The Devil's Country [Kindle in Motion]

by Harry Hunsicker

  That should have been a warning that maybe a Texas Ranger who hardly ever operated in Dallas County had no business messing with people and places he didn’t understand. But they didn’t give out the Ranger badge to men who second-guessed themselves or who were worried by a couple of redneck punks. Also, anger at the position my father-in-law had put me in caused me to be reckless, to ignore the warnings.

  I picked up his gun and dropped it in the pot of gumbo. “You need to pay the bank by close of business today.”

  “How about I pay you now?” Tommy Joe said.

  I hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

  “Cash. Is that OK?”

  I nodded again.

  He pointed to the walk-in freezer. “It’s in there.”

  I drew my pistol and knelt on the floor by Crazy Tommy. “You come out with anything other than currency, and I’ll shoot your brother in the knee.”

  Tommy Joe held up one hand. “On the grave of our mother, just the money.”

  I nodded my approval.

  He opened the freezer and stepped inside. Three seconds later, he emerged, carrying a blue duffel bag. He dropped the bag by where I knelt.

  “Here’s a year’s worth of payments,” he said. “Three hundred K.”

  The side of the duffel was marked with the Dallas Police Department logo.

  “That should keep Frank happy for a while,” he said.

  I unzipped the bag, saw the bundles of hundred-dollar bills. I picked it up, slung the strap over my shoulder. It was heavy.

  “You still gonna call Vice on me?” Tommy Joe sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

  I backed my way toward the door.

  “We’ve been running teenage gash in our clubs for years now,” Tommy Joe said. “How do you think we get away with that?”

  Crazy Tommy pushed himself off the floor. Blood coated the lower half of his face.

  “Keep your head low, Mr. Texas Ranger,” Tommy Joe said. “The people that money belongs to are gonna come looking for it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I wiped mud from my face and stared at the tree line on the far side of the athletic field. The abandoned high school was behind me.

  Caleb had disappeared, and I wasn’t in any condition to run around looking for him.

  Every inch of my body felt bad in some way—a shooting pain on one side of my forehead from hitting the rock when I fell, a dull throb below my knee from Felix’s blow, a skinned elbow from who-knows-where. Muscles sore from running.

  The boy could be anywhere. Blocks in either direction, or on his way to the next county if he’d scored a ride somehow. No hint where his sister might be. Not even a clue if she was still alive.

  The rain had stopped and the sky was clear, a faded blue like a pair of old jeans, wisps of clouds in the distance, stretching toward the horizon.

  I looked at my watch. It was a little after six. I’d been out for maybe five minutes. I stood and tested my leg. It hurt but didn’t buckle. After a moment, I limped back inside the gym.

  Silas McPherson was gone. The blow to the head with the baseball hadn’t put him out of commission for very long, either.

  On the other side of the gym, Felix had disappeared as well. There was a puddle of fresh blood where he’d been. The javelin that had impaled him lay to one side. I wondered if he’d survived having the spear removed.

  I hobbled down the same hallway, following the footprints that were now going back the way they’d come. A ragged line of blood drops trailed alongside the prints.

  A few minutes later, I emerged from the front door.

  The Bentley was no longer parked by the entrance. In its place was a Ford Crown Victoria, dark gray.

  The Crown Vic was an older model, at least a decade past coming off the assembly line, but it was in immaculate condition. Freshly washed, not driven in the sudden storm that had just ended.

  As I stood on the front steps of the school, the driver’s door opened and Hannah Byrne jumped out.

  I made my way across the overgrown yard and through the gap in the fence.

  “You OK?” She touched my arm.

  Her fingers felt good on my skin. It was nice to have somebody give a damn about you, even if it was only in the most cursory fashion.

  “Yeah. Why?” I was breathing heavily, the pain in my leg and head throbbing in unison.

  “You’re limping pretty badly,” she said. “And you’ve got a nice goose egg on your forehead.”

  I told her what happened. Felix with the spear in his side, encountering Silas McPherson and then Caleb. I didn’t tell her about seeing Sheriff Quang Marsh at his home and how he pointed me in the right direction. I wondered if that was real. At this point, I wondered if anything was.

  “How did you know to come here?” I asked.

  “Boone woke up. He told me to try the school.”

  That made sense. The Sky of Zion children had been denied a normal existence. A school seemed like someplace they might gravitate toward.

  “I think he helps people like them,” she said. “You know, to get away.”

  A one-man underground railroad for runaways from the cult. I wondered if that had anything to do with the dent in his head. I looked at the Ford.

  “That’s Boone’s,” she said. “The rental car company is sending somebody from Midland with new tires for the Prius. They won’t be here until tomorrow.”

  “Good,” I said. “Let’s keep searching for the children.”

  “You look like you’ve gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson. You really think you’re in any condition to go after two kids who don’t want to be found?”

  A wave of dizziness swept over me. I put a hand on the hood of the car to steady myself.

  “He was here. I saw him. We still have a chance.”

  “But what if Silas found them?” she asked.

  I didn’t answer.

  In the evening light, Hannah looked tired, stress lines etched across her face. I realized she’d been searching for her niece for much longer than I’d been looking for Molly’s children—months, maybe years longer.

  “What if they’re all dead?” she asked.

  “We keep going until we know for sure.” I limped toward the passenger side of the Ford.

  Instead of continuing the search, Hannah drove to Boone’s house over my protests.

  Ten minutes later, I was in the kitchen, sitting on an oilskin-covered table while the old veterinarian examined my head. Hannah stood by the sink, tapping on her phone.

  “I’m not a horse,” I said. “So don’t even think about putting me out of my misery.”

  Boone got some ice from the freezer and filled a plastic sack. “Put that on your noggin.”

  “Caleb, the boy, he had his arm in a sling,” I said. “He was wearing fresh clothes, too.”

  The old vet pulled the rubber band from his ponytail, tightened his hair, and slid the band back into place. Then he turned on a penlight, flicked the beam across my eyes.

  “You took care of him, didn’t you?” I said.

  “Maybe.” He turned off the light. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’ve been looking for him. And his sister, since yesterday.”

  “Maybe they don’t want to be found.” He held up a finger. “How many do you see?”

  I told him one. I didn’t mention how fuzzy it was. Then I said, “But they were here, right? Both of them?”

  “There’re two cots in the cabin out back,” Hannah said. “Both looked like they’ve been slept in.”

  Boone shot her an angry look. “I don’t know either of you from a wet horse turd. Why should I tell you an
ything about those children?”

  “Because we’re not Silas McPherson or his weirdo friend, Felix,” I said. “We’re not part of the Sky of Zion.”

  “That’s not a name you’re supposed to mention around here,” he said.

  “Who told you that?” Hannah asked. “The sheriff?”

  “You’ve probably got a mild concussion.” Boone spoke to me, ignoring the question. “I imagine you’re seeing things a little fuzzy on the edges and not telling me.”

  I chose to neither confirm nor deny his statement.

  “You should rest for the next few days,” he said.

  “That’s not an option.” I paused. “Tell me why Silas McPherson knew to look for those kids here.”

  “Maybe because I’m the closest thing this town has to a doctor?”

  “Do you know where the children are now?” I asked.

  He shook his head slowly.

  “Would you tell me if you did?”

  “That’s an asshole question,” he said. “Have I mentioned that I never much liked cops?”

  I glanced at Hannah but didn’t reply.

  “Your lady friend, she told me about you.” He paused. “I got on the Google and searched you up.”

  “And what did the Google say about me?”

  He put down the penlight. “Take off your trousers.”

  “Google said that? Really?”

  He sighed loudly. “I need to check your leg.”

  My clothes were filthy from a day of running, fighting, and having a random skinhead die on top of me. They were still damp from the storm. I wanted to take off everything and toss the whole pile into a fire. But what I wanted more was to keep looking for Molly’s boy and girl.

  “My leg’s fine. Nothing’s broken.”

  Boone poked a few places through my pants, manipulated the limb this way and that while I tried not to wince. He nodded like he was satisfied. Then he said, “On the Google, I read about what happened to your family. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  One of the biggest reasons I’d gone on the road was to be away from people who knew me. I wanted solitude or, failing that, at least the company of strangers, people who didn’t know my story and wouldn’t say how sorry they were.

  “Sorry” doesn’t bring back the dead. “Sorry” rips off the scab a little every time it gets mentioned. “Sorry” only helps the person who utters the word; it does nothing for the survivors.

  I didn’t reply. Fatigue settled on me like a hot, wet overcoat. I didn’t feel like I could walk, much less scour the town for Caleb and Mary.

  “My boy died in Iraq,” Boone said. “Twelve years ago. Losing a child, there’s no pain like that in the universe.”

  Emotion caught in my throat and that stupid word—“Sorry”—slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

  Hannah put away her phone. She patted me on the shoulder. Boone opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Advil. Then he filled a glass with water.

  “Take a couple of these,” he said. “You gonna be hurting pretty bad for the next few hours.”

  I swallowed two tablets, then drank the entire glass, the only liquid I’d had in a long time. I felt a little better. At least I had another course of action in mind.

  I thanked Boone and then said, “Is there a Chinese restaurant in town?”

  Hannah arched one eyebrow.

  Boone hesitated, a confused look on his face. Then he nodded.

  “Can we borrow your car again?” I asked.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Crown Victoria was parked in Boone’s driveway behind the Prius with the damaged tires.

  I got in the passenger seat.

  Hannah slid behind the steering wheel. “Why are we going to eat Chinese food?”

  I stifled a yawn. “If I told you, it would spoil the surprise.”

  “I’ve had enough of those for one day.” She cranked the ignition.

  As soon as she backed out, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, we were stopping at our motel on the other side of town.

  I blinked several times. My eyes felt gritty.

  “Why are we here?”

  “You smell like a locker room and look like hammered dog crap,” she said. “I’m not going to dinner with you until you get cleaned up.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “Damn straight it’s not.” She slid out of the Ford.

  I looked at my watch, realized there was enough time. So I got out as well.

  Our rooms were three doors apart, two out of a dozen on this side of the motel.

  She had parked the Crown Vic toward the front of the building, near the driveway that snaked toward the manager’s office. The spot Hannah had chosen offered an easy getaway and was not associated with our rooms. She was getting smarter by the minute.

  “What’s your cell number?” she said. “I’ll text you when I’m ready.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  She gave me a puzzled look. Her question was unspoken but clear, one I’d heard many times in recent months. Who on earth doesn’t have a cell?

  “Don’t have the need for one.” I left off the obvious part: there’s no one left for me to talk to.

  A moment of silence.

  “Fifteen minutes, then.” She opened her door.

  I nodded and did the same.

  The Comanche Inn didn’t offer maid service, so my room looked exactly as it had when I’d left early that morning.

  The bedspread was pulled up, the pillows on top. The towel I’d used was draped over the bathroom door. My duffel bag was in the same spot on the dresser.

  I allowed myself to relax, imagining how good a hot shower would feel.

  Then I saw my copy of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.

  It was on the nightstand exactly where I’d left it, but the cover was facedown, not faceup like when I’d departed the room.

  I grabbed the paperback. The bookmark I’d used the night before, a slip of paper the size of a match, was gone.

  They’d lost my place. The bastards.

  Several choice swearwords filtered through my head, but I remained silent. I put down the book and sauntered out of the room, trying to be as casual as possible.

  Outside, the parking lot looked the same as it had a few moments before. One car, ours. Nobody skulking about.

  I limped as fast as I could to Hannah’s room and knocked on the door.

  Nothing happened.

  I knocked again, louder. A moment later, the door opened a crack, held in place by a security chain.

  “What?” Hannah stood in the gap, wearing a towel around her torso. “I was getting ready to take a shower.”

  I held a finger to my lips, motioned for her to let me in.

  “Seriously? Now?” She glared at me.

  I leaned close, whispered, “They’ve been in our rooms.”

  Her eyes went wide. She clutched the towel closer. Then she undid the security chain and opened the door.

  I stepped inside and turned on the TV, volume up loud. Then I made my way around the room, eyeing lights, plugs, and appliances.

  The clock radio on the nightstand had a slight scratch on the top.

  I examined the radio more closely.

  They’d inserted a video recorder. The lens was barely visible to the left of the time display. The reason I’d spotted it was because an FBI agent had shown me a similar setup about a year before. The equipment was the latest generation, very sophisticated. It was ultracompact, and the radio still kept time and played music.

  A T-shirt lay on the bed. I dropped it over the device.


  Hannah stood by the dresser and watched me do all this, arms crossed, a fearful expression on her face.

  I limped to where she was and leaned close to her ear. “There’s a video surveillance system in the radio. A listening device, too, probably.”

  We weren’t touching, but I could feel her stiffen, the breath catch in her throat.

  “Get dressed; pack your stuff. Meet me outside in two minutes.”

  She nodded.

  I left, headed back to my room. There, I packed up my stuff as quickly as possible. If someone was watching in real time, hopefully he or she would think I was leaving town.

  Hannah was by my door when I stepped out of the room, wearing the same clothes as earlier in the day. She had a backpack and purse over one shoulder and a wheeled carry-on in hand.

  The parking lot was still empty except for the Crown Vic. Our rooms were at the back of the motel, out of view of the front desk.

  “Follow me.” I headed to the last room, the farthest from Main Street and the office.

  The door was locked.

  I pulled a Leatherman tool from my duffel. “Got a hair pin?”

  No answer.

  “Actually, I need two.”

  She rummaged through her purse and came up with a handful of pins. I selected a pair and went to work, using the largest one as a tensioning bar held by the pliers on the Leatherman, the smaller one as a pick.

  “This is actually going to work?” she said.

  “It’s a simple lock, pin, and tumbler. The dead bolt’s not engaged because the room’s unoccupied.”

  Three minutes later, we were inside.

  The room was what passed for a suite at the Comanche Inn, a sitting area to one side, a king-size bed on the other. The decor was from the sixties, shag carpet and floral patterns.

  I scanned the room for devices. There wasn’t a TV or a radio anywhere to be seen.

  “Looks clean,” I said.

  “How do you know for sure?”