Rig Warrior

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  20

  “Seems like to me,” Bullwhip said, “if you were under suspicion, our SST contract would have been pulled. Don’t it to you, Mr. Rivers?”

  “Not if they were tryin’ to set him up,” Lady Lou offered. “And if your fat little partner is the kingpin of all this mess, he’d have contacts within the agency who hands out the SST contracts, right?”

  “It would appear that way. It’s going to be Big Casino time shortly, people. And I’m not going to risk your lives in this thing. So I’m canceling the contract.”

  “Can’t,” Jim said shortly.

  “What do you mean, Jim?”

  “We’re under contract to make a certain number of runs. We haven’t even dented the schedule yet. I went back and reread the contract. They’ve got us in a hard bind, Barry.”

  Barry shook his head. “Not we, Jim. Me. You can all quit this morning and I’ll rehire you under a new contract tomorrow. How about that?”

  “Some of ’em might go for that,” Swamp Wolf said. “But not me. I’m in this ’til the end.”

  “Me, too,” Beer Butt said. “Call it personal reasons. I’m stayin.”

  “I lost a boy in Vietnam,” Lady Lou said. “I’d hate to think he died so something this slimy could continue. I’m in.”

  “I fought in Korea,” Beaver Buster said. “I’m stayin’ with this.”

  “I know you fought gonorrhea,” Grits said. “I didn’t know about Korea.”

  “Watch your mouth!” Lou warned him over the laughter. “You in or out, Grits?”

  “Do you have to ask?” Grits said, a mournful expression on his face. “Plumb insultin’.”

  “Well, I guess I’d better tag along and look after you,” his partner, Cornbread, said. “You’re so absentminded you’re liable to forget where you parked your truck without me to show you.”

  “I don’t like what’s happening to those veterans,” Cajun said. “You’d have to shoot me to get me to quit now, Mr. Rivers.”

  “I’ve gotten used to your ugly face, Panty Snatcher,” Cottonmouth said to his partner. “I’d get lonesome without you.”

  “You try to kiss me, I’ll knock the crap outta you!” Panty Snatcher warned him. “Bad enough I have to listen to you try to sing. Yeah … count me in, Mr. Rivers.”

  Coyote said, “My momma was born in Mexico. I still got lots of family down there. I ain’t never seen none of them, but that don’t make no difference. Anybody that would do what these doctors are doin’ to another human bein’ don’t deserve to live. I’m stayin’.”

  “I didn’t know you was half Mexican,” Bullwhip said, lying through his false teeth. “I thought you was an A-rab.”

  Barry let them insult each other. He had suspected before any of this had begun that they would all stay.

  When they had wound down, Snake said, “That’s a right-nice-lookin’ ring on your hand, Kate. Jim tells me you and Mr. Rivers got hitched. Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but maybe you’d better sit this one out.”

  Kate told him where to go, how to get there, and what to stick up a certain part of his anatomy while traveling the route.

  “I kinda figured you’d take it the wrong way,” Snake responded.

  “Kate … ” Barry said.

  “Don’t start,” she warned him. “I go where you go. Hell, somebody’s got to teach you how to drive a truck.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Barry said.

  “You’ll be talkin’ to an empty side of the bed, too. The talkin’ is over. Let’s look at the travelin’ orders and get this show on the road.” She glared at Barry. “You got any objections?”

  He didn’t have a one.

  Barry felt in his guts it was a setup. He read the orders, received by registered mail, three times. Still, the feeling would not leave him.

  His father was up and about and sitting in his office when Barry handed him the traveling orders. Big Joe read them, shrugged, and placed the orders back on his son’s desk. “They look pretty simple to me, boy.”

  “Yeah, don’t they. We’ll all be hauling super-secret fighter-plane electronic gear. Pick up the load in Tacoma and truck it to Texas. Easy run. But I don’t like it.”

  “You’d rather be shooting up those, well, medical facilities, wouldn’t you, boy?”

  “I damn sure would!”

  “You’re not the law. Right now, you’re a truck driver. Let the authorities handle those other places. You’re not exactly battin’ a thousand with your hunches, you know?”

  “I’m not striking out each time at bat, either,” Barry reminded his dad.

  “No. I’ll say you did a few things right. You got yourself a good wife.”

  The tension vanished between father and son. Barry smiled and said, “Think you could convince her to stay out of this thing?”

  “I’d sooner French-kiss a bull ’gator than try to do that, boy. Kate’s mind is made up and she’s goin’ with you. Period. Best thing you can do is realize that and get off the dime.”

  Barry nodded his agreement. “I’ve got some decisions to make, Pop. Heavy ones.”

  “Kate?”

  “No. Jack, my partner.”

  “The law will take care of him.”

  “Maybe. But I rather doubt he’ll ever see the inside of a jail cell. Jack is up to his ass in this stinking operation, but I can’t shake the feeling that he is not alone at the top.”

  “You’re not still thinking this Linda O’Day has something to do with it?”

  Barry waved that aside. “No. I was wrong about her. I admit it. Somebody set me up—or is attempting to—and Jack is part of it. But, Dad, Jack is a city boy. Now, he can design a weapons system that is unequalled. He designs them, I sell them. But he doesn’t know a bob truck from a wheelbarrow. You see what I’m getting at?”

  “Maybe,” the elder Rivers said. “And it’s on that little bit of suspicion you’re basing your theory that someone else is beside him at the top?”

  “That and a gut feeling.”

  “Boy, you’re gettin’ paranoid.”

  “Actually, considering all that’s happened, I’m happier than I’ve been in years.”

  “I can understand part of that statement.”

  “Certainly Kate is playing a large part in it. But it’s more than that.”

  “How much money are you worth, boy?” the father asked. “Not that it’s any of my business,” he quickly added.

  “On paper I’m worth several million dollars. If I had to do it, I could probably put my hands on, oh, half a million bucks very quickly.”

  “A nice chunk of money. I’m worth about the same, give or take a few hundred thousands. Before you married Kate, who stood to inherit your money?”

  “My kids, you, Donna.”

  Surprise sprang into Big Joe’s eyes. “Aren’t you leaving out somebody?”

  “Who?”

  “Well, boy, your brother. Paul, that’s who.”

  “Screw Paul. He doesn’t like me any more than I like him. I have no use for Paul, Dad. None whatsoever.”

  “When’s the last time you two got together?”

  “Five years ago. Right here in New Orleans. You remember it. What are you getting at?”

  The man shrugged. “Nothing. I’d just like to see the two of you bury the hatchet, that’s all. It’s not right for brothers to dislike each other; at least not the way you two feel.”

  “We’ll never be close, Dad. Paul dislikes my lifestyle and I personally think he’s flirting with communism—or something very close to it.”

  “He does have some … strange views,” the father agreed. “But damned if I can figure out where he come up on them. Quel dommage.”

  “Pitiful is more like it,” Barry said. “How’s your private little army, Dad?” He grinned.

  Big Joe grimaced. “Can’t move without fallin’ over them. Must be costin’ Fabrello a fortune.”

  “I’m glad you’ve got them, regardless
of the cost.”

  Big Joe grinned. “Tell you the truth, boy, so am I.”

  After his father had left the office, driven home by one of his appointed bodyguards, Barry leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling for a moment, deep in thought.

  What had his dad been getting at, inquiring about his wealth, who was in his will? And what about his brother, Paul?

  He left the office and drove to a pay phone, placing a call to the detective agency he’d used before. He talked to the owner of the agency, asking him to very quietly find out anything and everything about one Paul Rivers, attorney, in Baton Rouge.

  He’d call back in about a week. Don’t mail anything. Verbal reports only. OK?

  Fine.

  Jesus, Barry thought. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I am getting paranoid. Paul wouldn’t have the guts to be involved in anything like this mess.

  Crap! He was spending his money for nothing, having Paul investigated.

  But … at least he could clear the air concerning Paul. That alone would be worth the money.

  He wanted to call back to D.C.—see what was happening. But he felt he knew. Nothing would be shaking. The law was so goddamned ponderous. But he guessed it had to be, to protect the innocent.

  He drove the outskirts of the city aimlessly, in his pickup. Something was nagging at him, digging at his guts with dull claws, attempting to gain a firmer hold. But Barry could not pull it closer, could not bring it into full mental light. What the hell was it?

  Something he had heard?

  Something he remembered?

  Something he merely suspected?

  He didn’t know. But it was there. Had been there for several days. Whatever it was, it was slowly gaining strength. But not fast enough.

  He fought the elusive feelings away and concentrated on the run due to begin at dawn tomorrow. The upcoming long haul was going to be very dangerous. They would all have to be very careful. Alert every mile, coming and going. It was going to be a waiting game. Like stepping into a dark room, knowing a rattlesnake was in there. But you just didn’t know where.

  All you could do was wait for the rattle.

  21

  To Barry, the scene was reminiscent of those few moments before combat troops mounted up for a night jump into unknown territory behind enemy lines. Wives or girl friends—in Lou’s case, a boyfriend—had driven the drivers to the terminal before dawn. The tractors were rumbling, warming up, while the drivers stood on the loading docks, smoking, sipping coffee, and talking quietly.

  There would be no outriders or drag vehicles on this long run. Nine rigs rolling in a loose convoy. All radio-equipped, with CB and shortwave radios. Barry had given dispatch their route and was just about to tell the drivers to mount up when the headlights of a car cut the semidarkness, pocked only by running lights of the nine trucks.

  Barry recognized one of Fabrello’s men. He walked to the docks and motioned Barry to one side.

  Barry squatted down on the concrete lip as the man began speaking in low tones.

  “We got a message from Mr. Fabrello last night. Part of it concerns you. Part of what you and him talked about is fact now. Some government people is up to their asses in this thing. Your partner is gettin’ ready to set you up for a hard fall. But your partner has a partner too. Besides you. Contracts has been put out on Big Joe, Kate, your sister, and your kids …”

  Barry felt a shiver move up and down his spine as his stomach suddenly turned queasy.

  “… Mr. Fabrello says we’ll do our best to cover them all like a blanket. But we’re spread kinda thin. New York don’t wanna get involved in this matter. They say they’re gettin’ strong smells that it would be to their best interest to back off. Mr. Fabrello’s got the man in Houston by the balls, so your sister is gonna be OK. Your kids up east …” He shrugged. “I don’t know. If you know some private guns, you’d better call them and put your kids under twenty-four-hour protection. Mr. Fabrello says this whole thing is gonna be resolved sometime in the next week or ten days. And he says for you to watch your ass, in all directions.”

  “I’ll get on the horn right now and arrange private security for Missy and Barry. If I can convince my ex-wife of it.”

  “You’d better,” the man said ominously. “All bets are down and the pot’s right.”

  “Big Joe will be OK?”

  “Right. No sweat there.”

  “Kate will be with me. I guess she’s as safe there as anywhere?”

  The man shrugged noncommittally.

  “And Donna will be protected?”

  “Like a baby.”

  The other drivers were watching quietly, staying a respectable distance away.

  “Aren’t you leaving someone out?” Barry asked Fabrello’s man.

  The man’s eyes were bleak. He said nothing.

  “Like my brother?”

  “Your brother is a shit! And if you didn’t think so, you wouldn’t be having your favorite detective agency run him.”

  “Now, how in the hell do you know about that?”

  The man smiled for the first time. “Hell, Rivers. It’s mob-owned.”

  Barry sat down on the lip of the dock. “Maybe we’d better compare notes, Mister … ?”

  “Al will do fine. What compare notes? You wanna know why the boss is doin’ this? Hell, he likes you, Rivers. And he likes Big Joe.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant,” Barry said dryly.

  “Your shitty little brother got himself in a hard bind three, four years ago. He needed money. He started playing footsie with Bobby Bulgari. Your fat partner, Jack, has been supplying guns to the eastern mob for years. His old lady is a coke freak. Free guns, free nose candy. Then Bulgari come up with a plan to infiltrate the SST business. There was a big sitdown in New York about it. The central committee nixed the plan. We don’t wanna fuck too much with the government. Mr. Fabrello explained that to you. All the capos thought it was settled. But Bobby went ahead on his own. Very quietly. With your partner’s help. Then this Linda O’Day broad done some snoopin’ and found some bad smells. But she only scratched the surface. She was about to get burned when you come into the picture. And you didn’t come into it by accident. Don’t never believe that, Rivers. Fat-assed Jack needed a pigeon and looked at you. Jack knew some hungry government people. They knew about this medical thing with vets and wetbacks. Jack and the agents got together with your little brother. It was a good way to bring in dope, on the SSTs. Then your little brother got really greedy. You’re worth a lot of money, and so is Big Joe. If he was the sole survivor, he gets it all. That’s it in a nutshell.”

  “Who is funding this research on the vets?”

  Al shrugged. “The government, I guess. That ain’t none of our concern. Mr. Fabrello thinks it stinks, he won the Silver Star in Korea with the Marines, but there is no mob connection with this medical crap.”

  “Thanks, Al.”

  “Watch your ass, man. Oh, you need anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Bazookas, flame throwers, mortars, machine guns … stuff like that?”

  Despite it all, Barry had to laugh. Al grinned along with the laughter. Barry said, “You know, you people could take over the world if you really tried.”

  “Oh, we don’t want the whole world. Just a reasonably profitable piece of it.”

  Al turned and walked away.

  Barry had laid it all out for his drivers, all the while wondering if one of them might be in Fabrello’s pocket. He didn’t think so, but with the mob, one never knew.

  “Last chance, people,” Barry said. “If any of you want out, take off. No one will blame you for it.”

  The drivers stood and stared at him. No one moved. No one spoke. Barry felt that no one would pull out at this late stage, but it was a question he had to ask.

  “All right, gang,” Barry said. “Let’s do it.”

  They rolled and rumbled out in predawn darkness, heading for Houston.

 
“I don’t think I ever want to meet your little brother,” Kate said, behind the wheel. “I might be tempted to put a boot up his butt.”

  “If all that Al told me proves out, I’m going to meet him one more time,” Barry told her, a deadly grimness in his tone.

  Kate knew what that grimness meant; she did not pursue it, only saying, “I hope it never comes to that, Barry.”

  Barry was silent for a few miles. He had called his ex-wife, telling her to expect protection for the kids. He could not tell her the real reason, so he lied, making up some kidnapping threat he had received against the kids.

  She was as haughty as ever, disdainfully turning down his offer. She said she would arrange protection of her own.

  “Julie,” Barry had said, “listen to me. Please. I know the type of people you’ll get. They won’t stand a chance going up against these hardcases.”

  “Oh? So you know who they are, then?”

  “I know their types, Julie. You don’t. You’ve no realistic concept of the real world. And I don’t mean that in any insulting way. It’s just that you’ve been insulted all your life. Please let me arrange some guns for you.”

  “Guns, Barry? I think not. Mother and Father will see to the children’s safety. Quite adequately, I might add.”

  He was losing, and he knew it. They had never been able to communicate. Time had not improved that. “Julie, think of the kids. Put aside your dislike of me, and think of them.”

  She had then hung up on him.

  “God, Barry,” Kate said. “What kind of a person is she?”

  “A very good mother, really. She just hates me.”

  “What’d you do, beat her?” She grinned.

  “The thought occurred to me, and you can believe that.”

  “What will you do now? About the kids, I mean?”

  “Say a silent prayer. I’m in a bind with this thing. I can’t go to the police; I have no proof that anything is about to happen. I can’t tell them I heard it from the Mafia, for Christ’s sake.” They both laughed at that. “Julie’s father is a snob, but he’s a hard-nosed snob. He’ll take one look at those playboys she’ll gather around her and kick them out of the house. I hope. Then—again, I’m hoping—he’ll call some real men in. Men who won’t hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later.”