Chapter 29
The mountainous hills of gravel and sand at Bailey Gravel Pit looked like giants huddled in conference that night. Rain fell from a boiling black sky as I climbed over the locked gate that secured the entrance. I had parked the rental among a grove of cottonwoods, back about a quarter-mile so as not to alarm the expected visitors.
As lightning crackled white above me, I crept along the entrance road, keeping as low as possible in the darkness until I found a position that gave me a fair view of the entrance and a clear shot at the surrounding area. There, I clutched the collar of my suit at my throat, crouched down in the wet sand, and let the rain pelt the top of my head as I waited.
Three soggy cigarettes later, I heard a rumbling engine. I got up like an old dog and turned toward the entrance to see who had arrived. The cold rain was falling harder, now, its drops striking the ground with sputtering splats that bounced ankle high. I saw a pair of headlights on the approach road. Lightning disclosed a dark colored sedan—a late model four-door with no front plates. I crouched low keeping my eyes on the car as it made a slow loop around the center of the pit before stopping, its nose pointed in the direction from which it had come. A moment later, its headlights went out.
I took out one of the Makarovs I had confiscated from Herb and Studsy. Then I crept forward taking a flanking position behind a chest-high row of crushed rock about twenty yards from the idling car. I could not see who occupied it.
A moment later, the trunk popped open and Tramp got out, followed by Cootie. They hurried through the rain to the rear of the vehicle and dragged out two bodies. From the size of the corpses, I guessed they were Studsy and Herb. After the bodies, they lugged a pair of concrete blocks and two lengths of rope. They tied the blocks to the dead men's ankles, dragged the corpses over to the water and dumping them in.
That done, Tramp pointed off to the right. Cootie headed in the direction indicated and Tramp went left—both men disappearing into the darkness to some point of watch.
Several thundering minutes later, another vehicle drove in. It was an old truck with out-of-state plates. The wheezing vehicle parked parallel to the first car but about thirty feet away, blocking my view of the former. I could see one dim silhouette in it. From his size and lack of caution, I guessed it was Delaney. He left the engine running and the headlights on.
I was about to move to a better observation point when I heard footsteps crunching toward me. I ducked down, taking aim at the noise just as Enrique came into view. He was limping and had a bandage wrapped about his head and over his left eye—something fashionable to match the cast on his left forearm. In his right hand was a rifle equipped with a nightscope. Unaware of my presence, he slogged past me in the rain to where I had originally stood. There, he flattened himself on the mud and took aim in the direction of the vehicles.
I returned my attention to the Delaney's truck. Dominique Portello's head rose up as he climbed out of the car. Moments later, Delaney got out of the truck. Then the two men greeted each other like old friends before hurrying to the back of the truck. Dominic, clad in a khaki trench coat, looked the part of the clever spy. Delaney wore a red slicker and was nervously rubbernecking.
Dominic asked about the cocaine. Delaney immediately slid open the door on the truck box. Dominic took a small dark case from his raincoat's pocket and unzipped it. Then, he climbed into the truck-box. There was nearly two minutes of him shuffling about before he climbed out and nodded his head. As he returned the case to his pocket, I heard him tell Delaney the money was in the car's trunk and the keys were in the ignition. Then Dominic suggested they simply exchange vehicles. I held my breath and waited, knowing there was no money and the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan.
Gunfire erupted from two points as Delaney reached the car's trunk. He dropped hard and remained still. Dominic let go a laugh of praise before calling something to Tramp and Cootie about checking their kill. Then he pulled down the door sealing the truck's box before climbing into the vehicle's cab. He started the engine but sat where he was until the bodyguards reached Delaney.
At that moment, Enrique opened fire. Cootie and Tramp fell to the sand like bags of old clothes. Dominic floored the truck's accelerator, spinning its duals as he desperately tried to escape. Enrique struggled to his feet as the truck fishtailed around the far end of the pit. Enrique peppered the SUV with bullets. Dominic must have been hit, because a moment later the vehicle plunged into the water and sank.
Enrique waited a moment and then called out to Delaney. The big man sat up and then sagged back against one of the car's rear tires. He was hurt, but far from dead. I took aim and waited while Enrique hurried toward the big cop. When he was helping Delaney up, I sent three rounds into the Mexican. Enrique let go a curse, staggered back and then fell. I fired two rounds at Delaney. However, he made a dive over the back of the car—whether my aim had added to his misery I could not tell. I was hopeful. I moved forward intent upon finishing off the big cop.
As I neared Enrique, I squeezed off two rounds into his back. He offered no complaint. Then I swung wide of the car's trunk keeping the Makarov aimed toward it. I was expecting to find Delaney crouched and ready for me. But, he was gone, a trail of footsteps heading toward the last mountain of gravel indicating his escape route.
Without warning, someone leaped from the auto's back seat and raced towards the gravel pit's entrance. It was a blond woman running as if her life was dependent upon her escape.
I heard pistol fire and saw a flash near the water's edge. I assumed Dominic must have gotten out of the truck alive. I emptied the Makarov's clip in that direction and then went after the woman. I was not sure if I had hit Dominic but I was betting on Delaney making certain the Sicilian no longer troubled this world. Regardless, it was time to make a quick exit.
When I reached the cottonwoods I saw movement over by the rental. I crept over to it and found Tanya crouched beside one of the rear tires. She let out a scream and tried to run when she saw me. But I yelled at her back and she skidded to a stop.
"You bastard, Bishop," she screamed, rushing back to me. "You nearly got me killed." She took a swing at me.
I ducked and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides. "How is it you came along for the ride?"
"The bastards said if Delaney didn't show up, I was dead meat. Apparently somebody stole their suitcase full of money and they figured it to be Delaney, with me as his helping hand."
"You're okay, now," I said and escorted her over to the rider's door.
She took another wild swing at me as I opened it. This one connected with my left cheek. It did not hurt much—too little weight behind the blow. However, it irritated me. So, I grabbed her arm and then jerked her close.
"Okay," I said. "You've hit me. Can we stop playing, now?"
"I've never been so scared in my life."
"You'll have to get out of town for a while," I told her. "I'll give you the cash I promised—it's nearly a million. That should help heal your nerves."
She stared up at me. "This is it, understand? I've done my part and that's all I'm going to do. No more."
"You can stay at my place, in Dallas. I should be done here in a day or two."
"And then what? You'll send me mountain climbing with big-foot? Shark feeding with Jaws? Or, do you prefer I try a little blindfolded bullfighting?"
"I sort of thought you and me could play house."
She let go a curse, jerked free of me and got into the rental. "I've had enough of you for several lifetimes!"
Dead On Page 29