Road Kill

by Carolina Mac

  Jack came back on the line as Farrell was parking down the block. “Nothing under there right now but food wrappers and mice.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Looks like it might be some kid’s hideout,” said Jack, “the amount of junk under there.”

  “Sleeping bag?”

  “Nope, but there was a raggedy blanket.”

  “Good. We’re watching the right place.”

  “I think so,” said Jack.

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE returned from her visit to the fencing shed, a wooden structure added to the back of the horse barn many years before and home to her fencing foreman, Luc LaFontaine. He and his brother Marc were Cajun, and they were one of her older rescues from Louisiana. She had picked them up on the Texas side of the line in Bridge City and they’d lived and worked at Coulter-Ross ever since.

  Luc was special to her and he’d been Annie’s lover for many years. Fidelity had never been one of her virtues. She never pretended it was.

  She opened the Sub-Zero, grabbed a Lone Star and went into her office. Her work at Powell Corp was years behind and she had to catch up somehow. Blaine used to do it all, but since he’d become so busy fighting crime, he had no time. She needed to hire an assistant.

  Her cell rang and she hesitated to answer. She didn’t want to talk to the fawning Madill. “Hi, Brad. Did you get home safe and sound?”

  “I am home now, thanks to you and to Travis and I’d like to take you out to dinner to show my appreciation.”

  “Are you feeling up to it?”

  “Not yet, but by the weekend I should be feeling stronger. Would you consider Friday night?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m playing with my band on Friday.”

  “Thursday, then?”

  Annie let out a sigh of resignation. “Thursday is better. Would you like me to meet you somewhere?”

  “I’ll make a reservation and get back to you. Thank you for accepting.”

  “Shit,” she mumbled to herself. “I don’t want to have dinner with Madill.”

  Capitol Grounds. Austin.

  GOVERNOR CATHERINE CAMPBELL stood on the Great Walk still clad in her funeral attire, a damp lace handkerchief pressed to the corner of her right eye as she spoke to the crowd of reporters.

  “As all of you are aware, not long ago, I buried my husband, Randy Callaghan, and today we buried a man who worked his whole adult life fighting crime in this city. Two senseless deaths that didn’t have to happen. Two lives wasted.”

  She shifted a little on her high heels and nearly lost her footing on the pathway. Blaine reached out and steadied her.

  “I’m issuing a warning to all of Texas. In the approaching weeks, I will be coming down hard on crime in our state. Harder than ever before. My office will be working hand in hand with the Violent Crime Unit and all of the dedicated police forces across our great state. Budgets will be boosted, more staff will be hired, and more programs for crime prevention will be put in place.”

  The crowd applauded and when the shouting died down, the Governor turned to Blaine. “I think Ranger Blackmore has a couple of things to add.”

  “Thanks, Governor Campbell. All I have to add is an update on the sniper case. We’re working on a solid lead and we should have a suspect in custody soon. As soon as that happens, Mary Polito will notify y’all and I’ll make a statement at headquarters and give y’all the details.”

  Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.

  JESSE talked to Blacky on the phone and got the update on Brad Madill. Now that the case was over and done with maybe Tyler would listen to common sense and go back to Annie.

  “I’m going to talk to Ty in the trailer for a few minutes, Marnie. Be right back.”

  Marnie descended the curved staircase looking as fresh and full of energy as a teenager. Her injuries were healing quickly, and she’d been so cheerful through all of it.

  Maybe she’s too young for me. I’ll drag her down.

  “I hope he listens, Jesse. He and Annie are both unhappy. Plain to see.”

  “Yeah, they’re both miserable apart, but they lock horns when they’re together.”

  Marnie giggled. “They should still be in the honeymoon phase, like us.” She kissed Jesse and explored his mouth with her tongue while her left hand stroked the front of his jeans.

  “Hey, I said I’m going out to the trailer.”

  “So?”

  “I’ll show you so.” He pushed her down the hall and into the office and locked the door behind them.

  A few minutes later, Jesse drove out to the trailer with a smile on his face.

  Marnie is so good for me.

  Tyler never moved when Jesse came through the door. The dogs jumped up, barking and baying, happy to see him. Jesse dropped to one knee and hugged them both. He ruffed up their neck fur then rummaged in the pantry for biscuits for both of them. Ty wasn’t talking.

  “Have you been eating?”

  “Enough.”

  “Eat dinner with us at the house after chores.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Have you called her?”

  “No point.”

  Jesse poured a mug of coffee, realized it was hours old and stone cold and nuked it for a minute and a half. He looked for cream. Was none. Sat down across from his brother and took a sip of the deadly stuff.

  “There is a point, Ty. And the point is, you and Ace are married. I get it that you don’t like her working. Her work is secret and dangerous, and you feel left out, but the Madill thing is over. It was wrapped this morning and he’s safely back home. If you had waited…”

  Tyler made eye contact for the first time. “Yeah, but I couldn’t wait, could I? I had to rant and shout at her and act like a goddam ten year old. Then I packed up my shit and ran home to Quantrall.”

  “Maybe you learned something.”

  “I learned that I shouldn’t be married. That’s what I learned. I suck at it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tuesday, October 9th.

  Route 71 and East Lakeshore.

  NUMERO UNO. That’s what Hector Saez was. Gavel in his hand at twenty-nine years old. He’d finally reached the top of his club. King of La Realeza. After clawing his way out of a life of poverty in Mexico City and ten years of busting his ass for his club in Texas, he’d eliminated all his rivals and attained the power and the respect that he deserved.

  Beautiful women whenever he wanted them, a fancy condo near the lake and an unlimited supply of drugs and money. Manuelo, his personal bodyguard, watched his back and his club protected him. They watched out for number one because Hector was important. He ran the club because he was smarter and tougher than all the rest. He made all the decisions. His men listened and always voted with him. It couldn’t get any better.

  After every meeting, four of his boys escorted him home and for safety reasons they never used the same route two nights in a row.

  Tonight, the October air was crisp and cool. Hector inhaled deeply as he rode, and he felt good. Damn good. Not a breath of wind in the air and his customized ride performed like a dream machine. Making the turn onto Lakeshore East, Hector squeezed the gas and let the big Harley engine rumble.

  Elated by his success and the life he’d carved out for himself, Hector couldn’t stop smiling. He gave a shout out as he pulled ahead of his men, racing them to the bridge, his long black hair flying like wings behind him.

  A sting in his forehead.

  Blind for a second.

  Dead forever.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE WOKE wondering where Misty was. His brain wasn’t used to her being gone and might never be. Her side of the bed was cold, and a sadness overtook him as he reached for his cell, screaming at him on the nightstand. He had to change the ring to a better song. “Yeah, Blackmore.”

  “Lakeshore East under the route 71 bridge.” Chief Calhoun’s voice was flat. Annoyed. Pissed because they hadn’t caught the snip
er.

  Hey, we’re trying.

  “Okay,” said Blaine. “I’m there.”

  He sat on the side of the bed in the dark and wondered how long he’d been sleeping. It seemed like seconds. Maybe a minute. Lexi thumped her feathery tail on the hardwood thinking it was time to get up.

  “It ain’t morning,” grumbled Blaine. “Black outside as you are, girl.” Lexi jumped up off her bed and didn’t seem the least bit tired. Blaine envied her.

  He staggered across the hall to Farrell’s bedroom and opened the door. “Dead biker. Don’t know what time it is. Do you want to sleep? I can handle it.”

  “Hoping the kid was too scared to move.”

  Talking about surveillance on the sniper.

  “Yeah, me too.” Blaine didn’t bother to shower. He dressed, made coffee and let the dog out while he waited for Farrell.

  “Where’s the body?” Farrell asked as he came through the kitchen door.

  “Not far. East Lakeshore and 71.” Blaine handed Farrell a travel mug of coffee. “Let’s go take a look.”

  Route 71 and East Lakeshore.

  THE MEDIA had arrived ahead of Blaine and were crowding the yellow tape and yelling questions at him as he and Farrell tried to get close to the scene. Uniformed officers guarded the section of the road that was blocked off and lifted the tape for them to duck under.

  Blaine ignored the cameras and the looky-loos as he focused on the victim and the path the bike had taken. Skid marks. The bike had skidded across the pavement farther than any of the other victims. He tried to picture what had happened. Speed. The guy was flying when the bullet hit him.

  He stared up at the bridge trying to get a feel for where the shooter had been standing.

  Crack shot whoever he is.

  Tim held up the evidence bag containing the ID. “Drugs in the saddlebags along with a couple of guns with no serial numbers. Looks like a ganger.”

  Blaine pulled on a pair of gloves and shone a flashlight on the ID. Hector Saez. “Fuck that. This guy’s number one in La Realeza. This might not be the sniper at all. This might be a hit.”

  “Don’t matter,” said Farrell. “The fact that somebody offed him will start a war. No question.”

  “What about the gun?” Blaine asked Doctor Simon. “Does it look like the same caliber?”

  “Uh huh. The entry wound appears to be the same, but the lab will tell you if it matches the sniper’s gun. I’ll dig the bullet out as soon as I can and get it to ballistics.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” said Blaine. To Farrell: “Phone your girlfriend first thing and have her put a rush on the ballistics. I want to know if this was another gang hopping on the sniper bandwagon.”

  “Yep, I’m writing it down. Call Sue.”

  “The techs are on the bridge. If there’s brass, they’ll find it.”

  “Won’t be any.” Farrell growled.

  “Hector wouldn’t be riding alone,” said Blaine. “At least four would have been with him, and he has a bodyguard.”

  “Bet they called an emergency meeting,” said Farrell, “and they’re all huddled up there right now voting another asshole into the number one spot.” He tipped up his cup and finished his coffee. “Where’s the clubhouse?”

  “Carlos knows. He’s on gang info.” Blaine pressed call and woke him up. “Biker down, Carlos. Somebody capped Hector Saez.”

  “Fuck that,” said a sleepy Carlos. “He’s a powerhouse.”

  “Got an address for the clubhouse?”

  “Lil’s got all my stats in her computer, but I can tell you where it is.”

  “Good enough.”

  “One storey frame building. Used to be a store. Y’all will see the bikes when you get close. Govalle area north of Gonzales, there’s a dead end street runs off of Sellers where it loops around.”

  “Yep, we can find it. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Govalle Area. Austin.

  BLAINE drove while Farrell programmed the street names into the GPS. They missed the turn the first time around. Caught it on the second.

  “They’re lucky to have the vacant lot next door to park their rides,” said Farrell.

  Blaine eyed the building. “Looks like it might have been a package store in its former life.”

  “Blacked out windows. Bet the glass is reinforced on the inside.”

  “Have to be. Bikers don’t live in glass houses.”

  Farrell smirked as he pounded on the door. “Policia, open the door.”

  “They have to be expecting us,” said Blaine. “They left their best and brightest lying in the middle of the fuckin road.”

  The door opened and a Hispanic kid asked them in Spanish what they wanted.

  Blaine answered in Spanish. “I need to talk to the VP about Hector.”

  “Si.” The kid opened the door wider and let them in. He hollered out, “Patricio, Super policia.”

  A stocky guy, his black hair in a braid showed up at the door looking wasted and out of it.

  “Sorry for your loss,” said Blaine. “Who was with Hector when he was shot?”

  He pointed to himself. “Camilo, Luis, Simon.”

  Farrell wrote down the names.

  “Can I talk to them?” asked Blaine.

  Patricio nodded and motioned them into the main room where ten guys were crowded around an oval table and two dozen more leaned on the walls with smokes or drinks in their hands. A somber looking group and for a bunch of badass bikers, they were pretty quiet.

  The air was so thick with smoke and cannabis, Blaine’s eyes watered.

  Farrell read off the first name. “Camilo.”

  A guy on the other side of the table nodded.

  “Tell me what you remember,” said Blaine.

  “Taking the boss home. No traffic. Boss hollered, correrte. He pulls ahead. His ride crashes.” Camilo shrugged. “Muerto.”

  “Did you hear the shot?” asked Farrell.

  Camilo shook his head. “Bikes are loud.”

  “Yep,” said Blaine.

  “Who is the enemigo of La Realeza?” asked Blaine.

  Camilo glanced at Patricio and he shook his head.

  Blaine smiled. “No enemies? Lucky for y’all.”

  They questioned the other two escorts and got the same answers. They didn’t see a shooter on the bridge. The noise of the bikes drowned out the shot.

  “I believe them,” said Blaine, “but if they are in a territorial battle with another club, they won’t think twice about evening the score.”

  “Even if it was the sniper who took Hector out?”

  “Yep. Fifty.”

  “Bad bet for me,” said Farrell. “Retaliation is the name of the game. I’ll talk to Kamps tonight.”

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  BLAINE parked the truck and grabbed for his cell. Black cat. Farrell saw the picture, made a face, jumped out of the shotgun seat so he wouldn’t have to listen and lit up a smoke.

  “Hey, Cat, you heard about the shooting?”

  “How close are you to catching the sniper?”

  “Close, but I’m not sure about this latest one. My gut tells me it was a rival club taking advantage of the sniper frenzy.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, but okay. What are the media hounds going to think?”

  “They’ll go with the biggest impact and say it was the sniper,” said Blaine. “Count on it. By noon every station will be demanding action.”

  “Penny is getting dozens of calls already and she’s not in a good mood.”

  Blaine smiled. Mrs. Warburton was one tough woman. That’s why Governor Richardson had moved her into his office to be his front woman.

  Before entering the DPS building, Blaine promised to call the governor later with more information—if he had any.

  Chief Calhoun was hunkered down in his office, a scowl on his face and three empty Styrofoam cups on his desk. Bad coffee making a bad day worse.

  “Morning, sir,” said Bl
aine. Farrell plopped down in one of the vinyl chairs and said nothing.

  “Jesus, son, we’ve got to arrest somebody, and it’s got to be today.”

  “Pressure coming down on you, Chief?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Usually I ignore the politics and don’t let it bother me, but the calls I’m getting this morning are grating on my nerves.”

  “This ain’t gonna help,” said Blaine.

  The Chief raised a brow. “You mean it could get worse?”

  “What if I said, the hit on Hector Saez was a carbon copy of the sniper’s MO.”

  “Oh, fuck, don’t tell me that.” The Chief’s fist came down hard on his wooden desk and the cups went flying. “I don’t want that to be true.”

  “Okay, I won’t say it’s true until the guns don’t match, and we have proof.”

  High color rose into the Chief’s face. “Jesus Christ is ballistics putting a rush on it?”

  Farrell spoke his first words. “First Mort had to dig the bullet out of Hector’s brain, but yeah, they said they’d be as quick as they could.”

  The Chief glanced at the scattered Styrofoam cups and opened his desk drawer. “I need Advil.”

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE had received a congratulatory call from the man on the closing of the Brad Madill case. The AG was deemed to be safe from harm, at least for the time being. She’d been assured that no new jobs were in the wings, but she’d heard that story before. She’d learned not to believe and not to trust. Maybe that’s what kept her alive.

  Tyler hadn’t called and hadn’t texted. She was staring at her phone like she’d done for hours since he left her, and her heart almost stopped when it rang. Jesse.

  “Hey, cowboy.”

  “Hi, Ace. Did Ty call?”

  “Nope, not a word.”

  “I had a little talk to him. He’s holed up in the trailer and I thought after I left, he might have smartened up and called.”

  Annie smiled. “Thanks for trying, cowboy, and thanks for caring about me. Appreciate the effort.”

  “I’ll always care about you, Ace, that’s a given. I guess I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long while and I want you to be happy and settled too. Does that sound stupid?”