Tilting at Windmills (Claire Lance)

by Geonn Cannon

  She carried her groceries outside and climbed back into the car, then set the sack on the seat between her and Gwen. She pulled the newspaper out, unfolded it across the steering wheel and went through it slowly, on the look-out for any mention of Saxe, Texas, or two fugitives. It was a scant paper, barely five pages of newsprint with large color pictures, but none of it was devoted to news from Texas. She tossed aside the sports and folded the paper to the classified ads on the back page.

  Gwen watched Lance's eyes sweep across the columns. "What are you looking for?"

  "A car," Lance said. "They had pictures of us in the newspaper, and they know about the El Camino. We have to ditch it before we go much further." She focused on one ad in particular and said, "Okay, I'll be right back."

  She got out of the car and went back inside. Roger and Clark straightened when they saw her. She said, "Hi. Sorry, me again. I need directions to C Street."

  Roger pushed his hat back on his head, revealing that he was bald underneath, and gestured at the window. "You go out the parking lot and there's a curved street on the other side of the road. Go down past the culvert, hang a left, go past the feed store. That's on C Street."

  She thanked him and went back to the car. They left the parking lot and followed Roger's directions until they found the feed store. The neighborhood was just barely on the standing-up side of dilapidation. Toys littered every front yard, rusted bicycles stood at the edge of the street like sentries. Lance idled at a stop sign, checked the newspaper ad, and scanned the front porch of the house across the street from where they sat. She turned right and drove slowly until she found the address she was looking for.

  A small A-frame house was set far back from the street, a piece of plastic hanging over the front window instead of glass. Parked in the side lawn, protected from the sun by the shade of the house, was a nondescript red Pinto. It was the obvious survivor of several wrecks and even more paint jobs. The passenger side was deeply dented and a crack resembling the St. Louis Arch bisected the windshield.

  Lance parked the El Camino next to the ditch. She looked at the Pinto, then looked at Gwen. "I suppose I should ask you if you're all right with this. Do you mind giving up this car for that one?"

  "No," Gwen said. "It was Roy's, so I'm not going to miss it, especially not if giving it up means keeping us alive."

  "Smart decision." Lance dug into the glove compartment until she found the pink slip and an ink pen. She put it on the dashboard and pointed to a spot halfway down. "You need to sign here."

  Gwen took the pen, hand shaking as she scribbled her name where Lance indicated. Lance folded the paper, took the pen back, and said, "It'll just be a minute." She climbed out of the car and put a hand on her pockets to make sure she still had the cash.

  As Lance stepped onto the front porch and knocked, Gwen reached into the pocket of her dress and took out her wallet. She opened it to the plastic photo holder and found the wedding photograph of her and Roy. She had worn a plain white dress and Roy wore the only suit he had. His beard had been thick then, and he wore a big black cowboy hat. He had one arm around her waist and his other hand pressed flat on her stomach. He was laughing at the cameraman, and she could hear his voice in her ear saying, "Hurry up and take the damn picture so I can get her outta this get-up."

  Gwen's expression was more guarded. Her smile was weak and her eyes were aimed to the left of the photographer. She had never loved Roy. He was the one man, out of all the ones who had looked at her, who treated her like a real person. He was well-connected, he had money, and he could provide her with a good life. She had decided some things were more important, and more attainable, than happiness and love.

  She looked up and saw Lance walking to the Pinto with a man she assumed was the owner. He wore an old T-shirt that had either been bought before he had a beer gut or had shrunk in the wash. Of course, that would assume it had been washed in the recent past. He had long blond hair cut into a mullet and he stared into the El Camino as he walked past it. Gwen shuddered and looked down at the picture again.

  She could hear Lance and the guy talking, most likely haggling over the price. The El Camino was in great condition. If the guy took it, all he had to do was put another ad in the paper and he could get twice what he was asking on the Pinto. The guy apparently realized his good fortune and Lance walked back to the car. She leaned into the car and folded the driver's seat forward and took out her duffel bag. "Grab your stuff."

  Gwen gathered the groceries and her suitcase, then opened the glove compartment. She removed a pair of gloves she had left there, and some sunglasses, and stuck them into her pockets.

  Lance hauled her duffel bag out and then looked behind the seat to make sure nothing had been forgotten. She rolled up her jacket, stuck it under her arm, and then flipped down the driver's side sun visor. She reached for something and stopped when she realized it wasn't there. Her lips parted in a silent gasp of disbelief.

  "Shit." Her eyes scanned the seat and she ran a hand through her hair. "No. No." She slammed the visor back into place and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

  "What is it?" Gwen asked.

  Lance shook her head and a tear broke free. She swiped at it with her hand as if it was an annoying gnat. "Nothing. Come on. Get out of the nice man's new car."

  Gwen got out of the car and followed Lance to the Pinto. The seller nodded to them and moved in to examine his new car. Lance took Gwen's suitcase and tossed it with her duffel bag into the backseat of their new car as she got behind the wheel. She waited until Gwen was settled and comfortable before pulling the car away from the house. The local man was bent underneath the hood of the El Camino, his pants sagging dangerously low as they pulled back onto the street. Lance paused at the stop sign to regain her bearings and then took the road out of town.

  The new car reeked of cigarettes, pot smoke, and unwashed bodies. Lance rolled down her window and Gwen did the same, hoping the wind rushing through the windows would help air the car out. The curved crack in the windshield broke the horizon into a bizarre Picasso landscape.

  Gwen kept her eyes on Lance as they headed for the edge of town. Some of the hardness had faded from her eyes, washed away by tears. She blinked rapidly, then quickly reached up and brushed her hands over her eyes. She sniffled and gripped the wheel so tightly that her knuckles began to turn pale.

  "Hadley runs the bank."

  Lance sniffed and glanced at her. "What?"

  "Garrett Hadley runs the bank in Saxe. Ben Estevez is a rancher. Kevin Keating used to be a cop, and then he tried to be a private investigator, but now he's just a drunk who occasionally beats other people up."

  Lance inhaled and wiped her eyes. "What about Garth?"

  Gwen shrugged. "I don't know what he does."

  "Why are you telling me all of this?"

  "I thought you needed some cheering up."

  Lance looked away out the driver's side window. They went by the last few houses in the little town and followed the curve of the road. There was a sign indicating the highway on-ramp was half a mile ahead. They drove for a while in silence before Lance said, "Thank you. You were right. So, what do they do in that back room?" When Gwen hesitated, she added, "They told you to never tell anyone, right? I don't think that's an issue anymore, since they're going to kill me if they ever catch up with us. If that happens, I might as well know why I'm dying."

  Gwen sighed. "Counterfeiting and money laundering. Big shipments of cash come in; Roy doles it out and the rest of the guys use their businesses as fronts to disperse it. Roy has his bar, Hadley has his bank. Kay supposedly works for Roy, but he never does anything at the bar. When the money is clean, they send most of it back. They keep a small share as payment for keeping their mouths shut and keeping the machine going."

  "So Roy wasn't completely in charge."

  Gwen shook her head. "No. Well, yes, in Saxe. It was kind of his little kingdom. But there were people above him. I never met any of them."
/>   Lance pictured the completely empty bar and the safe full of hundred-dollar bills. "So the money I took from the safe," Lance said. "Counterfeit?"

  Gwen nodded. "Probably."

  Lance chewed her bottom lip and began to list the places she had spent the cash. She had broken the first hundred at the motel, and Roger, the hunter/farmer at the store, had another. The Pinto's former owner had eight of the hundreds folded in his pocket. A thousand dollars of counterfeit cash floating around in an area the size of a postage stamp. No telling how long they had before the money went to the bank and the alarms started going off.

  She resisted the urge to slap the steering wheel in frustration as they pulled onto the highway. She already had two fresh murders tacked onto her list of crimes, now she was passing counterfeit money. Faye Mallory would have to bring in the Secret Service. Just another group of guns aimed at her back.

  "What did you lose?"

  The question was so out of left field that it threw her for a moment. She blinked at the road and then looked at Gwen.

  "When we were emptying out the El Camino, you looked for something on the visor. What was it?"

  Lance didn't want to answer, but Gwen had confided with her about the counterfeiting operation. She rested her elbow against the door and pushed her hand through her hair, sighed and steadied her voice. "A picture. I must have left it in the Mustang. It's probably gone for good by now." Her tears threatened to spill again and she swept her hand across her eyes.

  "Why? It's at the garage, right? When all this is over, you can just go back and get it. Right?"

  Lance scoffed and felt a twinge of pity for her. Did Gwen actually think this whole damn mess could end peacefully and she would eventually go home to Saxe? Or was she confirming that her old life was over? Lance decided to hold off on the reality check and watched the road curve onto the highway. "The newspaper is proof that Hadley called in the cops. I'm shocked he would do it, especially if they're running a counterfeiting operation from the bar, but it was the right thing to do if he wanted to put the maximum amount of pressure on me."

  "Why?" Gwen asked again.

  "You saw that picture in the paper. I didn't plan on sticking around, so I told you my real name. If I had expected to still be there twenty-four hours later, I would have said my name was Elaine Lake. But I didn't." She also didn't want to admit that she had used her real name because she wanted to hear a beautiful woman call her by the right name. She had used so many aliases, she had almost forgotten what it sounded like. "So Hadley gave the cops Claire Lance, they punched it into their computers, and found out I'm wanted by the FBI."

  "What did you do?"

  Lance tightened her grip on the wheel. The interstate traffic was thick, but moving well. If the pace kept up, they would reach Oklahoma City in just under two hours. That was a long time to sit and not talk. Lance sighed and pressed back against the seat. "It's a long story."

  "We have time," Gwen said.

  Lance nodded. "Yeah. That we do."

  #

  Mallory left the bar after talking to Kevin Keating and Ben Estevez. They hadn't added anything to her knowledge of Roy's death. A quick call to Chicago had given her clearance to head to Oklahoma after Lance, at long last. It was almost noon; Lance had been on the run for a full day. Mallory resisted the urge to tell Thorpe it was probably too late now before she hung up. Now all she had to do was find a way to get to Oklahoma.

  She stepped off the curb and put her hands on her hips. She stretched and looked toward the mechanic's, wondering if Lance's car was ready to be driven. She spotted Lazareva's big truck still parked where it had been earlier, the silhouette of the Ranger's head visible behind the wheel. Mallory walked over to it and knocked on the passenger window and, after a moment, it rolled down. Lazareva was on the phone and held up a finger. She finished her call, snapped the phone shut, and leaned across the center console. "Hello, Special Agent Mallory."

  Mallory hadn't realized how hot it was outside until she felt the air conditioning of the truck on her face. She rested her arm on the door and leaned her head into the truck. "Ranger Lazareva."

  Lazareva nodded toward the bar. "I noticed you didn't have a ride. I thought I would offer."

  "Southern courtesy, or just making sure you stay involved in the investigation?"

  "Someone got killed in my backyard, Special Agent Mallory. I don't give a damn where she's running to or what she's running from, she stops running right now. If I can do anything to help bring her down, I'm damned well going to do it."

  Mallory smiled. "Right answer." She opened the passenger door, climbed into the truck, and reached for the seatbelt. As she drew it across her chest, she looked at Lazareva. "Just so we're clear, Lance is mine when we catch up to her. I've chased her far too long to hand her over to another authority."

  "Fine." Lazareva pulled away from the curb. "But we're together on this. Just make sure I get my licks in."

  Mallory smirked as she looked out the windshield. She decided the double entendre was better left without comment, but she filed it away for future reference.

  "Which way are we going?" Lazareva said.

  "North, to Oklahoma. I think she's going to make a run for Will Rogers."

  "I still say it's a better chance she'll go to Dallas. It's closer."

  Mallory sighed. "I'm well aware of that, Ranger Lazareva, but Claire Lance knows better than that. She'll want to get as far as possible from Saxe before she stops. Louisiana is too far. New Mexico is a possibility, but Oklahoma is a straight shot. She's running, so she'll take the path of least resistance. Oklahoma's airport is a ways from here, but it's close enough that it won't take her very long to get there."

  Lazareva nodded. "Okay. Oklahoma it is, then."

  As Lazareva drove to the edge of town, Mallory decided to test her resolve. "You know we're probably just wasting our time here. The Oklahoma Highway Patrol has their pictures and they have a head start on us."

  Lazareva scoffed. "The day I let an Okie cop have my collar is the day I turn in my star. Hold on, Special Agent."

  Mallory was pressed back into the seat as Lazareva gunned the engine. She released the wheel with one hand and reached for a control on the dashboard. A small box pressed against the windshield came to life with strobing red and blue lights. Mallory said, "I'm impressed."

  Lazareva smiled at her and said, "The headlights alternate side to side, too."

  "Well, I certainly picked my chauffeur well."

  "Oh, it gets better, Agent Mallory. When I get this thing up to a hundred, it's better than sex."

  Mallory looked at Lazareva and said dryly, "Then you're fucking doing it wrong."

  Lazareva's face broke into a smile as the women left Saxe in the dust.

  #

  Garret Hadley had always been careful about showing his wealth. Roy told them to keep their spending to a minimum, so he spent only what he had to and stowed the rest in the safe in his study. The result was a fifteen-year-old truck, a veteran of wars and acres of bad road. The seat was ripped and the tailgate was missing. He figured he could get another six months out of it before he could realistically buy a new one without inviting comment.

  Currently, the truck was parked on a dirt footpath that curled around an empty barn. He was slumped in the seat, sucking on sunflower seeds, when the Texas Ranger's truck flew by. There was just enough time for him to register two people sitting in the cab. He blinked in surprise, straightened behind the wheel, and grabbed the CB microphone from the cradle. He started the engine as he said, "Estevez, you still at the bar?"

  "Yeah. FBI lady just got done talkin' to us.

  Garrett pulled away from the barn and pushed the truck to its limits. He glanced at the speedometer, saw that he was pushing seventy, but the cop's truck was still quickly losing him. "The FBI lady just skipped town in the Ranger's truck. They're fucking going a hundred miles an hour. I'm never going to catch up with 'em in this bucket. Garth's got a new truck, right
?"

  "Yeah, brand new."

  "Tell him to get his ass in gear. He's heading north."

  #

  "So, what can you tell me about Claire Lance?" Lazareva asked as they left the dirt road for a paved highway.

  Mallory sighed. "You want the novel or the CliffsNotes?"

  "We've got the time for either," Lazareva said. "You seem to have her motivation pretty well figured out."

  Mallory took a moment to arrange her thoughts. She had spent so long memorizing and running the information on a continuous loop, that she wasn't sure where to begin. Finally, she said, "Claire Lance has been on the run for about ten months now. She knows the tricks. She probably knows we're looking for her, and she's checking the papers. We can forget the El Camino; she'll have a new car by now. She and Mrs. Morse may also have changed their appearance slightly. She hasn't stayed free this long by being stupid."

  "Shooting a guy in the head," Lazareva countered, "that seems pretty stupid."

  "I'll be sure to ask her what she was thinking when we get our hands on her."

  "Confident," Lazareva said. "I like that."

  Mallory ignored the playful tone. "I can't afford to be anything but confident. She's made me look stupid for far too long."

  "What the hell did she do to you? This is personal, right?"

  Mallory's jaw tightened and she said, "You saw the arrest report. She's a fugitive, a fugitive who got away. That's enough, right?"

  Lazareva knew that pushing would get her nowhere, so she stayed quiet. The radio display flashed over to show that they had thirty more miles to go before she needed to fill up on gas. Lazareva said, "We'll stop for gas at the last possible moment. Fill it up. At this rate we should cross the border in about an hour and a half. What's the plan from there?"

  "I'm sticking with Oklahoma City. Will Rogers Airport."

  Lazareva said, "You seriously think she's going to try to fly out?"

  Mallory nodded. "I know she will. One stop, she could be anywhere in the country."

  "Airport security will have her picture."

  "As I said, she'll disguise herself. She's done it before. She has contingency plans. I'm absolutely positive that Saxe, Texas, and everything that happened there, was a fluke. She let her guard down. She gave her real name, for one thing. That tells me she didn't plan to stay long. Her car breaking down in the middle of nowhere is the best thing that ever happened to this goddamn case."