officer stopped at the rear of their car and leaned down, shining his flashlight on their Indiana license plate.
The policeman was short and heavyset with jowls partially covered by a gunslinger mustache of the kind sported by Kurt Russell in the movie Tombstone. His forehead was heavily lined under a full head of hair. He stepped up to the driver’s window and shined the light on Jack first and then Battle.
Jack kept his hands on the steering wheel in plain sight and was glad to see that Battle was doing the same with her hands on the front dash. Jack decided saying nothing was his best move.
The officer said, “Got a call from those men over there.” He hitched a thumb toward the vault truck. “They said you’ve been sitting outside the cemetery for a while. Can I ask what your business is?”
Battle said, “You can ask.”
“I’m a federal officer, and we’re here on an investigation, officer,” Jack said quickly. The officer’s name tag read: SHEP. No last name or initial. “My badge case is in my pocket, Officer Shep.”
“Why don’t you step out of the car and show me?” To Battle he said, “You in on this investigation with him, hon?”
Before Battle could get them both arrested, Jack said, “Lieutenant Battle is with the Missouri Highway Patrol. I’m a Homicide detective with the Evansville Police Department in Indiana, but we’re part of a federal task force. We’re after a very dangerous individual, and our investigation has led us here to Bisbee.”
“Is that right?” Shep said. “Feds. We don’t get a lot of you folk through here unless you’re investigating one of us for violating someone’s civil rights. Why don’t you both step out of the car where I can see you. You come on around to this side, hon.”
Jack pulled the door latch and muttered to Battle, “We’re not supposed to be here, remember.” He hoped she would not want Officer Shep calling Major Maddox and getting her the next step up from suspended.
Jack got out, keeping his hands in Shep’s sight. Shep had stepped back, hand on the butt of his revolver, eyes on Jack and Battle. Battle kept her hands at waist level and a little out to her sides and walked around the front of the car. They stood side by side.
“You can get your FBI badges out now, but be slow.”
Jack noticed Shep still had the retaining strap snapped on the holster. Shep saw Jack checking out his gun. He unsnapped the strap and drew the big revolver halfway from the holster.
“You like my gun?” Shep asked.
“Colt .45. You loaded with Hydra-Shoks?” Jack asked.
“Federal HSTs. More stopping power. They open up like a flower,” Shep said.
“My ID is inside my jacket,” Jack said. He opened his jacket with one hand and used a finger and thumb to pull out the black badge case. He opened it and revealed his badge on one side, his police credentials with photo on the other.
Shep said, “I thought you was FBI. This shows you’re just a policeman from Indiana.”
“This is a new task force,” Jack said. “We don’t get sworn in and get badges until Friday. This came up, and they kidnapped me, so to speak.”
Shep let out a hoot. “I can tell you got an answer for everything, but you’re a smartass just like a cop. I guess you are who you say.” Shep holstered. “Never be too careful. Why don’t you show me yours, hon, just for good measure?”
“I will if you stop calling me hon,” she said, and to Jack’s relief Shep just chuckled.
“I assume since you didn’t notify the Bisbee Police Department of your presence, or about this dangerous individual, that you prefer to do this alone. I can respect that, but I can’t let you go shooting up my town. I can see you’re both armed.”
“We won’t shoot up your town, Officer Shep,” Jack said.
“This isn’t the Old West, after all,” Battle added and showed her police credentials.
“You’re Missouri Highway Patrol?” Shep asked her.
“Yup,” Battle answered.
“Shep is short for Shepard. I’m chief here. I always do the early morning rounds. You should be glad you got me instead of Buck.”
“Buck?” Battle asked, and Jack wished she would just shut up.
“Buck Rogers. He’s probably running radar somewhere,” Shep said.
Battle snickered and said, “Good old Buck.”
Chief Shepard said, “You said you’re on a federal task force. I suppose you haven’t got paperwork to support that and you don’t want me calling your people to verify it?”
“You must be a mind reader, Shep,” Battle said. “We’re not supposed to be here, but we’ve got a hot lead on our guy, and believe me you don’t want him in your town. If you help us, and I mean by staying out of our way unless we need you, we’ll give you the credit for the takedown. Honest Injun.”
Instead of being insulted, Shep said, “I respect plainspoken. I’ll tell you what—by that I mean you don’t call the shots here—Feds or not. But since you’re being up front with me, I won’t spoil what you’ve got working here. In return, I insist that you give me a phone number where I can reach you, and I’ll give you my personal number. You keep in touch with me and don’t go shooting anyone or anything. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Jack said.
Battle said, “Sounds like a plan. But can you keep Buck Rogers out of our way too?”
“Done,” Shep said and took a business card from his pocket.
They exchanged information and Jack said, “Federal HSTs huh? I’ll have to check them out. I still carry the Hydra-Shoks.”
Battle said, “If I can interrupt you boys, we’re supposed to be watching and not being watched.”
Jack thanked the chief of police and they got back in their cars. The chief drove past and waved at the gravediggers. When he was out of eyesight, the gravediggers gave the chief the finger.
“I’ll be right back, hon,” Jack said and was out of the car again, crossed the street, and walked to the vault truck where the three men were sitting drinking coffee or something from a thermos.
“Sorry about that, mister,” the biggest guy in the crew said.
“I didn’t think you’d paid any attention. Listen we’re working with the chief on something, and I hope you can help us,” Jack said.
“I didn’t know Shep had two new officers. What can we do? We’re pretty busy getting ready for old Randy’s funeral.”
“Have you seen any other car in the last couple of hours?” Jack asked, not wanting to get into a discussion about Randy.
“We just got here,” the man said. “But you’re the first car with out-of-state plates that we’ve seen. We saw you driving around the back. No one’s in the cemetery, if that’s what you mean.”
“Shep would like for you to keep an eye out for any stranger coming in here,” Jack lied. “If you see someone, you can call him. We may or may not be here.”
“What’s going on?” the man asked, and the other two stopped slurping coffee.
“Shep said he’d tell you later. Just act normal,” Jack said.
“Got it. Normal. You guys hear that? Just be normal assholes.”
That earned a round of chuckles, and Jack went back to Battle and got in the car.
“Did you ask them what kind of shovels they use? Maybe compare brands,” Battle asked.
“It’s called personality. Soft persuasion. You should try it sometime,” Jack said.
“He started it. Hon my ass.”
Chapter 47
Jack heard more than one police siren in the distance. An ambulance and maybe a police car or two. A Fire Rescue Squad blew past them headed toward town. The sounds were too far away and it was still too dark for him to see the smoke from a fire.
Battle’s .45 was in her hand, the muzzle pointed down.
“Don’t shoot my car,” Jack warned her.
“Shut up, Murphy,” she said. “I know what I’m doing. You should be following the sirens.”
“The chief said he’d call us,” Jack said.
“And you believed him?”
“No, but until we know different, I’m betting Coyote will come here. He killed an old woman in Evansville to distract us. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”
Battle said, “Get out of the car, Jack.”
“Are you going to shoot me? Do you see what is happening to you? Are you really going down that road?” Jack said in a calm voice.
“I will if I have to. I’m taking this guy down. No one else. No one! Now get out of the car or so help me...”
A car pulled slowly past them, and the driver rolled the passenger window down, checking them out, pointing something at them.
“Coyote,” Jack said just as his window exploded.
Jack’s ears were still ringing, and his right ear felt on fire. Battle had her 9mm pointed past his face out the window. He grabbed Battle’s gun hand and slammed a fist into her nose, making her release the gun. Her gun hit the floor, and Jack slammed the gas down. The Crown Vic rocketed forward, shearing off the left quarter panel of the car in front of them as he swerved into the street.
Battle was leaned forward. Blood was gushing from her nose, her hands scrabbling for her gun.
Jack kept Coyote’s car in sight and backhanded Battle across the forehead, knocking her back in the seat. “You’re going to get us killed.”
Battle put bloody hands on the dash, trying to steady herself while Jack swerved back and forth to keep her off balance while trying to keep up with the car ahead. Coyote was leaving them behind but suddenly turned in to the cemetery entrance.
Jack veered into the entrance a hundred yards behind Coyote and closing the distance.
“He’s getting away,” Battle said and wiped at her face with the back of her coat sleeve. “Damn you, Murphy.”
“He’s not getting away,” Jack said. “There’s two ways in or out of here, and he’s not heading toward the back entrance. Just keep an eye on which way he turns.” Jack hit pothole after teeth-jarring pothole.
Coyote was two hundred yards ahead and pulling away fast. His car disappeared in a copse of trees at the same time Jack’s right front wheel hit a deep pothole and the car slewed sideways down the gravel and into a large gravestone.
The Crown Vic’s back wheels were off the ground and spinning. Battle was out and running with the Bowie knife in her hand. Jack’s teeth and jaw hurt. He could feel something running down his chin. He’d bitten his tongue.
Her 9mm was on his side of the car. He picked it up and went after Battle. She reached the trees first and stopped to search for a target. She was wide open, too angry and caught up in the moment to care about caution. Jack was crouched low when the first shot rang out.
Battle’s hand went to her stomach, and she turned slowly toward Jack with a curious look on her face. Her hand came away from her stomach and a flower of red that bloomed on her shirt. Her mouth moved but nothing came out. She crumpled to the ground.
Jack didn’t wait for Coyote to take a second shot. He was too far away to help Battle. He dove for the ground and rolled behind a headstone. It was thick but not tall. Another shot rang out, and he saw the dirt fly up two feet to his right. He needed better cover. He spotted a statue of the Virgin Mary marking a grave ten feet away to his left. He rolled toward it. He felt the bullet rip into his foot before he heard the shot. He continued to roll until he was behind the statuary and sat up against its side with his legs drawn up. He still had his gun in his hand, but he was dazed. His foot didn’t hurt so much as it burned like a hot poker was piercing it. He saw a perfectly round hole in the top of the shoe. He risked a peek around the side. Battle still wasn’t moving. If she wasn’t dead, she soon would be. Him too.
He had been near death before and a strange thing happens. Your mind says, “You’re going to die,” but a calmness comes over you. It came over him now. Time slowed down. He could see, hear, feel, taste everything all at once. Fight or flight panic left his body. He was going to kill Coyote and end this.
He peeked around the statue’s side and yelled, “It’s over, Cody. Everyone knows who you are. What you did. We know about your wife and daughter. We know everything, and no matter where you go you’ll be caught. Prison isn’t a good place for someone like you. Dead is better. Let’s do this man to man. See which of us is better.”
“Of course I’m better, Murphy. I have the angels on my side. I am my country. Everything I do I’ve done for my family and my country. My country took everything from me, but I still love it more than life itself.”
“I’m going to stand up and meet you, face-to-face,” Jack said. “If you’re a coward, you’ll shoot me. If you’re the patriot you say you are, you’ll face me like a man. My gun is holstered,” he lied. “Let’s see who’s faster. Let God judge the loser.”
“A gunfight,” Coyote mused. “Like at the O.K. Corral. You know there were no good guys or bad guys in that fight. Just men who hated each other. Like us, in a way. Go on. Finish your little speech.”
“Yeah. Like the O.K. Corral. I hear your brothers-in-arms call you Coyote. To me a coyote is a sneaky animal that can’t be trusted. Is that why they called you that?”
“You’re trying to make me mad. Sorry. I had hoped I wouldn’t have to kill you, Murphy. You remind me of me in the old days.”
“You’re nothing like me. Nothing! You’re psychotic. A killer of women and children. A diseased animal that needs to be put down.”
“That’s good, Murphy. I know I shot you at least one time. I guess you were surprised that I used a gun when I seem to favor my bayonet. Wherever I hit you won’t hurt for a bit, but when it does, it’ll hurt like hell. I’ll tell you something. I prefer my bayonet, but I am very proficient with a gun.”
“Sure you are,” Jack said under his breath.
“I’ll take your challenge, Murphy. Stand where I can see you with your weapon holstered. I’ll step out with mine holstered—well, stuck in my belt. It’s not my gun, you see. As they say in the movies, let’s get it on.”
Jack listened for sirens, hoping the gravediggers had called the chief, but there was nothing. It didn’t matter. Battle was down and Coyote had shot him. That had to be answered.
Jack got to his knees and to his feet. He had to hop to the side, into the open, and stood with his arm stretched to the side, gun in hand. He slowly holstered the .45, took his jacket off, and dropped it to the ground.
Coyote stepped out of the trees and into the open beside Battle’s body and came forward a few paces. Jack could see the butt of a handgun sticking out of the waistband of Coyote’s jeans. It was light enough Jack could see Coyote’s eyes were blue, and see the wrinkles that ran like sunrays from the corners of them. He could see Coyote’s expression wasn’t one of stress but of complete relaxation. He could smell the dry grass and the dirt from a fresh grave. He heard the backhoe revving its engine. He saw the body behind Coyote move.
Coyote held his left hand in front of his waist, his eyes never leaving Jack’s. He said, “You first.”
Jack never drew. A hole opened in Coyote’s throat where Battle had plunged the Bowie knife in the back of his neck. The blade exited and came down again between his shoulders, buried deep. Coyote dropped the gun. The blade came down a third time, and Coyote dropped to his knees. His eyes didn’t show shock. They were clear, unafraid. Battle held Coyote’s head with one hand and drove the knife downward into the nexus of his neck and shoulder. The blade all but disappeared. She let go of the knife, and Coyote fell face-forward on the brittle grass.
In the distance, the sound of sirens broke the stillness.
Chapter 48
“I should have known,” Bisbee Ch
ief of Police Shepard said to Jack.
Jack sat in the back of an ambulance having his foot tended to. The bullet had punched a clean hole through his shoe and his foot, but nothing seemed to be broken. Coyote was right about it not hurting right away. Even with meds on board, it hurt like shit now.
Battle was taken by Life Flight to Sierra Vista Regional Medical Center. According to Jack’s medic, this was a new 100-bed facility and she would get the best of care. By helicopter it was about ten minutes west of the cemetery. Jack hoped it had a mental facility, too.
The 9mm bullet had struck her squarely in the stomach and exited through her back, leaving a small hole going in and coming out. The initial trauma had knocked her down, but she had rallied long enough to get up and do what she had vowed to do.
Coyote was still where he’d dropped to the ground. Bisbee City Police, Cochise County deputies, and Arizona Highway Patrol were crawling all over the scene. Jack told them all he would only give his statement to Chief Shepard of the Bisbee Police Department. The other agencies hadn’t liked his attitude, but they respected his wishes.
“Did you know he’d be armed?” Shep asked.
“Bayonet,” Jack said. “He always used a bayonet before.”
“The gun belonged to Miles Lyman,” Shep said. “He’s with Department of...”
Jack said, “Homeland Security. I know. Is that where all the sirens were headed earlier?”
“He stabbed Lyman and took his gun,” Shepard said. “He used Lyman’s phone to call in a murder. We found the phone in the yard. I guess he came here while we were there. Pretty slick.”
“He fooled me like that yesterday,” Jack said. “Guess he thought it would work twice.”
“Well,” Shepard said, “he isn’t fooling anyone now.”
“I guess not,” Jack said and felt his strength draining. The adrenaline dump was gone. Now he had to deal with the consequences of what it did to his body and mind.
Shepard persisted in asking questions. “If you knew he was going after Lyman, why didn’t you say something to me?”