I had a Diet Coke. To prove I was serious.
As we sat down, I gestured about me with my fork. "Must be nice… I mean, so this is where they send you when they're mad at you… I mean, when Lamar gets mad at me, I end up standing out in the rain, up to my ankles in hog manure."
We showed her the photos. She looked at George, quizzically. "You've seen him?"
"No. But I've seen photographs. This looks like the same man, but… but… yes, I think it's him."
"So," asked Hester, "what are you guys going to do about it?"
"I've been told to wait," said George. "At least until we can fix his location in real time."
"How are you going to do that?" I really wanted to know.
"Beats me."
Lamar took a deep breath. "I know better than to go rushing in there… maybe better than any of you. But I don't want this son of a bitch walking away again." He glared at us. "Not again." He spoke to George. "You got any guarantee that he won't just walk away?"
George pursed his lips. "No, Lamar. He won't walk away this time."
I wished I knew how he could be so certain about that. Judging from the look on her face, so did Hester.
19
When we got back to the office, I'd fully expected to see Volont. Lamar picked up his messages. "Our friend Volont is out tailing Linda Grossman," he said. "Thinks she'll lead him to our boy."
"You're kidding… he really doesn't know where Gabriel is, does he?"
"Doesn't look like it. I hope he's really good at following somebody in the open country…"
We'd found that the urban folks were pretty funny when it came to tailing people in rural areas. They were used to congested traffic. Out here, when you and your quarry were the only two vehicles on the road, it was a bit tougher to remain inconspicuous. When you were in our hilly country, to boot, you had to be within 200 yards of your subject or you lost sight of them. With myriad intersections, farm lanes, and field entrances, if you lost 'em for more than a few seconds, you could lose them completely. The best way was to have a good estimate of their destination, and get to a spot where you could see some of the roadway from a distance. Spot-check. Actually, following was out of the question, unless you knew for certain where they were headed. If you knew that, there was no real point in following them at all. Just go where they were headed, and wait.
"You want to guess what else?" asked Lamar.
"What else?"
"He's got Art with him."
"You've got to be kidding me… he's briefed Art?"
"Yep. I guess he feels that with Art with DCI now, he don't need us to help him get around the county."
"Great. Just fuckin' great. Art ain't ready for this." I just shook my head. "Christ." Saying "Christ" brought the image of Art following Volont to the gates of hell. "Volont just got a disciple," I said. "Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Art."
Lamar chuckled. "That's funny."
"You think he's really gonna hit five banks at the same time?" I looked at the map of the county on the wall behind him. "Doesn't make sense to me."
It really didn't. With the wormy roads, the small banks, the smaller take… it was folly to try that. With a "team" he'd put together from locals, it was worse than that. Three of the banks had large vaults with time locks. Unless you were pretty good at cracking safes, you'd have to hit the bank during business hours if you wanted to get anything to speak of. Even then… $10,000.00 wasn't much, for the effort, the risk, even the equipment.
"Cletus escaped yet?"
"What?" I'd caught him thinking about something else.
"Cletus ain't busy, is he?" I laughed.
He wasn't, but his attorney had spent the night at the local motel, and had already convinced the judge that Cletus needed a bond reduction hearing. Lamar was to have Cletus in court in about fifteen minutes.
"I'd sure like to talk to Cletus about those little 'training sessions' Gabriel's been giving." I looked out the window. I couldn't talk to Cletus, naturally, without his attorney being present. No real problem. It gave me time for a long coffee break.
I grabbed a cup, and stood at the window overlooking the parking lot and the town below. The sky was bright blue, and it looked almost like spring. It was still below freezing, but relief was on the way. In a few days, we'd be back in the deep freeze. All the warm interlude would have accomplished was to make the gravel roads a little harder to drive, with the mud tracks becoming hard as iron when they refroze. But it was nice, anyway.
Lamar and Cletus came down the hall from the cell block, Cletus in his orange coverall and handcuffed in front. Lamar was limping a little more than usual. Changes in the weather really did affect his leg.
I went out to my car, unlocked it, and started the engine. We'd transport Cletus in my car, and I wanted it warmed up. I left the engine running, and came back in to grab my vest. I met Lamar and Cletus at the door. "I'll be right with you," I said, walking into the secretaries' office to get my vest off the hangers.
I got it, and as I turned, I saw them descending the wooden steps toward the parking lot. Lamar in the middle of the steps, Cletus on the right, near the rail. That way, handcuffed as he was, Cletus was supported on both sides if he started to slip. Suddenly, Lamar froze, and Cletus turned to his left, and just about knocked Lamar over as he stumbled into him. Then I saw one of the wooden posts supporting the porch roof just split in half. No noise. Just splintered and split. It was like slow motion.
Lamar hollered, "Carl!" and tried to grab Cletus and haul him back up the stairs. Cletus, with his balance already thrown off, wasn't able to use his hands well enough to grab the railing, lost his footing, and started to tumble down the steps. Lamar reached down for him, and the porch floor behind him erupted in splinters.
Bullets. Those were bullets. I tried to get my coffee cup on the counter as I hurried by, missed, and drenched the carpet. Judy yelped, totally unaware of what was happening outside.
I flew out the front door, just in time to see Lamar and Cletus falling in a heap at the foot of the steps. I started toward them and the pillar next to me made a thump-cracking sound, like it had been struck with a large hammer, and splinters smacked into my left cheek and shoulder. I ducked, and saw the sidewalk ahead of Lamar start to puff in several places as rounds struck it. I jumped down the steps, slipped, wrenched my damn back again, and almost fell on Lamar. I grabbed Cletus just as Lamar got back on his feet.
"Behind the cars," he gasped, and we started dragging Cletus through the wet slush toward the line of parked cars out in the lot. I thought Cletus had been hit, and fleetingly wondered if he'd die on us.
Just as we got to the first car, there was a thunking sound, as if you'd hit it with a golf ball. Several golf balls. Dust flew from under the fenders, and one of the tires went flat with a bang.
We kept dragging Cletus, to the second car, and then the third. We heaved him up to the front of the fourth, and collapsed behind him.
I grabbed my walkie-talkie. "Comm, ten-thirty-three, ten-thirty-three, shots fired, parking lot!"
One of the newer dispatchers was on duty, I think her name was Grace. "Ten-nine?" 10-9 means for you to repeat your traffic.
"This is Three, this is ten-thirty-three, somebody is shooting at us in the parking lot!" I gasped for breath. "Get assistance!"
The golf balls started up again, working toward us. Plunk, plunk, bang, plunk. A tire.
"Where is that fucker?"
"Can't tell…" I couldn't, either. Nor was I about to stick my head up and look. I could hear the dispatcher say something on the order of "Three… thirty-three… uh… courthouse… I think…"