Still there were no sounds except the patter of the rain. Link raised himself next to the window and peered inside. The man he had named Small sat at a table playing solitaire, laying down cards between swigs from a can of beer. A television set blared in the background. Small appeared to be alone. Where was Large?
Looked like an unmodified mobile home, one used only as living quarters. Which of the other two should he check first? He decided to try the one facing north, and crouched back down. In a low run, he closed the distance between the two buildings.
Behind the second mobile home had no porch or steps were at that entry. It appeared only the front door was ever used. Link tried the door handle. Locked.
Cautiously, he worked around the river end of the trailer to the storage building. That door was unlocked, and he slipped inside. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he used the beam of his flashlight to inspect his surroundings.
He raised the lid of the box nearest him. Rifles, new rifles carefully wrapped and stored, lay in the box. Shit, the ATF boys would want to know about this. His cursory inventory showed case after case of guns. Travis had no idea gun running was involved.
Link checked the second type of boxes. Ammunition for the rifles was stacked efficiently inside. He counted twenty-four boxes of rifles and thirty-six of ammunition. There was enough firepower in this one storage building to outfit a company of soldiers.
Why hadn't ATF tumbled onto this group? What was the reason for this stockpile? Did the other storage shed contain an equal amount of munitions? He needed to know the answer to these questions before he left here tonight.
Link turned off the flashlight and cracked open the shed door. When he was certain no one had come within view, he retreated to the nearby trees, intent on working his way around to the storage shed at the other end of the compound. How much longer would the dogs sleep if the animals were where the cold rain might revive them?
No sooner had he reached the safety of the trees than he saw headlights approach through the rain. A dark sedan pulled into the compound and stopped near the steps of the center mobile home. What a break!
Link raced to the nearest building and ran in a crouch the length of the structure.
He peered around the edge. In the dark it was impossible to identify the tall man who emerged from the car, but something about him looked familiar to Link. As soon as the newcomer was inside the door of the center building, Link rushed to his previous viewing position.
When he reached the window, Small stood to greet the newcomer, a man now in the light. The television had been turned off and the cards were no longer in sight. At first glance, the newcomer appeared to have distinguished features, with the look of money about his clothes and the confidence with which he carried himself.
Hot Damn. Link recognized the man as Howard Forsythe, an attorney disbarred in Dallas for his underhanded methods.
Link ignored the pouring rain and strained to hear the two men speaking. It was no use--he could see Forsythe's lips move, but could hear nothing said in the room. As he considered his options, he heard a noise behind him and wheeled around.
He stood face to face with the man he had called Large. Leveled at Link's stomach was a pistol. Large used it to motion Link to turn around. Up close, he recognized Large as Wayne Crestman, a bully known as "Boo" to those who had grown up with him. Named for his habit of scaring younger kids, Link knew the man from a drug bust in Dallas.
"Well, well. I been waiting for you, Dixon. Thought I'd let you look around a bit and get cocky, then I'd get you."
"I thought you were in jail, Boo. Looks like you'll be back there soon."
"Don't think you can bluff me, you smart-assed bastard. You think you're so clever with that fishing routine. Saw you through the binoculars. I been watching you since before you went into that storage shed. Turn around."
Wayne removed Link's gun. Link cursed himself for not recognizing Large during his surveillance. Where had this guy been when he approached this evening? Man, in the years since he’d worked surveillance he must have gone rusty.
Trying to sound more confident than he felt, Link said, "That was a very enlightening experience. You plan to declare war on some country, Boo?"
"You can call me Mr. Crestman, you sorry sonofabitch. What we're going to do with those guns is none of your damned business. Get moving around to the front door and up the steps or I'll blow a hole in you right here."
Link had no choice. It was difficult to argue with a .44 Magnum prodding your back.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eddy felt mighty fine. In his best Western shirt and new hand tooled boots, he felt what his dad used to call “cocky as a rooster with a full hen house.” Cars already packed the parking lot of Papa Jack's when he arrived. Once inside the huge dance hall, he had no trouble locating Dorothy Passons and her sister Patsy.
Patsy looked disappointed he'd showed up alone. Dorothy looked from her sister to Eddy. "Where's your friend?"
Eddy felt a wave of guilt. He had been so anxious to see Dorothy again that he had forgotten about her sister. All he’d been able to think of since they parted last night was the way Dorothy pressed herself against him as they had danced the slow dances.
There had been the look of heated invitation in her eyes. Unspoken promises lay in the way she moved her hands on his shoulders and back, and in the way she held on a little while after the music ended. He’d tossed and turned most of last night thinking about seeing her again, holding her. No wonder he’d overslept this morning.
Man, and you told Link he was in sad shape.
"Uh, he can't come tonight. Sorry. He had to work."
Patsy eyed him suspiciously. "What kind of work does he do that keeps him busy on Friday night?"
Shit, he hated this. He had never been any good at lying. "Well, we both work for the Spencer County Sheriff. Link had to work tonight, or he would have been here."
"You mean you're both deputies?"
Eddy looked sheepish, as if being in law enforcement was something to hide. Actually, he regretted he had kept his occupation a secret the previous evening.
"Yeah. We're both deputies."
Patsy looked miffed. "So, all that talk about being cheered up because his old high school friend had died was bunk?"
"Oh, no. Link and Mitzi went to high school together, and so did the Sheriff, the Chief Deputy, and one or two other guys in the Sheriff's Office. Link and the Sheriff were both really shook up when Mitzi turned up dead."
Eddy saw a familiar face half way across the room. It was that guy, Ricky, the one who was in the photo with Mitzi from the dance contest. He was decked out in a bright red shirt and black leather vest trimmed with silver medallions.
"Look, Patsy, you're a real good dancer. Why don't you ask that Ricky guy to dance with you? You might win the contest tonight."
Dorothy grabbed his hand. "Maybe not. Maybe we'll win." With a smile and wink to her sister, Dorothy pulled Eddy to the dance floor.
As he and Dorothy twirled, Eddy tried to keep tabs on Patsy and Ricky. What a surprise when Ricky walked over and asked Patsy to dance. With a deep sigh of relief, Eddy turned all his attention to his own dance partner.
The evening flew by. Suddenly, Eddy saw Patsy alone at their table. A quick glance around the room revealed Ricky walking toward the door. With a mumbled apology to Dorothy, Eddy pushed through the crowd. He reached Ricky at the door.
"Hey, man. Aren't you staying for the contest?"
Ricky brushed by him as if he were impeding his progress toward an important goal. "No, gotta go."
Eddy reached out a hand to Ricky's arm. "You ought to stay for the contest. Patsy's been looking forward to it."
Ricky looked down at Eddy's hand, then back at his face. He removed Eddy's hand from his arm as he walked forward. "I said I'm leaving."
Eddy followed him to the parking lot. "Hey, come on back and let me buy us a round of drinks."
Ricky stopped
and faced Eddy. "I don't have time for this shit."
He swung fast and clipped Eddy on the jaw. As Eddy fell to the ground, Ricky ran to his truck and climbed in. Eddy sat on the parking lot rubbing his jaw as Dorothy ran up to him.
"What's wrong, Eddy? What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I'm not at all sure what's going on, but I know I just screwed up. Big time." Eddy stood up and brushed the mud and dirt off his jeans.
"Come on back in. Let me get some ice for your jaw. I don't know what was wrong with that crazy Ricky. Come on back, everything will be okay." Dorothy tried to lead Eddy back toward the dance hall.
With one last look toward the parking lot, Eddy turned and walked with Dorothy. "I hope so. Man, I sure hope so."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ricky had a bad feeling in his gut. This is what happened last time. Al and Boo waited for him to go dancing and then killed that DEA agent. He knew someone else was in on that ugly chore, but still didn't know who.
As he sped through the rain toward the camp where he had been living for the past six months, he looked at the speedometer and slowed the speed of his pickup truck. The last thing he needed right now was to spin out on the slick pavement.
Talking with that chick at the dance hall hardly held his interest. Until she started talking about the deputy sheriff she danced with last night. Then she chattered on about how the deputy knew Mitzi, and asked questions about him. Hell, how did a deputy know about him?
That had captured his attention, but not in a good way.
He was surprised to find a strange vehicle at the place. His stomach knotted with that bad feeling. A real bad feeling. Wary, he slipped his revolver into the waistband of his jeans and pulled his vest over it. He patted the knife inside his boot to reassure himself.
Concealing the alarm he felt, he sauntered casually into the mobile home.
Boo and Al stood at the Formica table in the eating area. A man sat relaxed in the one large chair in the room, an overstuffed rocking chair. Damn. It was the man known as The Ghost.
Ricky had no idea what this man's real name was. The Ghost had slipped through his fingers once before in an operation very similar to this one. He only hoped the bastard didn't recognize him. Guys like him thought all Hispanics looked alike, so maybe he could make this work.
The Ghost's mouth clamped in a cruel twist. Eyes staring back at Ricky were black--so black it was as if they contained no soul. And they didn’t. Or if there was a soul there, it was as black and evil as the man’s eyes suggested.
If The Ghost was involved, he was in serious shit here. The man was heavy into trading arms to South American rebels for drugs to sell in the U.S.
In the middle of the floor between the dining and living areas, Link Dixon lay bound and motionless.
Was he too late again?
Boo gave a hard kick to Link's ribs and a low groan issued from the man's bruised lips. A sigh escaped Ricky.
Thank God, he's still alive.
In the rocking chair, The Ghost growled at Boo, "What's this spic doing back here? You told me he was out until at least midnight." He spat out the words as if Ricky were not able to hear.
All eyes were on Ricky. He tried to ignore Link as he said, "All the women were pigs tonight. I came back early." He nodded toward Link. "Who's he?"
The expression on The Ghost's face never changed.
Boo sneered at the form on the floor. "We had us a little unexpected company tonight. We were just havin' a little talk."
Al's glassy eyes darted from one man to another. Ricky had thought Al crazy the first time he saw him, and living with him for these past months only reinforced this opinion. If he didn't know otherwise, Ricky would think Al was on the stuff. Since that wasn’t true, the only explanation for Al was that he was certifiable.
Al's nervous laugh came as a shrill, grating sound. "Yeah, entertainin' our company. Boo caught him snoopin' around."
From his perch in the rocking chair, The Ghost glared at Ricky and continued railing at Boo and Al. "I told you I don't trust greasers. Can't you two get anything right?"
"Honest, we thought he was gone for the evenin'. He loves to dance, don't you, Ricky?" Al's eyes conveyed the excitement he felt at the prospect of battering a prowler.
Ignoring the unknown man's ethnic slurs, Ricky addressed Boo. He considered Boo to be quite sane, but meaner than hell. "You got any idea who this guy is or what he wants."
Boo spit at Link and prodded him with his boot. "This here's Link Dixon, formerly of the Dallas Police Department, champion crime solver now working for the local sheriff. Thinks he's a goddamn hotshot lawman, he does. Guess we see who's smarter now."
"If you're so smart, tell me how'd he know to come here?" Ricky asked.
"Perhaps you're not as dumb as I thought." The Ghost eyed Ricky with speculation. "We invited him to tell us, but he's not talking. You want to try your luck with him?"
"Sure, but you won't get anything out of him if he's unconscious." Ricky turned and walked to the sink. He took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water, then threw the water in Link's face.
Addressing Al, he said, "Help me get him up in this chair."
The two dragged Link to the eating area and pulled him into a slumped sitting position in a chair.
When Ricky's mouth was very close to Link's ear, he whispered, "Get ready to run."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In his semiconscious state, Link couldn't believe his ears. He blinked to focus. The man's face was inscrutable. Did he hear correctly? Had this guy really spoken?
Link blinked again to clear his brain. This was the guy in the picture with Mitzi--the one he figured killed her. Or at least, he knew who killed her.
As his brain cleared some of the fog, Link was certain Ricky had spoken to him. Told him to get ready to run.
Run? Fat chance. He doubted he could even stand.
Ricky stood looking at him as if he were an inanimate object brought in for viewing. Without moving anything but his eyes, he addressed Boo again. "So, how'd you know he was here?"
Always ready to brag, Boo said, "Seen him trolling back and forth in his bass boat on the river so I got binoculars out and took a good look at him."
He gave a laugh that sounded more like a snort. "I recognized him right away, the sonofabitch. Then I switched to the night vision binoculars. Seen him sneaking around."
"You know this man, eh? What'd he ever do to you?" Ricky looked at the big man and moved. The others watched Ricky.
Link flexed his hands to get the circulation going again. He flexed his toes, too. It was his feet and legs he needed, but he didn’t dare move his legs yet.
"Sorry bastard," Boo repeated. "He arrested me. When I tried to get away, he shot me in the leg. Every time this leg twinges, I cuss him. Because of him, I had to sweat in the pen for three years before the overcrowding got me out on parole.”
Boo rubbed at his leg. “Swore I'd get him one day. Now I got the bastard right where I want him."
Link noted Ricky was too smart to argue logic with Boo. Instead, he turned to Forsythe in the rocking chair. "So, you are my mysterious boss, eh?"
"Don't concern yourself with who I am, greaser. You going to work on this guy or not?"
With a big sigh, Ricky said, "Si, Señor gringo, that is just what I am going to do."
With one motion Ricky brought out his revolver with one hand and whipped his knife from the case inside his boot with the other hand. He pointed the gun toward the three other men in the room.
"Gentlemen, I think I will take this man for a little walk in the rain. I hope you do not mind that I think he is too good for you to kill." Ricky slashed the bonds at Link's wrists, then gave him the knife to use on the rope at his feet.
Link worked quickly and tried to stand. He almost fell and had to hold onto the table to support himself.
"This is no time to pass out, amigo. Walk out the door if you can. The cool rain will help you
."
Boo's huge face flushed red with rage. "You can't do this, you lousy spic bastard. You won't get ten feet from here before I kill you."
Al looked ready to explode with excitement, but Forsythe sat quietly with his arms resting on the chair. "I told you I didn't trust a greaser."
Link grabbed the rifle beside the door, and Ricky addressed Boo.
"You will be so kind as to keep your hands where I can see them. I always liked that .44 Magnum of yours, Boo. With your one finger and your thumb only, you take it out and slide it across the floor to me."
It looked almost more than Boo could do to keep from grabbing the chance for a shot at Ricky. Apparently he was not too angry to realize Ricky had the advantage. He dropped the gun and kicked it toward Ricky and Link.
Ricky stuck Boo's gun into his waistband and edged toward the door. “Señor Gringo, you will keep your hands where I can see them.”
Link was out the door and limping toward the trees before Ricky followed.
He soon caught up with Link and grabbed Link's arm, "Faster, amigo. I flipped off the lights as I left, but it will not slow them for long."
The splash of water in Link's face had helped him. The cool rain on his body now sent a reviving chill through his aching limbs. He moved as fast as his battered body allowed. Knowing he was running for his life added strength to his legs.
Shots sounded in the dark behind them. Link felt a bullet’s sting in his right arm but kept moving until he heard Ricky grunt. The man sagged against him and pulled on his arm. He slowed a microsecond before he was running again.
They reached the trees' cover. More shouts sounded behind them. Link moved downhill toward the river and the boat. They had to make it to the boat before Boo and Al caught up with them.
Feeling had returned to Link's limbs in a thousand painful needles. He fought against them to gain speed. Ricky stumbled and Link slowed to help him. Ricky stopped and sank to his knees.
When Link stopped beside him, Ricky handed Boo's gun to Link.
"Go on, man," he rasped. "Get yourself out of here."
Almost Home Page 12