by Carolina Mac
“Fuck that. I’m not buying it.”
Farrell stumbled into the room and plopped down in a chair. “What ain’t you buying?”
“Andy lost consciousness for no reason they can find.”
“That’s pure bullshit,” said Farrell. “Andy is a runner and in top shape.”
“Rick’s on his way back from the hospital,” said Blaine. “Maybe he’ll have more details.”
Rick returned visibly upset about Andy, his sorrow deepened by the loss of the two other members of the Junker team—Greg, murdered by Ewing Thompson and Jack, lying in ICU because of the same murdering maniac. Rick was the only functioning Junker left.
I have to phone the man.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
DAWN WAS BREAKING in the east when Blaine left Rick at Misty’s wondering if he should call the man and give him a recap on the team, or if Rick would do it himself. The Junkers answered to a higher power and were assigned to the Agency strictly to protect Blaine.
When he and Farrell arrived home, they let the dogs out, brewed coffee and talked about the work that had to be done.
Suddenly Farrell stopped talking and stared at Blaine like he remembered something important. “What were you dreaming when you were yelling out in your sleep this morning—before the phone rang?”
Blaine blew out a long breath. “Jeeze, I almost forgot all about that, and I think it was a breakthrough. I dreamed about a phone ringing—because it was ringing on the nightstand—but in my dream it was ringing in my father’s car and I was in the back seat. It was right before the accident. I’ve never had a memory before waking up in the fairgrounds in Odessa, and this memory was before that. It was in the car—before the accident.”
“Wow,” said Farrell.
“Yeah, wow,” said Blaine, “but I don’t know what it means.”
“It means you’re close to something,” said Farrell.
“Close to what?”
Saint Michael’s Hospital. Austin.
BLAINE checked in with the nurses’ station outside intensive care. “I was informed Mark Selecky is awake and I could see him for five minutes.” He pushed his creds across the desk. “His doctor called me this morning.”
The nurse, a short round woman on the far side of forty glanced at a clipboard and said, “You can see him for five minutes, Ranger Blackmore, but he’s heavily medicated and may fall asleep on you. I’ll show you where he is.”
She led the way. Blaine and Farrell followed through the glass door and down a long row of beds. She stopped and pointed. “Five minutes.”
Blaine stood beside the bed and looked down at Selecky. He seemed smaller and his tan had faded. “Mr. Selecky.” Blaine said his name and waited for him to open his eyes. “Mr. Selecky, I have something to tell you.”
Mark Selecky opened his eyes and stared in Blaine’s direction but didn’t seem focused.
“Mr. Selecky, I have some bad news.”
Mark opened his eyes a little wider. “What?”
“Your wife, Tanya, is deceased, sir. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Tanya?”
“Yes, I’m afraid she’s dead,” said Blaine.
Mark shook his head slightly then winced like it hurt him to move an inch. “She hates me.”
“Did she know a man named Alex McLaughlin?” asked Blaine.
“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
They left the ICU and headed for the elevator. “Let’s check on Andy while we’re here,” said Blaine. “See if they know any more.”
“Sure,” said Farrell. “What floor is he on?”
“Third.”
Lazy Lake Trailer Park. Longview.
FLETCHER AND PEYTON arrived at the mobile home park at nine in the morning to talk to anybody they could find who knew the two dead robbers, Winky Osborne and Billy Scarlett.
While Peyton drove, Fletcher read the information Lily had supplied. “Winky Osborne lives at thirty-three Whippoorwill Lane. Want to do his place first?”
“Doesn’t matter who we do first, Fletcher. We have to do a lot of the people here. It’s going to take all day.”
“Sounds like you don’t like our assignment,” said Fletcher. “We got to go out of town and sleep in a hotel, why are you so pissy?”
“I’m not pissy. I just think the boss is sticking me with shit because I’m a woman.”
“Hey, I’m not a woman and I got the same job as you.”
“You know what I mean.”
Fletcher shook his head. “No, I don’t know what you mean. Blacky is fair minded and a lot of investigation is boring and repetitive. He does more of the shit work than any of us and we’re getting paid top dollar. Why don’t you stay in the truck and I’ll do the goddam questioning myself.”
“Fuck you, Fletcher.
Peyton wheeled around and went back the way she’d come looking for the address. After a couple of tours around the park she said, “Got it. This is the street.”
She parked in front of thirty-three, jumped out and didn’t wait for Fletcher to catch up. She ran up onto the porch, pulled open the screen door and knocked on the inside door.
A lady in a yellow apron came to the door and Peyton held up her identification. “I’m from the police, ma’am and I’d like to ask you a few questions about Alex McLaughlin.”
“I got nothing to say about Alex, or about anybody else. I mind my own business.” The lady started to close the door and Fletcher closed in behind Peyton.
“It will only take a minute, ma’am,” said Fletcher. “Sorry for your loss.”
The lady nodded, and her eyes welled up. “My Winky was a good boy. Hanging around with Alex got him killed. That’s a fact and that’s exactly what happened.”
“I think you’re right, ma’am,” said Fletcher. “Do you know where Alex is now?”
“No. Haven’t seen him.”
“But he has a trailer in this park?” asked Peyton.
“On Oriole Street.”
“Thank you,” said Fletcher.
“Same street as the late Billy Scarlett,” said Peyton as she slid in behind the wheel. “Winky’s mother was lying when she said she hasn’t seen McLaughlin.”
“Think so?” asked Fletcher.
“For sure. Let’s talk to Mrs. Scarlett, then check McLaughlin’s trailer.”
“We might need backup if he’s there,” said Fletcher.
Peyton went twice around looking for Oriole then found it. A short street close to the woods. “What’s Scarlett’s number?”
“Twenty.”
“No vehicle at number twenty. Looks like nobody home.”
“I’ll knock,” said Fletcher. He hopped out when Peyton slowed down to park. Nobody answered, and no lights were on inside.
Peyton was on her cell when Fletcher got back to the truck. “Okay, thanks, Lily.”
“You called in?”
“To see if Lily knew about McLaughlin’s trailer and she had an old address for him—twenty-four Oriole.”
“Two trailers away from Billy Scarlett,” said Fletcher, “that’s convenient.”
“Let’s leave the SUV here and go check it out,” said Peyton.
“Hang on for a minute,” said Fletcher. “I’m calling for backup in case he’s in there. The guy is a wanted fugitive and he’s no model citizen.”
Peyton made a noise with her tongue and sneered at Fletcher. “We’re two against one. We can take him on our own.”
Fletcher called it in anyway and didn’t get out of the truck. “I’m just getting over being shot and I’m not up for a repeat,” said Fletcher. “I’m waiting until a squad gets here.”
Peyton smirked at him. “Never figured you for a wussy, Fletch. Well, I’m not waiting.” Peyton jumped out of the truck and jogged down the street to number twenty-four.
“You’re a pain in the ass, Peyton,” mumbled Fletcher. He jumped out of the SUV and jogged down the road. Peyton was banging on the door when Fletcher ca
ught up. He ran around to the back and waited on the back step until he heard McLaughlin go towards the front of the trailer. He tried the door and it wasn’t locked. Fletcher drew his weapon and as he pushed inside, he could hear McLaughlin talking to Peyton.
“Well now, this is a nice surprise. Who’s this pretty little lady at my door?”
Fletcher crept along the hallway trying not to gag at the overpowering smell of sweat and body odor hanging in the air. As he passed the kitchen door Fletcher saw McLaughlin reach down and pull a knife out of the sheath on his belt.
Fletcher pointed the Glock at McLaughlin’s back and hollered out the words. “Drop it. Drop the knife and get down on your knees. Put your hands on your head.”
McLaughlin laughed as he spun around with Peyton in front of him, one arm holding her tight to his body for a shield and the other holding the knife to her throat.
“Let her go,” said Fletcher. McLaughlin had the knife pressing tight against Peyton’s throat and if he took a shot McLaughlin would cut her for sure. He kept the Glock pointed, but he couldn’t fire.
McLaughlin backed out the door dragging Peyton with him. “Don’t even think about it, asshole, or she’s dead.” He kicked the screen door with his boot and it slammed shut.
Fletcher ran out the back door—the way he’d come in—rounded the trailer hoping to get a shot from a different angle and arrived in time to see Peyton foolishly grappling for her sidearm.
“Stop it.” McLaughlin tightened his grip on her and the tip of the knife cut into her neck. Blood trickled, and she screamed
“Stay still, bitch, and get in the truck.” McLaughlin opened the back door of his truck and tried to push her inside. Peyton hollered curses at him, struggled, twisted and kicked him, but McLaughlin was a big guy and Peyton had no chance against him. He pounded her in the face three times with his right fist and her head flopped to the side.
Fletcher tried to line up a shot. Too much movement. He was going to hit Peyton.
McLaughlin roared once in fury and jammed the knife into Peyton’s side. He tossed her down like a rag doll on the gravel drive behind his truck.
Fletcher fired two shots as McLaughlin ran around the truck and jumped in the driver’s side. One shot might have caught him, but McLaughlin never stopped for a second.
The truck engine roared to life and Fletcher ran to drag Peyton out of the way. McLaughlin pounded the gas and shot backwards. Fletcher dived out of the way and rolled on the grass at the side of the driveway. McLaughlin backed over Peyton’s body, cranked the wheel and rocketed down the road.
Fletcher was on his feet, running down the road and emptying his gun as McLaughlin drove away.
Sirens sounded, and help arrived as Fletcher sat on McLaughlin’s driveway next to his mangled partner. “Jesus, Peyton, why in hell wouldn’t you wait for backup?”
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE took Fletcher’s call in the office. There was a lot of background noise, Fletcher was yelling, and Blaine couldn’t make out what was wrong. “Say again, Fletch. What are you telling me?”
“McLaughlin was in his trailer and Peyton wouldn’t wait for backup, boss. She confronted him. I’m at the hospital in Longview.”
“Shit. Why wouldn’t she wait for backup? He’s a fugitive and she knows the rules. She’s a trained cop.”
“I told her we had to wait, boss. She wouldn’t listen.”
“How bad is she, Fletch?”
“I couldn’t get a shot, boss. He had a knife at her throat and I couldn’t get a shot until later. He might be hit.”
“It’s okay, Fletch. Take it easy.”
“Fuck, boss. He stabbed her then ran over her with his goddam truck. I don’t think she’s gonna make it.”
“Jesus Christ. He ran over her? The guy is a lunatic. Give me the tag and I’ll get a BOLO out.”
“You coming up here, boss?”
“On my way, Fletcher, but it’ll take me a few. I’ll pick you up at the hospital, then we’ll toss McLaughlin’s trailer.”
“Longview PD has the scene secure until you get here.”
Peyton’s a goddam loose cannon. That’s why she didn’t get the promotion in Dallas.
Longview Trauma Center.
BLAINE left Hilder with Rick at Misty’s house and Travis and Farrell at headquarters with Jesse to finish questioning the gangers while he took Carlos and Luke to Longview.
After driving for more than four hours, Blaine dropped Luke and Carlos off at McLaughlin’s trailer.
“Bag anything we could use for evidence in the robberies,” said Blaine. “Check every piece of goddam paper and every note—if the asshole can write.”
“Yep, we’re all over it, boss,” said Carlos. “We’ll have most of it covered by the time y’all get back here.”
“While I’m in town, I’ll get us a room. We’ll go back in the morning.”
Fletcher was asleep in the cafeteria, his head on his folded arms, when Blaine arrived. “Hey, buddy, are you okay?”
“Nope, not really okay, boss. Not being able to do a damn thing about that guy hurting Peyton, just about finished me.”
“Sometimes you can’t shoot no matter how much you want to.”
“I couldn’t,” said Fletcher with a catch in his throat. “I kept waiting for a second when he didn’t have her covered and there wasn’t one. Not one until it was too late. By then he’d beat the shit out of her.”
“But you think you hit him?”
“Shoulder maybe,” said Fletch, “as he was running for the truck.”
“McLaughlin’s a con and he’s tough. He’s not afraid of cops in the least and he’ll do whatever he has to do to survive.”
“Did you check on her?” asked Fletch.
“The doctor was in with her,” said Blaine, “and they told me to wait. Let’s go back, check on her, then we’ll help the boys toss the trailer.”
Fletcher let out a breath. “Yeah, I want to get out of here.”
On the surgical floor Blaine returned to the same nurse he’d been talking to previously. “I wanted to check on Deputy Starling’s condition before I left.”
The nurse’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, Officer Starling just died from her injuries.”
Blaine’s chest constricted and for a couple of seconds he was unable to breathe. “Thank you.” His hands shook as he extracted a card from his wallet and placed it on the desk. “Let my office know about the billing.”
Fletcher was down on his knees on the floor beside Blaine. Blaine pulled him to his feet and pointed Fletcher towards the elevator. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
Lazy Lake Trailer Park. Longview.
BLAINE arrived at the trailer park with Fletcher and Carlos was true to his word. He and Luke had finished most of the rooms and had found very little evidence that McLaughlin was planning a robbery or that he knew Tanya Selecky. What they did find was a travel brochure for Mexico.
Why hadn’t McLaughlin gone to Mexico already? He could have crossed the border hours after the robbery. What was he waiting for?
“Good job on the trailer, guys,” said Blaine. “Let’s go into town, get some dinner and then sleep. I want to leave for home early in the morning.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wednesday, April 15th.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE had called ahead and Carm came through for him—whipping up a fabulous lunch for the troops. She worked hard running the household and preparing all the meals and she never complained. Every time Blaine had suggested hiring someone to help her, she had nixed the idea. She didn’t want strangers in the house.
It took all morning to drive back from Longview and Blaine was exhausted. Everybody was tired and stressed from the events of the past week.
Carlos, Luke, Farrell and Travis devoured the chips with homemade salsa, then the burritos Carm had made them and showered her with compliments. She beamed and thanked them in Spanish.
She and Carlos spoke to each other in such rapid Spanish, Blaine often didn’t catch it all.
With mugs of hot coffee in front of them, the crew sat around the table after they’d eaten waiting for the boss to get organized.
Blaine was so fuckin stressed and tired from the Longview trip and losing a team member, he didn’t know if he could get through the day, let alone guide others through it.
Job one. Peyton was dead, and the notification had to be done. Her parents were retired and lived in Corpus Christi. The Chief had offered to send someone down, but Blaine thought someone from the Agency should do it. Jesse was the one best suited.
Blaine called Jesse on his cell and brought him up to date.
“Oh, no. Why wouldn’t she wait for backup?” asked Jesse.
“No idea,” said Blaine, “Fletcher is fried. I gave him the day off.”
“Sure, I can do the notification. I’ll drive down to the gulf this afternoon and I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
“Thanks, Jesse,” said Blaine, “and have her parents call when the arrangements have been made.”
Next, he called Rick to see if there had been any sign of Matthias Rush.
“Aw, shit, boss,” said Rick. “I figured he’d be waiting until dark before he tried again after he didn’t show up last night, and when I got back from checking on Andy the place was ripped apart.”
“Wasn’t Hilder there?”
“He had some kind of emergency and had to take off. He left a note.”
Blaine felt a prickle at the back of his neck. “What emergency?”
“Don’t know,” said Rick. “I could use a hand with this mess.”
“Don’t clean up or touch anything. I’ll send the forensic people to get some decent prints, then we’ll worry about putting things back.”
“Okay, I’ll sit tight until they get here.”
“What?” asked Farrell, looking up from a tart he was eating.
“Rush trashed Misty’s bungalow.”
“With two guys watching it?” asked Farrell.
Blaine explained about Rick being at the hospital and Hilder taking off.
“He better have a damn good reason,” said Farrell. “Call him.”