Backwater

by Carolina Mac

  “I’m gonna fall asleep, partner, if we don’t get some action soon.”

  “Maybe the guy don’t get up until noon,” said Fletch. “Senators don’t have to get up early for nothing.”

  “He was up before this a couple days ago, I’m sure of it.”

  “Could be he’s back in DC,” said Luke. “How would we know?”

  Fletch held up a hand and flicked the switch for speaker. “He’s talking on the phone, I think.”

  “Don’t matter where he goes or what he’s doing, keep on him until you get a chance to take him out. That’s what I’m paying you for.”

  “Think he’s talking about taking out the boss?” asked Fletcher.

  “Royce was pissed about the hospital fuck-up,” said Luke. “He could be trying again.”

  “We should call Blacky,” said Fletcher.

  “Nope. He might ignore the warning. We should tell Farrell.”

  “Okay,” said Fletch. “Do it.”

  FARRELL and Carlos were in the parking lot at DPS talking to Blaine and Jesse when Farrell got the call.

  “You guys got something?” Farrell walked away from the others, threw his butt down and stepped on it.

  “Not much,” said Luke, “but might be something. Heard Royce on a phone call and he said keep on him until you get a shot no matter where he goes.”

  “Okay, he hasn’t given up on capping Blacky. I’ll make sure he ain’t alone.”

  “Thanks,” said Luke. “Me and Fletch are worried about the boss.”

  “Good job, guys.”

  ANNIE met Travis at the penthouse of the high-rise condo and they unpacked their luggage. She hadn’t brought much, thinking a day or two was all it would take.

  “Never thought I’d be hanging out in one of these places,” said Travis. “Look at the view from here, Annie-girl. It’s amazing.”

  “I bet at night its something,” said Annie. “All the city lights.”

  “Which bedroom should I take?” Travis headed down the hallway with his duffel.

  “Anyone you want. You have a choice.”

  “I want to be in the one you’re in, no question.”

  “Ty wouldn’t like it. Lately he’s been a green machine. He’s probably freaking out. I better call him.”

  “He gets a little worked up,” said Travis. “Kind of funny.”

  “Not funny if you’re me,” said Annie. “He shouts all kinds of crap at me.”

  “That’s cause you’re a wild woman and a bad girlfriend.”

  “I guess so.” She picked up her cell and called. “Hey, baby, I’m missing you.”

  “Where are you, Annie?”

  “I’m in the city. Can you meet me downtown for dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. Is Travis coming too?”

  “Nope. Me and you somewhere nice. Pick one with a good band and we’ll go.”

  “Jesse said you were working.”

  “True, I am working, but I still have to eat and see the person I love.”

  “Okay. I’ll check the bands and pick one. Call you back.”

  “I love you, Ty.”

  TYLER secured a table next to the dance floor at Dance Across Texas. Being a musician, he loved to be near the bands and he loved to dance. Two things he loved almost as much as he loved Annie.

  She came floating towards him at ten after eight, a vision in a Navajo print dress, her long black hair in a braid down her back.

  “You look phenomenal,” he said with a grin.

  “I dressed up for you, baby.” She kissed him passionately before taking her seat at the opposite side of the table.

  Ty filled a glass for her from the pitcher he had on the go. “I’m glad you had time to see me,” said Ty. “There are things I want to talk about. We started talking about them a couple of times and never finished.”

  “Okay.” Annie took a long drink of her beer. “What things are on your mind? Are you breaking up with me again?”

  “Nope. Can’t do that. Not ever. I can’t even breathe when we’re not like… you know… a couple.”

  “There must have been a lot of times in the last five years when you weren’t breathing, Ty.” Annie smiled at him.

  “I was stupid, and I was an asshole. Sometimes you have to be both those things before you know what’s good for you.”

  Annie reached across the table and took his hand. “And what is good for Tyler Quantrall?”

  “You are, Annie. You asked me before to move to Coulter-Ross, so we could be together, and I was dragging my feet because of Jesse not liking it and missing Charity and a bunch of other shit, but I’m ready now and it’s the right thing to do. Right for Tyler.”

  “Finally, we’re getting somewhere,” said Annie. “As soon as I’m done this job—two days, a week at the most—and I’m back home, I’m ready for you to move. I love you, Ty.”

  Tyler grinned, then stood up and gave Annie his hand. “Let’s dance.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Wednesday, June 24th.

  Austin.

  BLAINE had assigned Fletcher and Luke to more surveillance on the senator, knowing they were growing tired of it, but it had to be done. The more they knew about Royce the easier it would be to nail him.

  Jesse had come up with nothing more from the interviews with Teddy Garza’s gangers. None of them were talking and ratting out their boss.

  Pete Dyson wasn’t ratting out his boss either. The ex-con sat in his cell playing dumb and saying nothing.

  Everything was at a goddam standstill and that made Blaine nuts. He had to be in motion. Forward motion—pushing ahead against one crime after another. He filled his mug from the carafe on the counter, paced the length of the kitchen and said nothing.

  The sound of Lil running down the hall in stiletto heels made Blaine turn his head. She tore into the kitchen waving a slip of paper. “A walk-in clinic in a place called Alice was broken into.”

  Farrell Googled it on his phone and hollered, “Route 44. The fuckers are heading for Laredo.”

  “Let’s go,” said Blaine.

  Pleasanton

  SOUTH OF San Antonio, flying down the I-37 with strobes flashing, Farrell pointed to the right and hollered, “Rest area. I have to take a piss.”

  “Fuck pissing,” Blaine hollered back, “we’re in a fuckin hurry, or hadn’t you noticed.”

  “Turn in,” growled Farrell, “I’ll be quick.”

  Blaine cranked the wheel barely missing a beige Prius, squealed the oversized tires and pulled into the turning lane.

  Farrell grabbed the ‘holy shit’ bar and cursed his brother. “You don’t have to kill me over a bodily function, you short-fused bandito.”

  Blaine snorted as he parked in front of the path leading to the washroom building.

  “I might as well go too,” said Carlos. “I don’t want to get murdered when I have to piss an hour from now.”

  Farrell chuckled and gave Carlos a fist bump as they ran to the men’s side of the facility.

  Under pressure, they were in and out inside of five minutes. Farrell and Carlos had pissed in high gear and were ahead of Blaine on the way back to the truck. Blaine broke into a jog to catch up and saw the sun glint off something on the top of one of the big rigs parked in the lot behind the one for tourists. “Gun,” he hollered, and dove sideways onto the grass. “Down.”

  The shot rang out and a woman three feet behind Blaine crumpled to the sidewalk. Blaine rolled and was back on his feet and running in seconds. Booking it towards the truck, he fired his Beretta twice at the shooter.

  Farrell ran towards the eighteen-wheeler as the sleeping driver, awakened by the shots above his head, staggered out the door of his truck wondering what the hell was going on.

  “Get inside,” Farrell hollered. There’s a sniper on top of your truck.” He ran around the back of the rig, climbed the ladder with his SW in his hand and cautiously poked his head up to take a look.

  The sniper lay dead. Two rounds in his
head. The rifle still in his hand. Farrell nodded. Nobody more accurate than his brother.

  Except for Annie.

  Farrell climbed down the ladder and Blaine was waiting for him. “Dead. Nice shooting.”

  Blaine said nothing, just called it in and ran back to where the woman lay on the sidewalk. “Ambulance will be here soon,” he said to the husband kneeling beside his wife.

  Minutes later, sirens wailed, and the ambulance was first on the scene. The paramedics stopped the bleeding in her shoulder, started an IV and loaded her into the ambulance for a quick trip to a San Antonio hospital. Her husband, pale and silently weeping, followed in their SUV.

  I hate it when innocents get hurt. That bullet was meant for me.

  Blaine leaned on his truck, lit up a smoke and called Jesse.

  JESSE was in Jamie Parnell’s office at headquarters doing paperwork for the team when he got the call from Blacky. “Hey, kiddo, anything on the break-in?”

  “Not there yet. A shooter tried for me at a rest stop south of San Antonio. Missed me and shot a lady. I need you to come down, take the scene and pick up Carlos.”

  “Okay, yeah. I can do that. I’ll tell Calhoun what’s going on and leave right away. Jamie can help me with witness interviews and like that. Tell Carlos I won’t be too long.” Jesse paused. “What about the shooter?”

  “Dead on top of a big rig. The local sheriff is on his way.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay. Keep going south and catch those fuckers. Call me later.”

  Jamie raised an eyebrow and asked, “You have a crime scene?”

  “We do. We’re out of here.”

  Austin.

  MISTY screamed and dropped her tea cup on the tile floor. The cup smashed into tiny pieces and hot tea splashed and burned her bare feet.

  Carm came running from the laundry room. “Que pasa?”

  “Blaine. Somebody is trying to hurt Blaine.” Tears rolled down her face and she couldn’t stop them.

  Carm ran for a mop and cleaned up the mess as Misty ran into the dining room searching for her phone.

  She pressed number one and Blaine answered on the first ring. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  “He sent two. Watch for the second one.” Misty was hysterical. Crying and yelling into the phone.

  “What, Mist?”

  “There are two of them trying to kill you, Beb.”

  “Okay, two. I shot one.”

  “I know. I love you.”

  Route 281.

  BLAINE PRESSED END and turned to Farrell. “Misty says Royce sent two.”

  Farrell swiveled around and tried to see if there was a tail. “Don’t see anybody but I’m on it. How does she know?”

  “I’ve given up trying to figure it out,” said Blaine. “I just roll with it and take it as the gospel.”

  “I’m checking with DPS to see if there’s anything on the Jeep Cherokee yet,” said Farrell. “They could have crossed at Laredo by now and we’re wasting our time.”

  “That could be true, but we’ve got a want at all the border crossings.”

  Austin.

  WEARING SHORTS and a tank, Annie sat on the penthouse balcony basking in the sun with a tall glass of sweet tea on the glass table beside her. “Nice out here, isn’t it?” she said to Travis. “The air is so fresh way up here in the clouds.”

  Travis didn’t answer. He’d fallen asleep in the chair beside her.

  She picked up her rifle and peered through the scope. Royce’s patio doors appeared to be so close she could see a spot where the paint was chipped on the trim.

  There had been no movement across the way all morning. He hadn’t even pulled the curtains back to look outside. “Maybe he’s not even there,” she mumbled to herself.

  “What?” Travis was semi-conscious.

  “Nothing happening. Go back to sleep.”

  Alice.

  BLAINE parked in front of the clinic with the yellow tape across the door and the new sheet of plywood over the broken window. A kid was standing out front trying to see inside through a cracked piece of glass that wasn’t covered.

  “What’s going on, buddy?” Farrell asked the kid.

  “Something bad happened,” said the boy. “This is the tape they have on TV when something bad happens.”

  “You’re a smart one,” said Farrell. “I’m going inside to see what did happen. Back in a few.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Yep.”

  “You look like a cowboy, not a cop.”

  “Cowboy cop,” said Farrell. He opened the door, let Blaine go in first and followed him in.

  A crime scene unit was running the scene and it looked like they were almost finished.

  Blaine introduced himself and Farrell and said they were in hot pursuit of Whitey Sweedo and Dave Warren. He walked over to the tech who seemed to be in charge. Her name was Sergeant Laura Twining, a short, dark-haired girl wearing latex gloves and toting a Luminol spray.

  “I’ve got Sweedo’s prints on the drug cabinet and the supply cabinet that holds gauze and bandages. That’s what he took. Drugs and bandages.”

  “No prints belonging to Dave Warren?” asked Farrell.

  “Nope. He wasn’t in here,” said Laura. “Maybe he couldn’t make it inside and that was the whole point of Sweedo trying to help him.”

  “Yep, that’s the way I see it too,” said Blaine. “Warren is a mess from the gator bite and Whitey is having trouble making it to the border.”

  “His partner has a gator bite?” asked Laura.

  “Yeah,” said Blaine. “We know he’s bleeding bad.”

  “Whitey would be better off to dump Warren and run for it,” said Farrell. “Big Dave is toast anyways.”

  Pleasanton.

  JESSE arrived at the rest area about an hour after Blacky called him about the shooting. Carlos was waiting for him, chatting with the local sheriff while the Medical Examiner dealt with the body on the roof of the Peterbilt.

  “Where was Blacky when the sniper tried for him,” asked Jesse.

  Carlos walked Jesse over to the spot. “We had all come out of the building. Farrell and I were ahead and Blacky was about here.” Carlos pointed.

  Jesse nodded and noted the blood on the sidewalk where the woman had fallen. “Too bad about the innocent. Hate when that happens.”

  “Yeah, Blacky was upset about her,” said Carlos, “and her poor old husband was a mess. Hope she’s okay.”

  Jesse stood where Blacky had been standing and stared at the big rig, trying to figure the yardage. “Blacky took a dive, then jumped up running, and took the guy out?”

  “He saw the sun glint off the rifle barrel,” said Carlos. “Me and Farrell never saw the guy.”

  “Blacky jumps up and on the run puts two in the shooter’s head with a hand gun?”

  “Sounds like Tom Cruise, don’t it?” Carlos chuckled.

  “Yeah, Mission Impossible.”

  Austin.

  FLETCHER came back to the surveillance unit with chili dogs and fries from the vendor on the corner. “Anything while I was gone?”

  Luke held up a hand and put the sound on speaker.

  “What do you mean he killed Grady? What the hell am I paying you assholes for? Where are you now? Okay, finish the job and call me when it’s over and not before. No more screwups, Vic.”

  “Are they trying for the boss again?” asked Fletcher taking a bite out of his chili dog.

  “Sounds like it, but we can’t be sure.”

  “We should call Farrell again.”

  “Yeah, do it,” said Luke, “tell them what we know, even though it ain’t much.”

  Alice.

  FARRELL’S cell rang as Blaine headed west on route 44 out of Alice. “Yeah, Fletch. You guys got something?”

  “Royce just got a call from one of his people. The guy said somebody—I figured it was you or the boss—killed his guy named Grady.”

  “Blacky capped him. Jesse and Carlos have the scene.
”

  “There’s another guy,” said Fletch. “Watch out for the second guy. Royce is pissed and told shooter number two to get the job done.”

  “Thanks. Good work, guys. I know surveillance can be a pain in the ass, but y’all are getting some decent information.”

  “Thanks, Farrell. Keep an eye out for the second shooter.”

  “All over it.”

  “What are you all over?” asked Blaine.

  “There’s a second shooter on us. Misty knew it and now it’s confirmed by Luke and Fletch. Royce is madder than hell that you capped the first one and you’re still breathing.”

  “Where’s the second guy gonna hit me? Any clue?”

  “That’s the question we need an answer to, ain’t it?” Farrell’s cell rang again, and he thought it was Fletch calling back but it wasn’t. “Yes, sir. Good catch. I needed that so bad. Thanks again.”

  “What do you need so bad?”

  “Turn on the siren. Whitey just went through downtown Freer.”

  Freer.

  BLACKY flicked the siren on, the strobes were already flashing, and he pounded down on the gas as they flew across route 44 to Freer.

  “Five miles into town,” hollered Farrell. “Don’t let up.” Cars and pickups were pulling over to the side to let them pass. “Intersection.” Farrell pointed at the sign.

  “Straight through or left?” hollered Blaine.

  “Go left. They gotta be on 59 to get to the border.”

  The light was red, and Blaine didn’t stop. He cranked the wheel to the left and whizzed through the intersection.

  “We can’t be too far behind,” said Farrell. “Whitey won’t be going this fast.”

  He pulled out his smokes and his lighter then shouted, “There. That’s it. Gray Jeep on the side of the road.”

  Blaine couldn’t stop that quickly. Passed it, slowed and turned around. He parked on the wrong side, facing the Jeep, left the lights flashing, jumped out and broke into a run.

  Farrell was already out of the truck running back to the Cherokee. He jerked the driver’s door open and there was nobody inside. “Not here.”