Hogdoggin'

by Anthony Neil Smith

  A loud sigh from the boss. “Have you been shitting us the whole time? I mean, I tried to warn you sweetly, remember? Working Lafitte’s wife? My God, man.”

  “Not my fault the man’s got his hands in so many dirty deeds. We scratched the surface and saw what bubbled up.”

  “Come on in this morning, all right? Let’s spin this to your advantage. Say what you just said, but on the record. It’ll make sense. Then we can move on.”

  Yeah, Rome thought. Exactly what you’d say to a bona fide guilty hostage-taker. Hey, we’re your pals. Ain’t nothing going to happen to you. Scott free, I’m telling you. Trust us, man.

  “I can’t come in.”

  “No, don’t say that. You’ll come in, everything will be fine.”

  “I can’t. I’m out of town. Let’s do it next week.”

  Stoudemire covered the receiver, his muffled voice behind a shuffling noise. So he wasn’t alone on this. Had some guys there coaching him. Fuck. Some serious business if they had to send in a whole team to help out.

  He removed his hand and came back with, “Well, how about this? Tell me where you are, and I’ll get you directions to the nearest police station. You can stay there until I reach you.”

  Rome smiled. The guy had no clue. And Rome wasn’t going to help Stoudemire do his job either. “I’m busy. Next week, Shane. This really sounds like a minor administrative thing to me. It can’t wait until next week?”

  Another exhalation. Stoudemire lowered his voice. “Jesus, Franklin, it’s either this or a warrant. Please.”

  Rome pulled the phone away from his ear, turned it off. Stared straight ahead while pressing his thumb against the back panel, slid it open. He shook the battery onto the floorboard.

  A fugitive. Been doing the best he could to stay within the law while still trying to bring in a motherfucker like Lafitte, reasoning that once he did that, the Bureau would understand, surely. Down the drain now. He was a goddamned fugitive.

  No, not yet. He could still fix this. Put the phone back together, dial Stoudemire again, and save his ass. Yeah, explain it so these guys all understand. He wouldn’t lose his job. At the worst, early retirement and the occasional “consultant” gigs to prop up his income. Don’t throw away good people over a shit stain like Lafitte.

  Rome pulled the car onto the shoulder, the barely-there daylight now giving him a dim but better view of the kudzu-covered ditches at roadside. He got out, went around the car, opened the passenger door and knelt. The battery had bounced under the seat. He clipped the battery packet back into the phone. Slid the cover on. They could probably pick up the signal from that alone. Or, hell, the Bureau probably had the things rigged with tracers that didn’t even need batteries, so maybe he’d wasted his time. Didn’t matter.

  The whole thing gave him some sympathy for Lafitte. Made sense now why the man would rather take a runner instead of use his connections with the Sheriff’s Department to get off lightly. At least that way Lafitte didn’t owe anything to anyone.

  Rome could understand that, absolutely.

  How long before the Bureau cut off his phone? No chance. They would want to track him. Then how many calls could he make, get some plans in order, before they caught on? How far would his ID and title get him before the word got out nationwide?

  How about Desiree?

  He held the phone in his hand, stared at the blank screen, not quite ready to turn it on yet, knees starting to ache mightily down on the ground. Guess he could find his wife later. He only had one more shot at Lafitte.

  So…what do you do?

  By the time he’d left the phone in pieces strewn across the ditch twenty minutes later, he’d made two calls. And if Stoudemire or McKeown or whatever team of experts was looking for him figured out who he’d spoken with, it was game over.

  Rome smiled as he got up to speed. Sang an old gospel song, “Won’t we have a time, when we get over yonder…”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Fawn punched Redial on the bar phone. Got a busy signal. Tried again. The same. She wouldn’t dare show Perry anything but her tough bitch shell, but inside she was freaking. Turned out this asshole, Lafitte, hadn’t been lying to Perry after all. He was a Grade A Federal Fugitive, worth a small fortune if brought in alive. Didn’t say nothing about him being brought in dead. Considered to be one of the most dangerous criminals in the top ten. Possibly “in league with known terrorists”.

  She hadn’t been scared of him while he was tied up in the basement, puking and sputtering. She even laughed when the mugshot came up on the screen along with the “Do Not Attempt to Apprehend” and “Use Extreme Caution” banners. Soon as they got back and found him passed out behind the bar with a phone nearby, her panic level shot up like a rocket. Who’d he call? Were a bunch of Al Qaedas on the way? And just how the fuck did he escape from the basement?

  Perry being equally freaked didn’t help at all. Pacing, staring at Lafitte, pacing more. Tripping over his own feet and his granddad’s barstools. Rambling, “Aw, shit, aw, shit, shit. Not good. Not good at all.”

  “What? He’s still out. Let’s hurry, tie him up, get him to the police. They sure won’t care about him being beat up, not with him being so wanted.”

  Perry spun to face her. Man, his eyes. Never seen them so crazy before, and she’d actually dropped some tabs with him once. This was, like, ten times that. He stabbed a finger back towards the bar, said, “But who did he call? Only guys someone like him is going to call are some bad characters.” Every word like he was Al Fucking Pacino.

  Fawn crossed her arms, shook her head. Made her way back over to Lafitte and toed him. Then a little harder. He shifted a little but wasn’t up for any hand to hand combat. She knelt beside him, wanted to touch him. Goddamn, she wished she could turn herself off sometimes. It was, you know, what she’d gotten used to. Craved the company of someone from outside that tiny-ass town more than the sex and drugs, really, just so she could tell her story different every time, watch as the guy listened, or pretended to listen, it didn’t matter, and realize he has no fucking idea. Not one iota of who she really was. The locals, they had her pegged soon as they saw her face. It was unavoidable in towns that size, even if you didn’t know everyone personally, you still knew too much about them.

  The dude who showed up at the burger stand morphed into the guy who stole her car, left her alone in a field. Had scared her bad. On her knees, thinking she was going to be raped, beaten, killed, and that it wasn’t going to be at the hands of someone she knew, and it wasn’t going to be a situation that made sense. She’d always thought she’d die from drunk driving or an overdose or some scorned farmer fuck buddy shoving her into machinery. At least she could understand that. A sad story, but not a fucking spectacle.

  Shivers.

  Fawn stood. Perry was pacing again, mumbling. Whatever she’d seen in him to start with had faded the first three days. Now he was pitiful, another bad stop on the merry-go-round of her life. Had to play nice because they always came around again.

  “I’m going to call the cops. We’ll say he broke in. You go find more wire and clean up all that shit downstairs.”

  “What if his friends get here first?”

  “Well, fuck, I don’t know. Hurry then.”

  That’s when they both heard the car pulling up in the gravel lot, closer and closer, muscle car engine never going to sneak up on anyone. It burped off. Couple of squeaky doors opened, closed. Fawn pulled Lafitte’s pistol, didn’t even know if there was one in the chamber or not. Been a while since she’d been shooting with Dad. She crouched behind the bar, signaled Perry to hide, but he wasn’t even looking her way. Frozen in the middle of the floor. Really obvious to anyone trying to peek through the windows. Did they even lock the front door on their way in? So used to not bothering, even leaving the house unlocked at night, the way people had always lived out in the middle of nowhere.

  Couple of voices, dampened, hard to understand. Then someone tried the doorknob. It
jiggled but held fast. Goddamn good habit to get into, Fawn thought.

  Then a knock. Loud. Looked like Perry had instinctually turned toward it but couldn’t get up the nerve. Fawn willed him to hide or sneak into the back or something other than just standing there. Nerve was not the brightest idea right then.

  Another knock. This time followed by, “Hello? Anyone in there?”

  Perry opened his mouth and Fawn gave him a Shhhhh that she hoped they couldn’t hear outside. It was so loud, though, how could anyone miss it? Loud like a movie soundtrack. Oh god, now she’d really fucked up.

  More knocking. “Please, open the door. I’m with the FBI and I have a few questions for you.”

  Perry was moving before Fawn could react. He looked back at her, whispered, “That’s a good thing, right?”

  Going for the door. Not even taking a few seconds to think how the FBI just magically knew they’d caught Public Enemy Number Four. Yell at him, and whoever it was would know they were in there. Fawn stood and double-fisted the gun, aiming right for the back of Perry’s head. Not her fault if he got in the way, was it? Steady, wait, get a grip.

  Perry unlocked the door, opened it enough to stick his head out. Fawn imagined him pulling it back in, except it wouldn’t be there, all hacked off by a machete or something. She closed one eye, cleared a path down the sight.

  Then there was Perry’s smiling face, right where it was supposed to be, telling her, “Hey, we’re okay! They’re real!”

  He opened the door wider. Revealed a thin young guy holding up his ID standing beside a woman with big shoulders and tree trunk legs. No contest in a fight, even if Fawn fought dirty, she realized right quick. Hid the pistol in her waistband again, then said, “Looks like we’ve done your job for you.”

  *

  Colleen looked down at Lafitte and grit her teeth because she actually felt bad for the guy, what these slackjawed yokels had done to him. They denied it, of course. Said it was all self-defense. Fawn even showed them a bruise. A little one. Didn’t compare to the deep Baby Raper cut into his chest.

  It was the cop in her feeling sympathetic, so she squelched it, closed her eyes and saw Nate’s burned corpse again. In the future, it would probably be a nightmare that kept coming back to haunt her. Right then and there, it was the only fucking motivator she had. Opened her eyes again and lost her breath a second. Slight, no one noticing. But the sight of Fawn and Perry standing over Lafitte acting as if they were heroes when all three of them should be linked up and taken in, it was enough to make her think the whole chase was pointless. She wasn’t getting revenge, and these two losers weren’t getting a reward. They didn’t know that yet, though.

  McKeown sat Fawn and Perry down, stared at them across one of the greasy tables, barely wiped from the night before, as they told him about this crazy biker threatening Fawn.

  “He forced me into the station wagon, left his bike. I was so scared,” she said, her best “rehearsing for the Oprah show” drama going on. “I thought for sure he was going to rape me and kill me, and God knows what else.”

  McKeown watched their eyes, said, “But how did Perry find you?”

  “It was his nephew, one of the kids at the parking lot. He got suspicious and gave Perry a call. Thank God he drove fast.”

  “So, hold on. How’d you end up here, then?”

  “That guy didn’t know these roads, so I let him think I was going where he wanted. But instead I made it here, jumped out and tried to run. He caught me, but Perry made it just in time and hit him over the head. He was out cold, so we drug him inside.”

  Colleen didn’t feel like sitting. She paced behind McKeown, kept watch on Lafitte, who was snoring. What the hicks were telling McKeown didn’t match up with the scene on the ground. If they dragged him, he’d have dirt or gravel dust all over him. The only dust she saw was on the soles of his boots. His wrists were circled with deep raw ruts, some bleeding. If these two hadn’t roped him up, who had? And why had he been unwound from the restraints? Also, neither one explained why Lafitte was covered in puke or why he had gold paint flaked around his nostrils. Made sense for Perry, marked for life with his gold stain like a tattoo, and his brain worked at about the speed you’d expect from someone like that.

  Colleen got down on her knees beside Lafitte’s head, gently rolled it to the left. No blood on the back of his skull. No swelling lumps, either. Hit him over the head, yeah, right, my ass.

  McKeown had figured it out without even having to see. Maybe he wasn’t such an empty suit after all. But fuck yeah, she wanted one of those black suits. Wanted one of those ID wallets with her FBI card. Wasn’t in the cards, though. Nate, now, that would’ve been sweet, living the Special Agent life vicariously. Like that movie with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, but without the marital problems and the part where they tried to kill each other. Anyway, she was just thinking he was a better cop—and a lot better looking—without a tie.

  McKeown twisted the knife. “When did he get sick, then? Before or after you drug him in here?”

  They both tried to answer, tripped over each others’ crap lies. Colleen gave up trying to guess. She called out, “Who carved this into his chest?”

  Fawn looked over, condescending dipped chin leading. “He was like that before.”

  McKeown cut them off, said, “Also, how long’s he been here? If he took you from the burger shack last night, and it’s now past dawn…” Colleen wanted to giggle when she looked over and saw him pretending to count on his fingers. She held her lips tight. “So, why didn’t you call someone?”

  Perry cleared his throat. “Look, we can talk about all this later, can’t we? The dude is out cold, but you’d better lock him up now. We’ll follow you, whatever we need to do. I don’t know if you’re aware of the reward. I’d like to get that process started, too. You understand, right? Glad to answer all your questions, you know, just later.”

  They seemed so fidgety. Fawn kept looking at the clock hanging behind the bar. Perry had sweat circles under his arms, around his neck. What the hell were they scared of? Colleen was staring right at it, took another minute for it to gel. The phone, right there on the bar above Lafitte. Whatever had happened here, it looked like he’d at least gotten a shout out through to somewhere. These two knew. Someone was coming, and it sure as hell wasn’t the police.

  Colleen stretched up for the phone, took it, hit Redial. Got three whiny tones, then that bitchy robot voice: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service…”

  Just like Lafitte to fuck up the one chance he had to call for help. Still, Perry and Fawn were really on edge. Could be they didn’t know he had misdialed. Hell, even better if they didn’t.

  “Agent McKeown,” Colleen said. “Could I have a word?”

  He gave her a quick nod, apologized to the hicks and left his seat. He leaned across the bar, Colleen mirrored him, and they spoke directly into each others’ ear. Her peripheral vision caught Fawn rubbing her hand on Perry’s bouncing knee, her whispering up a storm, trying to calm him maybe. Or feed him what to tell McKeown.

  “All lies,” Colleen said.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s an easy one. You called me over here for that?”

  “No, jackass. I’m not a meter maid, remember?”

  “Hurry up.”

  “That’s just it. Those two really want to hurry. I think Lafitte got loose and tried to call for help. But when I redialed, I got a disconnected number.”

  She waited, figured it would be enough.

  Of course not. “And?”

  She squinted at him like, Are you dense? “They don’t know he messed up. They really think someone is coming. Get it? You give them a way out right now, something that sounds real enough, and they’ll take off, I swear.”

  McKeown seemed not to register what she’d said for a moment, still staring straight ahead. Then he blinked. “Yeah, that’s good. Tell them the Minneapolis office will send their reward or something, tell them I’ll call ahead. Give
them a phony slip of paper.”

  “They don’t even need paper, I’ll bet.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll see. Come on.”

  They pushed off the bar and headed back over to the table. Fawn clamped her nails into Perry’s thigh. His leg stopped bouncing. Colleen thought she heard Fawn hiss through her teeth, Got it?

  “Again, let me say thank you.” McKeown pulled a pen from his pocket as he looked back and forth between them, nods and eyes. “I’m going to contact our office in the Twin Cities and give them your info. They should be in touch tomorrow or the next day.”

  Fawn said, “Why not today?”

  “You know how it is. If you owe the government, pay up now, sister. But if the government owes you, don’t hold your breath. But I’ll put in a good word, make sure this gets expedited.”

  Perry was smiling, twitchy, down with everything McKeown was saying. Fawn was the one Colleen worried about. She wasn’t even looking at McKeown any more. Arms crossed, lips shriveled like she’d sucked a lemon.

  As they stood up, shook hands with the agent, Fawn said, “What happens to him now?”

  “I’ll need to make sure he’s able to travel, then take him in. After that, I’m afraid we can’t tell you. Confidentiality.”

  Perry reached to touch her back, but Fawn flinched away, started getting worked up. “You mean one of the most dangerous men in America’s right here in this bar and all they send is you two? No back-up or SWAT team or anything? Not even a proper car.”

  McKeown shrugged. “This was pretty sudden. We had to improvise.”

  “No, I watch all those TV shows about real life detectives, and you never improvise. You always say it’s never like we see on TV.”

  Now McKeown’s palms were open, cautioning. “Hey, listen. Every case is different. As soon as you guys are on your way, all I’ve got to do is pull out my cell phone and we’ll have a whole fleet here. The officer assisting me can restrain our suspect with handcuffs. But first, we want you out of harm’s way. Go home and wait for a phone call. Then you’ll know how much we appreciate your help.”