Finally! As he began to breathe again, the shooter was trying to get a clue from the ballistic Shepherd in the adjacent yard as to the intruder’s location. Then something else attracted his eye and he gave up on the dog. It was the hose! Warfield could make out the stubby shotgun hanging at the end of the man’s arm as he moved around to the hose. When the shooter stepped into the edge of the mud hole, Warfield reached for an ankle and jerked. The shooter’s arms flew up in an attempt to maintain balance and Warfield heard the gun fire.
Warfield figured he’d been shot but felt no new pain yet. The shooter was under the water with him now but had lost control of the shotgun. Warfield grabbed it and pressed the end of the barrel into the shooter’s chest. When he cleared the mud from his eyes he saw that the gun was no longer necessary. Blood poured from what had been the shooter’s neck. When he had accidentally fired the shotgun it had blown the front half of his head away.
Warfield threw the shotgun to the ground, disgusted, having lost the opportunity to find out from this goon who was behind the attack. As he expected, the man had no I.D. on him.
Other dogs were barking by then but Warfield didn’t know whether they were yard dogs or if he were being hunted down. He was a threat now, to Quinn at least, and it had come to this. As unbelievable as it seemed, Warfield had been marked by the director of the CIA. Quinn’s man or men thought he was at his condo because his car was parked in the driveway. When they realized they didn’t get him, they went for him in the open, right on the street. Warfield had survived, but now an innocent man was dead, as well as this thug and the one he’d shot in the Mercedes.
The rain was heavier now and the wind stronger. The temperature was in the mid-sixties but Warfield was chilled from the rain and mud. He’d emptied Leroy’s gun into the Mercedes and left it in the truck, and he had no shells for the shotgun. He kicked it into the mud hole. It was time to go, but he heard the police and emergency vehicles coming from the vicinity of Leroy’s truck. He had to get out of there before they blocked off the area.
“Ready, Ms. Koronis?” Marybeth asked. Ana had made friends with the red-haired guard.
“He’s here?”
“They called up for you. Excited?”
A crooked smile hit Ana’s lips. “Don’t exactly know how I feel, Marybeth, but I don’t think it’s bad.” She took a last look in the mirror. Marybeth had sneaked her some drugstore makeup. She fidgeted with her hair.
“You’re lookin’ good, Ms. Koronis. Too bad it’s raining, this bein’ your first time out in a while. And you’re not gonna believe that wind.”
Minutes later Ana signed some papers at the desk of Captain Aubrey Holden and noticed Austin Quinn’s signature was already on them. “Where is he?”
Holden nodded toward a deputy waiting outside his office. “Sergeant Brighton there will walk you down to the garage.”
As they walked away, Holden said, “Don’t forget to come back.”
Ana wondered how many times Holden had used the line. Two floors down, Brighton led her across the basement to the black SUV. Quinn saw them coming and got out to greet her.
“Ana.”
She smiled somewhat apprehensively. “Austin.”
He pulled her to him. They embraced like siblings might, and talked for a few seconds as Brighton stood nearby. As soon as the SUV was off the jail premises she told Quinn she wanted to stop for a minute. The driver pulled over and Ana jumped out, raised her arms to the sky and turned her face to the driving rain. She stood like that for maybe thirty seconds before lowering her arms to shoulder level and winging like a graceful eagle exploring the skies. Her hair and clothes were soaked when she got back in. Raindrops ran down her cheeks, taking her new makeup with it.
Warfield’s most urgent need was transportation out of the neighborhood. The Mercedes with the first dead gunman still inside was not an option. He slogged through the soaked yards several lots further north, somewhat obscured by the rain and low clouds, and spotted an old Ford Thunderbird in a driveway. He had it wired in seconds and drove north then east and then south again to avoid the intersection where Leroy’s truck was sitting. Police hadn’t blocked off all the streets yet and he made it out of the neighborhood without being stopped.
The T-bird began sputtering minutes later and Warfield wheeled into a motel parking lot and coasted around the end of the building to a secluded lot partially filled with run-down cars. The stained sign on the roof of the old building read, “Clean Rooms By The Hour.” The round, seventyish woman behind the counter looked up at Warfield through eyes whose whites had long ago turned brown. She made no move to get out of her chair.
When Warfield pushed a soggy twenty-dollar bill across the worn Formica top she took a slow drag off the Camel cigarette she was smoking and surveyed the mud that covered him from top to bottom. At last she managed herself out of her chair, waddled to the counter and gave him a key stamped with the number 6, and a sheaf of ones she retrieved from her skirt as change.
It hit him that she was going to call the police as soon as he walked out. Dopers and hookers were the norm. Muddy and bloody hair and clothes were another thing. His eyes caught hers as he left the ones on the bar, figuring he was the first person to make eye-contact with her in years, and the only one who’d ever left a tip. Maybe she would think about it long enough for him to get out of there. All he needed were a few short minutes.
He’d lost his cell phone in the mud but found a pay phone nearby and dialed Paula Newnan’s direct line. He’d spotted a Jiffy Lube oil change place down the street and told her to meet him there. “Soon as you can. Make it quick!”
When Warfield entered Room 6 the stale odors, dingy carpet and frayed bedspread reminded him of the quality of life experienced by those who were relegated to places like this. He took a shower, washed his clothes in the bathtub, wrung them out as much as possible and put them back on wet. Wet clothes would look normal on a day like today. He trotted along the back streets to the Jiffy Lube and was waiting when Paula arrived. They had the customer area to themselves.
“This better be good, Cameo. I don’t usually come to this part of town without a gun. And I didn’t need an oil change.”
“Listen, Paula. They’re trying to take me out. This has to be quick. I need—”
“Take you…who? For what?” she stage-whispered. Her eyes were saucer-size. “My God, you’re putting too much heat on somebody!”
“Quinn. Or maybe he convinced Fullwood I’m a problem that needs solving. Fullwood wouldn’t be hard to convince. Either way, I’m a target.”
“You think Quinn—”
“Yes.”
“You’ve seen them, these people who are trying to kill you?”
“They bombed my condo last night! When they realized I wasn’t inside, they chased me down and tried to shoot me and they killed a Samaritan who was trying to help me. Somebody’s going to pay for him if nothing else.”
“Oh, God.” Paula took a second to digest it all. “Out in the open? Come on, Cam, this can’t be happening!”
“These guys weren’t wearing coats and ties, Paula.”