The Outsider (James Bishop 4)

by Dean, Jason

  Bishop reached the roadside first and looked both ways and saw nothing. Not a thing in either direction. Just flat desert all around them, except for the mountains far off to the north. Strickland caught up after a few more seconds and found a spot a few feet away and gently sat the unconscious Barney down on the ground. He sat down too, and placed his arm round his son’s shoulders, positioning the boy’s head so it was resting against his chest.

  ‘Does he suffer from low blood pressure at all?’ Bishop asked.

  ‘Not that I know about. Why? Does that cause fainting?’

  ‘It can. Could be just something that runs in the family. You ever faint as a kid?’

  Strickland frowned. ‘No, but I remember Carrie …’ He paused, then continued, ‘My wife once told me she sometimes had fainting spells when she was going through puberty.’

  ‘That’s probably it, then. That and everything else he’s gone through today has caused him to shut down. Right now his body’s busy transferring blood to the brain to raise the pressure back to its normal level again. He should be fine in another half-hour or so.’

  ‘Christ, I hope so. It tears me up seeing him like this.’

  Bishop turned away and looked up at the clear azure sky. He was thinking through possible explanations for whoever might stop for them. He couldn’t risk the whole truth, but he needed something that would explain what the three of them were doing in the middle of nowhere. He decided to stick as close to reality as possible. That they’d been heading for Mesquite, twenty miles away to the east, when the axle on the vehicle suddenly went, forcing Bishop to park it over the rise back there. That they’d already been waiting an hour and the boy had simply fainted from dehydration.

  ‘I hear something,’ Strickland said.

  So did Bishop. He turned to his left and saw nothing, then turned right and spotted a truck in the distance, heading in the direction from which they’d come. Towards Vegas. Which meant it was no good to them.

  ‘We’ll let this one go,’ he said.

  It looked like a dump truck of some kind. It took about thirty seconds to reach them and it wasn’t slowing down, either. As it got closer Bishop saw a silhouette in the cabin look their way and then it was past them. As it sped off Bishop saw a vast heap of gravel in the rear open bed. Bishop kept watching as the vehicle slowly receded into the distance.

  ‘Here comes another one,’ Strickland said.

  Bishop turned back again and peered off into the distance. Straight away he could see this one wasn’t a truck. It was a car. Dark in colour. And there was something else too.

  Even though it was half a mile away, he could make out the light bar on the roof.

  EIGHTEEN

  ‘Hey, is that a cop car?’ Strickland asked, squinting at the vehicle in the distance.

  ‘Looks like Nevada Highway Patrol colours to me,’ Bishop said.

  They were about to be arrested. There was no way to avoid it. Not if the troopers had been listening to their radio. And Bishop still had the .38 still in his pocket, as well as the extra speed loader, and the very last thing he needed was for the law to find him packing an unlicensed piece. He pulled both items from his pocket and threw the extra rounds into the desert far behind him. After wiping his prints off the .38 he lobbed it sixty or seventy feet towards the other side of the highway. He didn’t see where it landed. Somewhere amongst the sagebrush. But that was everything of his except for the Seiko watch.

  They both watched as the cruiser gradually closed the distance. So far they were just three hitchhikers. Well, two. But once the cops pulled up and saw the bullet-ridden Toyota back there, things would turn serious, fast. The cruiser was still a hundred feet away from them when the LED lights on the roof started flashing red and blue simultaneously. So they’d spotted it already.

  ‘Don’t make any sudden moves,’ Bishop said. ‘These guys are expecting the worst so they’ll be on edge. Just do what they say, don’t wise off, and be cool.’

  ‘Way ahead of you,’ Strickland said.

  Bishop stayed perfectly still as the patrol car came to a halt twenty feet away and two troopers in dark blue uniforms jumped out, one Caucasian, one Latino, both brandishing their service pistols in the standard Weaver stance. The Caucasian driver shouted, ‘All of you, face down on the ground. Right now.’

  Bishop slowly lowered himself until he was lying on the ground with his left cheek pressing against the rough asphalt. He also saw Strickland gently lay Barney on his back before assuming the same position as Bishop. Meanwhile, the Latino cop was advancing towards them, still aiming his gun in their general direction.

  ‘That’s real good,’ he said. He sounded a little calmer than his partner at least. ‘Now place your hands behind your backs. Slowly.’ He frowned at the unmoving figure of Barney. ‘Hey, what’s wrong with the kid? What you do to him?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Bishop said, placing both hands behind him, wrists crossed. ‘He just fainted. That’s his father over there next to him.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. And you must be the kindly uncle.’ He called out, ‘Steve, keep me covered, okay?’

  His partner by the car said, ‘I got you, Mateo.’

  A moment later Bishop felt Trooper Mateo attach flex cuffs to both his wrists. Not too tight, but tight enough. Then hands expertly searched him from head to toe. Finding nothing, Mateo then stepped over to Strickland and went through the same routine. Bishop glanced over to the patrol car and saw Trooper Steve speaking into a mic. Calling dispatch, no doubt. Reporting their position and telling them what they’d just found.

  Trooper Mateo shouted over to him, ‘They’re both clean. Hey, you wanna come and carry the kid? He’s out cold. They must have given him something.’

  ‘We didn’t give him anything,’ Strickland said, his voice rising. ‘This guy told you, he’s my son. He just—’

  ‘Wanna stay on my good side, pal?’ Mateo cut in. ‘Then just keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a direct question. That goes for both of you. Unless you wanna speed things up and tell me where you stashed your weapons.’

  ‘We’re the victims here,’ Bishop said, knowing it was useless. ‘You can see we’re both unarmed. Or do you think we somehow shot up that SUV back there ourselves?’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, pal. Believe me, that’d be the absolute worst thing you could do right now. Now get up, the both of you.’

  Bishop didn’t bother arguing. It was pointless. Instead, he rolled onto his side and pushed his right elbow against the ground to get himself into a sitting position. Then he leaned his body forward to balance himself and slowly got to his feet. When he looked up again, he saw Trooper Steve walking towards them. He’d already put the gun back in his side holster. Strickland was also standing a few feet away.

  Trooper Steve said, ‘Dispatch said to search the SUV for weapons before heading back.’

  ‘Sure, right after we get these two tucked away.’ Trooper Mateo moved behind Bishop and nudged him forward towards the cruiser. ‘Let’s go.’

  He and Strickland both moved off towards the patrol car with the trooper behind them. Bishop saw it was a regulation Crown Vic, but a slightly older model than usual. The vehicle was all black with gold markings. Once they reached it Trooper Mateo opened the rear door on the driver’s side and then moved back to cover them both. Bishop looked over the car roof and saw Trooper Steve crouching down to lift up Barney.

  ‘Okay, get in,’ Trooper Mateo said, motioning to Bishop with the gun.

  Bishop lowered his head and got in the back of the unit. Mateo ordered Strickland to go to the other side and wait while he leaned in and buckled Bishop’s seatbelt. Then he slammed the door shut and went round to Strickland, who was waiting by the other door. He pulled it open and Strickland made a move to get in when Mateo placed a hand against his chest. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘The kid goes in next.’

  Through the window, Bishop watched as Trooper Steve, carrying the still-unconscious Barney in both arms, made h
is way back to them. Bishop used the time to inspect his new surroundings. The windows looked to be the usual reinforced glass. There was a steel mesh partition separating prisoners from those up front, connected to the roof by bolts that could only be accessed from the front. And there were the usual blank metal plates where the door handles and window controls would usually be. Up front, in addition to the scanner and mic, there was an upright shotgun rack next to the centre console on the passenger side. In the rack was a black Remington 870 12-gauge pump.

  The other cop finally arrived with Barney. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘The kid seems to be breathing okay, but I can’t wake him up.’

  ‘I told you,’ Strickland said, ‘he just fainted, that’s all.’

  Trooper Mateo ignored him and said to his partner, ‘Just put him in the middle seat and I’ll buckle him in. Once we’ve checked the Toyota we’ll haul ’em all back to the station and take things from there.’

  Bishop watched them place the unconscious Barney next to him, while Trooper Mateo made sure the boy’s safety belt was securely fastened. Then it was Strickland’s turn. Finally Trooper Steve shut the door, activated the remote locking mechanism and both cops walked off towards the abandoned SUV, sixty feet away.

  Strickland shook his head. ‘Assholes.’

  ‘I just hope they don’t waste too much time over there,’ Bishop said.

  Strickland turned to him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I suspect the perps were also listening in to their call to dispatch and are putting two and two together as we speak. The sooner we get moving, the happier I’ll be.’

  Strickland looked out the window in the direction of the cops. Thirty seconds later, he said, ‘Now what are they doing?’

  Bishop looked past him. The two cops had clearly found nothing in the SUV and had started searching the ground near the vehicle. ‘They figure we must have tossed the weapons. The thing is I actually did throw a speed-loader not too far from where they’re looking.’

  ‘Well, once they get us to the station house and call the feds it won’t matter what they find.’

  ‘I know, but it’s still wasting time. We’re too vulnerable out here. We need to get moving, now.’

  No more was said for a while. With the sun shining down and all the windows shut, it was hot in the back. Bishop could feel sweat start to drip down the back of his shirt. Barney’s breathing sounded steady and regular, though, which was good. With any luck, when he next woke up he’d be in the middle of a police station with cops all around him.

  Three more minutes passed in silence as Troopers Steve and Mateo searched the ground in ever-widening circles. Bishop began to feel more uneasy.

  He turned to Strickland and said, ‘I need Barney’s multi-tool again.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can free my hands, that’s why.’ Struggling against the tight seatbelt, Bishop shifted in the seat so he was turned towards the door, then edged back as much as he could until his bound hands came into contact with Barney. He moved his hands down the boy’s shirt and stopped when he reached his jeans, patting the left front pocket and feeling what had to be the boy’s hand-held games console. He then reached behind the boy and checked the left rear pocket and found the adapter, but nothing else.

  ‘Not there,’ he said. ‘I can’t reach his right-hand pockets. You’ll have to do it.’

  With a sigh, Strickland manoeuvred himself until his back was turned and began to pat the front pocket of the boy’s jeans. Almost immediately he said, ‘Yeah, it’s there. Wait one.’ He grunted and shifted his body again for a better angle, then gingerly inserted his left hand into the boy’s pocket. ‘You sure this is a good idea?’ he said. ‘What if those cops search you again?’

  ‘So what? The worst they can do is confiscate the knife and recuff me. But I don’t like how they’re taking their time over there. It’s making me paranoid.’

  ‘Why? You think they’re on Hartnell’s payroll, too?’

  ‘I doubt it. But I don’t like being hog-tied like this. Right now you two are my responsibility and if something does go wrong I want my hands free, just in case. Come on, hurry up.’

  ‘Hey, give me a break here. I’m going as fast – wait. There, got it.’

  Bishop watched as Strickland slowly pulled the keychain from his son’s pocket. Once it was clear, Bishop said, ‘Okay, toss it towards me. Carefully.’

  Strickland turned his head to check Bishop’s position and then flicked his left hand back and let go. The key fob landed on Barney’s left leg and slid off into the space between them. Bishop arched his back and reached his hands down until his fingers felt the keychain on the seat. He grabbed hold of it and faced forward again. By feel alone, he extracted the knife, then leaned his body forward as much as he was able and began working on his left wrist.

  It was difficult working blind, but less than two minutes later he brought his freed hands to the front and rubbed at his sore wrists. After placing the keychain back in Barney’s pocket, he glanced out the window again and saw Trooper Mateo talk into his radio and call out to his partner. They started back at last, neither man carrying anything either. Bishop put his hands behind his back again, willing them to move faster.

  The two state cops finally reached the cruiser and after unlocking the doors took off their hats and got in. In the driver’s seat, Trooper Steve started the engine, then grabbed the radio mic and reported in. Trooper Mateo turned to look from Bishop to Strickland, then back to Bishop again. He was frowning deeply. ‘I don’t know what to make of you two,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I surely don’t.’

  ‘Look, it’s very simple,’ Bishop said. ‘The guy on my right is a secret witness under federal protection. The boy is his son. The people he was due to testify against attacked their safe house on Gulliver Street this morning and killed a bunch of US marshals in the process. I was the extra man on the scene and was trying to get these two well away from the danger zone when our vehicle died. Then you found us. That’s it.’

  ‘Well, that isn’t what dispatch told us.’ With another sigh, he faced front and said, ‘I guess we’ll find out what’s what pretty soon, though. Okay, Steve, let’s get moving.’

  ‘Right.’ Trooper Steve stepped on the gas and they pulled away.

  ‘So what was the story dispatch gave you?’ Strickland asked.

  Both cops ignored him, which was about par for the course. Bishop sat back and said nothing else. Further talk was pointless until they got to the station.

  They continued down the highway at a steady sixty. There was no air con. Or if there was, it wasn’t working. Out of habit, and since there was nothing else to do, Bishop made a careful note of every vehicle that passed them. There weren’t many. At one point, a tan pick-up containing a lone driver went past, closely followed by a black Infiniti, containing two upfront and two more in the back. Bishop noted the licence plates and watched as both vehicles receded into the distance. A minute later, a silver Honda Civic also whizzed by with two male figures in the front. Again, Bishop turned his head and watched the car until it disappeared into the horizon.

  He faced forward. Up front the police scanner made various noises, but the volume was turned right down so Bishop couldn’t make out the actual words. Trooper Steve lowered his window. He leaned his left elbow on the frame as he drove. After a while, the other one lowered his, too. A pleasant draught swept through the vehicle’s interior.

  At some point, Bishop looked out the rear windshield again. There was a silver car back there. Maybe a hundred feet behind them and closing. Bishop thought it looked like a silver Honda Civic. He was well aware the Civic was one of the most popular vehicle makes in the country and that silver was the most popular colour. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the same car that had passed them a couple of minutes before. He strained to see the numbers on the licence plate, but it was still too far away to make out.

  It closed the distance between them to eighty feet. Bi
shop noticed they were now driving through one of the more changeable sections of the landscape, with shallow hills off to the left and gradual sloping ditches to the immediate right of the road. Sixty feet between them now. And Bishop was finally able to make out the licence plate.

  It was the same plate as before. The same car, with the same two men in front.

  He faced front and said, ‘You might want to speed up a little, Officers. We’re being followed.’

  Strickland turned to look out the back and groaned.

  ‘Gee, you’re absolutely right,’ Trooper Mateo said, watching his wing mirror. ‘And on a public road, too. Can you believe the nerve of some people?’ He turned to his partner and shook his head gravely. ‘What’s the world coming to?’

  ‘He’s gaining,’ Strickland said, still looking out the back.

  Bishop saw the Civic was accelerating fast. In no time at all it closed the distance between them to twenty feet and then it began veering into the left lane, preparing to overtake. The front passenger window was rolled down and Bishop could see the two men clearly. Two grim faces, the driver staring ahead, the other watching the black and white.

  ‘Hey,’ Mateo said, ‘these idiots must be doing at least eighty. Are they blind or just stupid? Don’t they see the light bar on the roof?’

  ‘They see it,’ Bishop said, ‘they just don’t care. Don’t let them come alongside.’

  Ignoring him, the trooper pressed a button on the console and the siren suddenly blared out from the roof speakers. With the windows down, the noise was almost deafening.

  The driver of the Civic paid no notice. He kept gaining speed until he was level with the patrol car, then slowed a little until he was matching their speed exactly. There was less than three feet of space between the two vehicles.