Hogdoggin'

by Anthony Neil Smith

  “I’m sorry, God,” she whispered. “Self-defense, you know.”

  Took the point of her knife and poked it against the jugular. Harder and harder until the skin sunk, pierced, and a pulsing stream started. She twisted the point clockwise, over and over and over and over and over…

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Wyatt pulled his car behind the unmarked. Three Sioux Falls squads followed, then kept on past him, going to rendezvous with the other lookouts. Hotel guests had milled out into the parking lot, hanging around their cars and hoping for a good show. The cops were trying to round them up, get them across the street to a parking garage.

  Rome climbed out, looked up at the floor where Lafitte was supposed to be. Thought he saw someone peeking out the window facing them. Then it was gone. Mind fuck? No, it was really him. Don’t get excited. Do your job.

  Lucky to even have the job. He called in to the Bureau on the way from the hospital, explained the situation and covered his ass concerning the cross-country trek. Intelligence that demanded immediate attention. Could have compromised the Steel God investigation had it been broadcast. The brass called off the net on Rome and instructed him to proceed with caution, allowing the local police to do their job and then taking Steel God, Lafitte, and their female associate into Federal custody later.

  With pleasure.

  He told Desiree, “Look, I’ve got to coordinate, get some guidelines set. Just stay in the car, please, babe?”

  She hadn’t even gotten out yet. One foot on the ground, ready to protest, but then she settled. Where else was she going to go, anyway? She nodded. Nice to be able to communicate with your wife like that, almost psychic. That’s the sort of shit that made a marriage work.

  She smiled and he smiled and he closed the door. The reflection of the hotel in the window as Dee turned her head away and Rome wanted to say…wanted to…but why? Sort of fatalistic, right? The urge to say “I love you” before a situation like this, but didn’t that put you on track for the inevitable? Some sort of premonition overtakes you, so you need to say it one more time?

  Dee looked back at him, probably not expecting him to still be there watching. Blinked a few times. He shrugged at her. She nodded. That was enough, right?

  *

  Wyatt was just a driver at this point. Rome took him by the arm as he went to search out the local cop in charge. Said, “You stick with me, you get a piece of this, okay? As far as I know, they haven’t done as much lawbreaking in South Dakota.”

  “Maybe not murder, but that gang of his—”

  “We’ve got multiple murders, attempted murder, kidnapping, Jesus, you’ll be running for office before long. Helped bring down a wanted terrorist and all that.”

  Wyatt slowed, almost got left behind. “Remember before, okay? Let’s just take it step by step.”

  “You think I’m overstepping?”

  Wyatt went “Hm” and crossed his arms. Stared down at the asphalt.

  “What?”

  “Hell, you know, I heard that conversation with your bosses. You think they’re going to let you take credit for this, give you a big hug, no worries? As soon as he’s in cuffs, I swear, they’ll find a way to push you out.”

  Rome smiled. “I know. That’s why you’ve got to shout louder than me, make it look like you deserve him first. My career depends on you beating me, right? And making it look like you talked sense into me.”

  “Didn’t I just do that?”

  “Sure, but let’s do it again in front of the uniforms. You coming?”

  *

  Desiree watched her husband and Wyatt through the windshield gathering with light snow. Slow, fluffy stuff. It would take another fifteen minutes to cloud the window enough to shade her from the scene outside. Wyatt crossing his arms. Rome acting like the ring leader. Dee thought, One car ride was all it took for his hard-on to come back.

  Oh, that cocky strutting son of a bitch. Got his hog cornered, going to take it down with his teeth. Mirror opposite of ten months prior. And nothing she could do about it.

  Had to be a trial now. Had to spend the next God-knows-how-many years prepping for that. She would have preferred Franklin putting a bullet in the man’s head. Nice and clean. Claim self-defense. Don’t claim anything at all. Walk away like it never happened. Maybe the best way to get her man back—let him do what he’d wanted to do rather than try to stop him.

  More Lafitte. The fuck sort of relationship did that make?

  She remembered sitting on her bed before flying up here. Cradling the gun Franklin had bought her. Wondering. Just wondering.

  Desiree took in a deep breath through her nose. A gust of wind blew some of the snow off the windshield. Wyatt and Franklin were already moving on. Pretty soon they would have the whole place on lockdown. Then it was out of her hands.

  She opened the glovebox. Found it on the first try. One thing she learned being married to an FBI man was that they always had a spare gun in the car. You never knew when it might come in handy. This one wasn’t so big. She lifted it out of the glovebox. Fit her hand, too. She knew some guns. This one was a Sig Sauer 9MM. She checked the clip. Full, of course. Jacked a round into the chamber, then looked around. No one was paying her any attention. Cops couldn’t even imagine what was going on in her head.

  Hard to believe it herself.

  Relax. Relax.

  What are they going to do, really? All you need to say is that he threatened you, aimed a gun at you. If not a gun, then say he was reaching for one. For something.

  Yeah. Sweet. They didn’t know it yet, but Desiree was their Jack Ruby out of all this mess.

  She slipped the gun into her jacket pocket, opened the car door and stepped out.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The doctor came into the waiting room, looked around, seemed a little startled to find no one but Colleen there ignoring the loud talk show on the TV. She’d turned it to that channel, turned up the volume, then ignored it. The noise broke her concentration. It kept her from thinking about much at all.

  She was on her feet as soon as she saw him, though. Gloveless, maskless. She couldn’t tell much by his expression except to say it wasn’t a bright and happy smile.

  He pointed at her. “You are…?”

  Colleen shrugged. “A friend. Everyone else had to go catch the bad guys.”

  “He didn’t have family here, correct?”

  “Didn’t?”

  He coughed, kept it in his throat. “Just too much blood loss. We’ve done all we can do, but it’s almost like he never really fought for it.”

  “Oh God.” Three. Three dead on her conscience.

  “I’m very sorry.” The doctor touched her shoulder. “You said friend, right? Not girlfriend?”

  Colleen shook her head. “No, he wasn’t…no. Just good friends.”

  The doctor crossed his arms. Quiet. Then, “Is there someone else I need to talk to about this?”

  “I’ll call Agent Rome’s cell and let him know.”

  “Just let him know I need to talk to him, okay? Don’t mention this.”

  She shook her head. “Yeah, right. Whatever.”

  “Um, look, he’s awake thanks to the drugs, but fading. You want to talk to him?”

  It was kind of creepy, she thought. He was dead to her the last couple of minutes, but now he’s alive? And she gets to talk to him? That’s…wow. She didn’t have that chance with Nate. What would she have said? What was the last thing they said to each other? Probably shouting about how to best take down Lafitte’s bike.

  “Oh, okay.” Colleen shrugged. “I want to.”

  *

  The operating room was quieter than she expected. Heart monitor still beeping, other beeps clashing with it, but not so bad. But McKeown, in the center of it all, was a lot bloodier than she expected, too. Didn’t someone vacuum up the blood? Blood and tubes, IV’s, medical tape, everything haphazard and stained.

  They let her see him alone. At first Colleen thought he might be asle
ep, or, hell, passed on already. The closer she got, though, she caught his eyes. Watching from the time she’d opened the door and start slowly across the floor.

  What’s that they tell you when you’re dealing with someone about to die? Stay positive. Joke around. Make them feel loved and warm and all that. Smile.

  She didn’t smile. She didn’t say a word.

  McKeown asked, his voice still holding a little volume, “Did you tell him I quit?”

  Colleen nodded. “Well, no, not exactly. I told him you said for him to fuck off.”

  He grinned, blinked. “Ah, well. Okay, that’s…okay.”

  “He seemed okay with it.”

  “Only because you said it. Me…no…” He cleared his throat. Looked pained. “Wouldn’t put up with that from me.”

  Colleen teethed her bottom lip, looking around. Smelled like someone had splashed around a bottle of Scope. The breathing machine was making one long exhale, like it just gave and gave. It never expected anything in return.

  She said, “You want me to call your mom or something? You want to talk to her?”

  Grunt. Then, “To hear her cry? Sorry, but that’s not the last thing I want to hear. Not…mm…like, not like she’s already disappointed enough. Only son, no grandkids.” He tried to smile. “Guess next they’ll find the bi-porn in my apartment and put it all together. Wish I could see that.”

  “So. They told you, then? Like, they really do that?”

  “You figure it out. They stopped working, asked if I wanted to talk to anyone. I didn’t know who would still be here. I thought Rome, you know?”

  “They’ve got Lafitte surrounded in a hotel.”

  McKeown lifted his head. “Really?”

  “Sounds like a slam dunk.”

  Laid his head back down. “Cool. Okay, good for him. Shit, been chasing him long enough.”

  Colleen had a lump in her throat. Cleared it.

  McKeown said. “I’m sorry about Nate. Really. He didn’t deserve it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would’ve made a good agent.”

  “I don’t mind him dying on the job, but he wasn’t really. We were so fucking stupid.” She closed her eyes. Felt like collapsing. Opened them again. “Dying by getting shot or whatever, that’s fine. But burning like that—”

  “Just so you know…death by getting shot isn’t so great either.”

  Collen laughed. Caught herself, but then saw the look on McKeown’s face and kept it up. “At least it smells better.”

  McKeown stiffened a bit, sharp breath, then held it a moment before letting the air go. “Shit.” Turned back to Colleen. “Do me a favor?”

  Like she could say no. Like anyone could deny a dying request, right? Fuck.

  “Okay.”

  “Let me tell you first.”

  “Sure. But I’m sure I can.”

  “Listen…that guy I was talking about, Alex? I want him to know, okay? It was only one night, but he’s thinking I ran out…he just needs to know.”

  “You’ve got his number?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Um…goddamn it. I can’t…you know how you put a number in your cell and can’t remember it any more?”

  “All the time.”

  “I would’ve gotten it eventually.” He was fading. Too much energy.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “How about I go tell him face to face? I’ve never been to Memphis.”

  “It’s good. Good food. Lots of Elvis, though.”

  She crinkled her nose. “He’s not so bad, I guess.”

  “I know, some of it.” Another ragged breath.

  Colleen tried to imagine watching Nate die like this instead. It wasn’t any easier. Hell, you shouldn’t have to think about that shit at this age. People are supposed to get old together before one dies in his sleep before the other one dies three weeks later from loneliness. It wasn’t right watching young guys writhe like old-timers. Like her grandpa, cancer eating him up, couldn’t concentrate on what she was talking about. She refused to visit him those last six months.

  Why not Memphis? Why not? A new place, alone, take her mind off things. Not like she wanted to go back to work, have to hear all the sympathies and accept all the flowers and feel all the awkwardness as the people tried to coax her back to normalcy, but that would just remind her more. And at least it wouldn’t be as cold down South.

  “I’ll go. You said he was in a band?”

  “Named ‘Poor Man’s Fish’. I don’t know, he explained it to me once. They play mostly at this little joint called Southern Corner. I love that place.”

  “Okay.”

  “I won’t tell you what to say.”

  Colleen rubbed his arm. “I’ll do better than I did with Rome.”

  “Thanks. You know. Thanks for everything.”

  “Well, you did keep me from getting arrested. I owed you.”

  “One more…um, one more thing?”

  She didn’t say anything because she pretty much knew. Curled her lips some, looked away.

  McKeown said, “Would you stay with me? Until?”

  She nodded. Stared at his arm, all tubed up. “Sure, Josh. No problem.”

  She stood there at his bedside. Seventy-three minutes.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Time to truck on out of there.

  Lafitte saw the Minnesota squad car pull in and knew something was up. Shouldn’t be on South Dakota turf. Then that tall skinny black man he should’ve killed way back when stepped out.

  “Fuck. Me.”

  He watched Rome scan the hotel walls, then felt heat like radar as the man zeroed right in on him. Lafitte jerked the curtain into place, peered through. Everyone was a blur. Rome saw him. No doubt. Rome saw him. Brought his big guns, too. Funny, but Lafitte had always thought Rome would want another face-to-face. Guess he’d given up on that. Rather face Lafitte in the box than out in the world.

  Couldn’t blame him.

  Lafitte peeked over the edge of the curtain with one eye. Rome had turned to talk to a woman still seated in the car. Not a cop, at least not a uniform. A fine looking woman, too, skin like exotic coffee, just a touch of cream. Looked like she was in her forties, but those kickass forties, like a Demi Moore or Pam Grier. Wanted to get out of the car, but all Rome had to say was a couple seconds worth to get her to stay put. Shit, like it’s his wife or something? Who brings his wife to a fucking siege?

  Good to know, though. Lafitte mapped it out in his head—if he made it out, that was the car he was heading for. Talk about your rich fucking leverage.

  Rome and the Trooper with him walked away, snow blurred. Starting to fall a little heavier now. This time of year, nothing to worry about. It would melt before it could gather. But it was building up on the squad with the woman.

  Yep. Time to truck on out of there.

  Strange that Steel God and Kristal were still in the room. What, was she packing? This wasn’t a packing situation. Lucky to get out with the clothes on your back. Lafitte walked down the hall, knocked on the door. Kristal shouted out, “A second! Be right out!”

  Lafitte didn’t have one of the key cards. Knocked again. “They’re out there. Come on already.”

  “A fucking second!”

  Lafitte huffed, balled his fists. Took a lot of energy. Had to think about what he was about to do. Might have to wound a few cops on the way out. Steel God would flat out kill them. Lafitte could say he was that far gone yet. He liked cops. Liked being a cop. Was going to aim for their shoulders. Aim for the chest on the ones wearing vests. Knock them down, stun them. They’d be sore the next couple days, but alive.

  Finally saw the handle on the door drop. Kristal slipping out, barely opening it a crack, trying to bring it closed. Just her. No God. She carried the shopping bag. Wore God’s blazer tied around her waist. Her fur jacket looked stained. Hair a mess. Like she’d been roughed up.

  Goddamn it, Lafitte fucking knew, you know?

  Reached out before she got the door closed, big h
and pressing it open.

  “No,” she said. A hiss right after. He kept pushing. Too weak to fight her. Both of her hands white-knuckled the handle, blood all over her fingers. She said, “No, please, just…go, we’ve got to go.”

  “What about Steel God?”

  “He’s sick, okay? He wants us to go. You don’t need to see him like—”

  Fuck the bitch. Arm strength fading, Lafitte leaned into the door, put his whole shoulder into one last effort.

  Kristal yelped, fell inside. She hit the floor, bag emptying everywhere. Lafitte kept his balance, barely, swung the door behind him, slammed it shut.

  Blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing it right.

  Blood. Blood. Blood. Trails and pools and smears on the wall.

  So much dark blood coating Steel God below the neck that Lafitte thought for a moment the man had been decapitated. Then he got it. Steel God, the way he’d never imagined him—mouth wide, eyes rolled back, killed by a woman with a little knife.

  “Jesus.”

  Steadied himself against the wall.

  Kristal pushed herself up. Already talking. He missed what she was saying, instead looking at the blood on her fingers, the ripped jeans where the blazer had slid out of the way. Fuck. Steel God had tried to…yeah. No. Only if she had…the only reason she would’ve…

  “Are you listening to me? Please, Billy, you’ve got to listen.” She was crying, but he didn’t care. Tired of her fucking acts. Tired of her schemes.

  He said, “Well, goddamn, you didn’t have to…fuck…you didn’t have to do that!”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” Inching towards him, stooped a little. Bloody fingers out for him.

  “Were you actually that fucking stupid?”

  Stopped the tears, but still had that achy whine going. “He, he, was going, going to rape me. So strong. I, I, it was all I could do. Oh god, why?”

  “Yeah, really strong. Stronger than you. And you think he couldn’t have gotten that knife away if he had wanted to?”