Leave the house. Take the evidence. Go back to the FO and report to State, he thought robotically.
And Cummings did just that. He redonned his gloves, grabbed a cardboard box from a random shelf. He took a boot off the body of Travis Clyde Tuckton, grabbed the power-drill still fitted with the 3-inch holesaw, grabbed the kitchen knife, and put it all in the box. Then he took it all out to the car and drove back to the Russell County BATF Field Office.
........
The drive back left him stunned—or, not so much the drive, but his musings. Talk about a busy day. I killed four men in a handful of hours, he reminded himself at the wheel. The Route opened up, passed endless cornfields and slat-gapped barns. But only two of the dead men mattered. Tuckton and Martin.
The head-humpers.
It was a revitalization he needed. Killing two drug dealers and copping their green was one thing. But... this? In a matter of minutes, and with three shots from his duty piece, he'd solved a murder case...
Cummings parked. A state unmarked was in the lot too, and he could only guess that they were following up Beck's evidence, talking to Peerce. Save your breath, boys, he thought proudly. I just solved the case. The grotesquerie of what he'd seen was far behind him. He could deal with that later.
He walked into the FO.
"I did it, boss." he announced.
Peerce looked up from his desk.
Cummings was nearly out of breath now. "I solved the head-humping murders."
"Ya did... what?"
"Caught them in the act, saw it with my own eyes. Shot them. They were... doing it right there in the window."
"Stew—"
"Ex-con named Tuckton, and his grandfather. Had some guy right there on the table and they were... humping... his head."
"Stew, shut up a minute."
Cummings peered. "What's wrong. J.L.? I just got done telling you I solved the header murders."
Peerce spat in his proverbial cup. Only then did Cummings notice the other man in the claustrophobic office.
Hard-looking guy, tall. State uniform but he had stripes down his pants and a crest on the bill of his hat. A state captain or above...
But Cummings noticed something else.
The state officer had his gun drawn.
"This here's major Phil Straker." Peerce told him. "He's liaison officer 'tween state IAD an' narcotics."
"Narc—" But that's all Cummings could get out.
"Yer unner arrest. Stew, fer two count's'a first degree murder."
Cummings fell bolted in place.
"Not to mention." this Straker added, "obstruction of justice, complicity with known felonious criminals, misprision of a felony, the willful theft of ill-gotten gains, and possession and illegal transport of controlled dangerous substances."
"Don't even say nothin', Stew. They got'cha cold," Peerce said. On his desk was a portable field VCR. Peerce turned it on, toned up the tiny screen.
My God. Cummings thought.
There, right there on the screen. Cummings saw himself, placing first the gym bag and then 10 bags of cocaine into the trunk of his federal car...
"That's two counts of murder. Agent Cummings." Strakcr spoke up again, "but one of the men you murdered was a state police officer."
"Dutch," Cummings murmured.
"That's right. He was a state narcotics plant working a sting. We had cameras inside and one outside, for tag numbers. The cameras inside, of course, burned up in the fire you set. But the one outside..."
Straker's free hand bid the VCR screen. On it, Cummings was driving away.
"You're fucked, Stew" Peerce said. "You're an asshole."
"The murder of a police officer," Straker was kind enough to embellish, "as you probably know, carries a mandatory sentence of death in this state."
I'm caught. Cummings thought simply. I'm dead.
But he wasn't dead yet, was he?
"Stew, unholster yer piece an' set it on my desk. Real slow like."
Straker had his own piece on him. I'm not going down, Cummings thought. I'd rather punch out now than spend a decade years getting butt-fucked in the can while my appeals run out.
Cummings, very slowly, set his service revolver on Peerce's desk.
"Good boy," Straker said.
Cummings shrugged, then, in an instant, lashed his hands out, remembering the pistol-disarm technique they'd taught him in the army. His hands wrapped around Straker's gun, pushed away—
BAM!
The bullet grazed his side but he didn't even feel it.
"Goddamn it. Stew, don't'cha even—"
The automaton again. Cummings had disarmed Straker in less than one full second, had the guy's piece in his hand.
Straker, though shit-scared, tried to maintain his authority. "Don't be stupid. Cummings. You can plea-bargain your way out maybe. You can say you killed them in self-defense and were bringing the money and the coke back here. But if you kill us. you're finished."
BAM!
BAM-BAM!
He took out Peerce first, a clean headshot, then punched Straker's ticket with a double-tap in the 5x. a heartshot. Blood jetted out of the holes a good three feet. Peerce lay limp in his office chair, the back of his head emptied.
Brown tobacco juice drooled as a single rope from the comer of his mouth.
Cummings head was ticking: the swamp rat was back, whipping more circles, trying to find a way out.
Be cool, he ordered himself, though that was not particularly easy considering he'd killed six men today, three of them police officers. What's done is done. Don’t freak out.
Think.
Plea bargain? No way. He'd already dumped the cocaine. No judge would buy it. He'd done the only thing he could do to preserve his own life. The way he saw it, he had maybe an hour lead before anyone found the bodies, more if he was lucky. He'd have to pinch a car, blow over the state line, then steal more cars along the way till he got to Mexico. There was no other way.
After all, he still had over all that money in his trunk.
Out of here.
He didn't even take a final look around. He left the VCR; surely Straker wasn't the only state narc who'd seen the surveillance tape. So he got into his car and drove.
Take the Route to 23. Best to stay off the intestate. They'd have an AΡΒ out on his car soon, so he'd have to steal something quick, and abduct the owner so the car wouldn't be reported stolen. Who knew? But—
What am I doing? He decelerated, then pulled a U.
Kath...
He couldn't just disappear. He owed her an explanation, at least. And the money? He'd leave her half, to keep her on her feet and pay her pharmacy bills. Hell, even half of the cash. U.S. greenbacks, would last a long time in Mexico. But it wasn't just that—
I've got to— Suddenly Cummings, a cold-blooded murderer, a cop killer, was in tears.
I've got to see her one last time...
In one afternoon he'd destroyed his entire life. And the only good thing that remained in that life was Kath. My God What have I done?
There could be no point in deliberating regrets, no logic in reconsideration. It was a cruel world, and sometimes people had to do cruel things. Ripping off the money, killing Dutch and Spaz? It was either that or live in squalor, weighed down by Kath's medical bills. They both deserved better than that. All he wanted was enough to get by. It was the chance he had to take, and the whole thing went sour. From the beginning, he'd never had a choice.