"We could grab a boat from somebody," Sloan said.
"I'd give ten bucks to see that note he got from the picnic table."
"With your money, you could do better," Sloan said. "Hey. He's slowing down. Goddamn, he's turning around right where we did."
"Go on past," Lucas said. He sat up a bit and saw the silver Benz turning in the gravel parking lot outside the building painted with the cowboy boots. Sloan pulled into the next parking lot, a marina, and found a space with two cars between them and Dunn.
"Goddamnit," Lucas said. He put his hand to his forehead.
Subject has stopped. Subject has stopped. Five, are you on him?
We see him, we're proceeding into parking lot down the street.
"The whole fuckin' lot's gonna be full of cops," Sloan said. "That must be them." A dark Ford bumped into the lot, and Lucas could see that it was full of adult-sized heads.
"Can you see the name of that place?" Lucas asked. "Where he's at?"
"No light," Sloan said. Across the street, Dunn was getting out of his car. He looked up at the boot store and started toward it, ponderously. He carried a briefcase and slumped with it, as though it weighed a hundred pounds.
Lucas picked up the federal radio. "This is Davenport. We're in the same parking lot with your guys. If he tries to go into that building, I'm going to stop him. We need you to spread your people out on the street, set up a net and look at faces, see if you can spot Mail. He's around here."
Dumbo was sputtering. "Davenport, you stay the heck out of here. You stay out of here, we've got it under control."
Sloan was looking at him curiously, and said, "Lucas, I don't think…"
"Fuck me, fuck me," Lucas said. He pushed open the door.
"Lucas!" Sloan was whispering, though Dunn was a long way away.
A concrete loading dock ran along the front of the cowboy building, and Dunn was climbing heavily up the steps at one end. The building was dark, with no sign of movement. Dunn went to the door, and Lucas climbed out of the car, radio in his hand.
Sloan said, "Lucas…"
And Lucas put the radio to his mouth and said, "I gotta stop him. Get your men out." He tossed the radio back into the car and started running, yelling at Dunn: "Dunn, Dunn! Wait. George Dunn…"
Dunn stopped, his hand on the door of the store. Lucas waved, and, glancing back, saw Sloan coming after him. "Take the back of the building," Lucas shouted. Sloan yelled something and broke off, and Lucas ran toward Dunn, who simply stood.
"Get down off of there," Lucas shouted as he came up.
"You sonofabitch," Dunn shouted back. "You've killed my kids…"
"Get out of there," Lucas yelled. He ran up the steps-saw in the dark window the barely discernible words, "Bit amp; Bridle"-and reached for his gun.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Dunn asked. His face was stretched with tension and anger.
"There's something wrong," Lucas said. "This whole thing is a setup."
"Set-up," Dunn shouted. "Set-up? You just fuckin'…" And before Lucas could stop him, Dunn turned the door knob and shoved the door open. Lucas flinched. Nothing happened. "… fuckin' killed my kids…"
Lucas pulled his.45 and stepped past Dunn into the building, groped for a light switch, found it, flicked the switch up. To his surprise, the lights came on. The store was empty, and apparently had been for some time. He was facing a long bare counter top, with vacant shelves behind it. All of it was covered with a patina of dust.
A fed ran up the steps. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at Lucas. Lucas waved him away, then said, "You oughta get out on the street and watch for Mail. He's watching this from somewhere."
"Watching what?"
"Whatever he's got going here," Lucas said. "This used to be a place called the Bit and Bridle. One of those Bible verses said something about a bit and bridle. It was all too fuckin' easy."
The fed looked around the empty room, then reached back under his jacket and pulled out a Smith amp; Wesson automatic. "You want to try that door? Or you think we should wait for the bomb squad?"
"Let's take a look," Lucas suggested. To Dunn, he said, "You wait outside."
"Yeah, bullshit."
"Wait the fuck outside," Lucas said.
Dunn dropped the briefcase and said, "You wanna find out right now if you can take me?"
"Ah, Jesus," Lucas said. He turned away from Dunn and went to a doorway that led into the back of the building. The doorway was open just an inch, and Lucas, standing well off to the back side of it, pushed it open another inch. Nothing happened. The fed moved in from the opening side, reached around the corner, groped for a minute, found the light switch, and turned it on.
The place was deadly silent until Dunn said, "There's nothing here. He's gone."
Lucas looked through the two-inch opening, saw nothing, then pushed the door open a foot, then all the way. The door opened into what looked like a storage room. A stack of shelves, covered with dust, sat against one wall. A handful of blank receipt forms was scattered over the wooden floor. A 1991 Snap-On Tool calendar still hung on a wall.
"Somebody's been here," the fed said. He pointed his Smith at the floor, at a tangled line of footprints in the dust. The prints came through another door further back. The door was open several inches. Lucas stood next to it and called out, "Mail? John Mail?"
"Who's that?" Dunn asked. "Is that the guy?"
"Yeah."
"There's a light switch," the fed said. "I'm gonna get it, watch it."
He hit the switch, and three light bulbs, scattered around the central shaft of the building, popped on. The building had been remodelled since it had last been used to store grain, and the grain storage shaft had been partitioned into storage rooms and a receiving dock. The rooms had no ceilings, but looked straight to the top of the shaft. The light inside the shaft was weak-the volume was too big for the three operable bulbs.
But in the gloom above them, something moved. They all saw it at once, and Lucas and the fed pressed back against the walls, their guns up.
"What is it?"
"Aw, Jesus," Dunn shouted, turning in his own footprints, head craned up. "It's Andi, Jesus…"
Then Lucas could see it, the body in black, the feet below it, twisting from a yellow rope at the top of the shaft. The door they had not yet tried went into the receiving dock and the main part of the shaft itself. Dunn broke toward it, hands out to stiff-arm the door…
"Wait, wait," Lucas screamed. He launched himself cross the room in a body block, caught Dunn just behind the knees, and cut him down. The fed stood frozen as they thrashed on the floor for a moment, and Lucas, gun still in one hand, trying to control it, sputtered at the fed, "Hold him, for christ sakes."
"That's Andi," Dunn groaned as the fed put away his pistol and grabbed Dunn's coat. "Let me up."
"That's not your wife," Lucas said. "That's a woman named Crosby."
"Crosby? Who's Crosby?"
"A friend of Mail's," Lucas said shortly. "We've been trying to track her, but he got to her first."
Lucas, back on his feet, holstered his pistol and went to the partially open door to the shaft. There was a slight draft through the doorway, but nothing else. Lucas reached through, found another light switch, hesitated, then flipped it on. Again, the lights worked. He looked through the crack in the door, saw nothing. No wires, nothing that might be a bomb. He gave the door a push and was ready to step through.
But the door seemed to resist for a split second, just a hair-trigger hold, and then a break, almost imperceptible, but enough that Lucas jumped back.
"What?" The FBI man was grinning at him.
"I thought I felt…" Lucas started. He put his hand out toward the door and took a step.
And was nearly knocked off his feet as the door seemed to explode a foot from his face.
Can see, he thought, his hands up in front of his face. Nothing hurts…
"What?" the fed was shouting, his gun out again, pointing at the shattered wooden door. "What? What? What was that?"