Pelly nodded. "Maybe I see some value in it, boss."
Staub patted him on the shoulder. In time, everyone did what he told them to.
William "Ike" Floyd hesitated by the front of the Ryder truck. He had made sure the two men in the back were dead, and he was proud of his marksmanship. He felt like a badass now. He thought he'd catch the older Charlie hustling down the canal or back out the access road that led to the highway near his hotel, but he'd been wrong. Ten minutes of searching the area proved that the low brush was a lot thicker than he had originally thought and now he had a missing man on his hands. A missing witness.
He had run out after him, but was surprised to find no trace, not even a trail of the scruffy old racist.
He weighed the value of searching for him right now and leaving a truck with two bodies on the side of the road, or disposing of the truck and then having to dispose of the third man later.
He spit and said, "Shit," as he walked to the rear of the Ryder rental and pulled down the rear door.
He had already thrown an old piece of string with a washer tied to it to see how deep the water was. He had plenty of room.
He jumped in the cab and started the truck, working it parallel to the water. He turned the wheel, threw the truck in low gear, revved the engine and then took his foot off the break as he flopped out onto the sandy edge of the access road.
The truck slid off the edge and turned sideways as it hit the water and floated away from the shore.
Ike smiled, thinking it couldn't have gone into the water better. Then his smile faded as he realized it was still floating. The big box on the rear was a well-sealed, giant flotation device.
He watched as the truck lolled around in the dark, slightly smelly water. There was no current or flow to the canal. The water around the bright yellow truck bubbled, and it tilted one way, then the other, but didn't sink.
Ike started to panic, wondering what he could do to fix this. The bomb was safely tucked into the Ford pickup, and he was ready to drive off to find the missing man, but he couldn't leave this mess to attract the attention of the first plane or helicopter that wandered by. Not to mention whatever vehicles traveled the isolated access road.
Then the truck shifted and belched. The cab pointed further down and then started to sink. Slowly, like a crippled ocean liner at first, then in a great glop of escaping air, it disappeared underwater.
Ike relaxed a little. That left one problem to solve. Ike pulled out his pistol and headed back to the Ford to start his search for Charlie.
46
ALEX DUARTE SAT IN LINA'S PLAIN HOTEL ROOM ALONE WITH the FBI agent. Félix had left complaining of aches and pains as well as a lack of sleep. The DEA agent's edginess had become more apparent every hour.
Duarte looked at Lina and said, "I'm surprised Staub left so quickly."
Lina shrugged. "I was surprised he stayed so long. He really didn't add anything here in the U.S. But who can tell with a guy like him?"
"I thought you knew him pretty well."
"Why?"
"You seemed pretty, um, friendly with him."
She stared at him, the color rising in her face.
"You know what I mean." Duarte hoped that acted as a catchall apology.
"You and Félix kill me. You can't see past your stupid dope deal."
Now she had Duarte's attention.
"The colonel had a few questionable contacts, so I acted friendly to him to see if he'd talk. I stopped short of being physically friendly and seemed to turn him off. There's a lot law enforcement guys like you never get. This is called 'intelligence,' and I was trying to gather it."
If she was trying to make Duarte feel like an incompetent, immature jerk, she'd succeeded.
She didn't let up. "Didn't you and Félix notice he disappeared for a few days? Did you wonder where he went?" She looked up at the ceiling and said, "Jeez."
Duarte said, "Well, I…you know…"
"You guys are too interested in roughing people up and the rest of that police bullshit that you missed something close to you. There's a lot to intell, and that guy had something going on. It may have been a personal thing. Maybe a kinky one, but I don't know."
"He's that weird?"
"I definitely got a funky vibe from him."
"You don't think he was involved in any of the deaths, do you?"
"No way to tell."
Duarte looked off in space and said, "Wish I had some DNA to send to Alice to compare with our sample."
"Like what?"
"Anything, I guess. A hair or even an old cigarette butt with his saliva on the end."
Lina looked out onto her balcony. "We might be able to work something out."
Ike drove the pickup slowly along the access road the way they had come, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fleeing man. It had been two hours since he'd lost him, enough time to have made it back to the highway, but Ike thought he would've seen him by now.
He felt like he was on some big-game safari in Africa, hunting the dreaded white-trash moron. He smiled, thinking about his cool as he'd fired at the two men he had sent to the bottom of the canal. Sure, they were two unarmed men in a confined space, but it was still something Ike wouldn't have thought he could've done just a few months ago.
Now he had to find this man to avoid possible trouble with the Houston cops. He had heard not to fuck with Houston cops, and he didn't intend to ignore that advice.
His eyes scanned the acres of low brush on either side of the road. The problem was that the smelly, decaying racist could've just laid down and taken a nap, and Ike wouldn't find him. He now understood why they used so many men to search for escaped prisoners.
He stopped the pickup occasionally and walked out into the open fields, hoping to scare Charlie out of hiding, but had no luck. Finally, after two hours of searching, Ike decided to head back to the hotel, clean out his stuff and wait for Mr. Ortíz in case Charlie made it to the tough Houston cops and told them what had happened.
As he drove up the road and approached the highway, he could just make out the main building of his hotel. The sun was dipping in the west, and long shadows were cast over the area behind the hotel. He blinked his eyes when he thought he saw a figure just off the road about two hundred yards from the hotel.
It was a man, walking unsteadily, his shirt dark with sweat from his back and underarms. Ike smiled. It was Charlie. The older man apparently could walk pretty fast.
Ike smiled as he rolled down the window and idled up next to the exhausted man.
Charlie was so tired he barely looked over, and when he did, he showed no signs of surprise or fear. All he said was "Why?"
Ike pointed the pistol out the window with his left hand, point-blank at Charlie's weathered face. "Because now I can." He pulled the trigger once, hoping that if anyone at the hotel heard it they'd write it off to a backfire or part of a distant storm. He left Charlie where he lay just off the road. Who would ever notice an old drifter dead on the side of a little-used access road?
Alex Duarte looked at Lina as she studied what had been faxed to them from Lina's FBI office. On the small, round table they had notes, some computer phone tolls that Lina had gotten really fast through a contact with a phone company and a LexisNexis address profile on Cal Linley and Forrest Jessup. They hadn't dared ask for any information on William Floyd because they hadn't wanted to draw any attention to their efforts.