P Deutermann - Spider mountain

“How do I know ye ain’t trickin’ on me?”

“Because we want her back, Lucas. And we can get the five thousand-we’re the cops. Five thousand doesn’t mean squat to us. And we don’t have to go to any bank to get it. Besides, our fight’s not with you-it’s with the Creighs. We’re gonna have us a war, Lucas. You want to be part of that, or do you want five thousand bucks, cash money, right now, and the chance to get out of Robbins County for good? Who else but the cops can do that for you?”

There was a long silence on the line this time. I decided to wait him out. It was a simple enough proposition, and we each stood to gain.

“Midnight tonight,” he said. “Mess with me, I’ll cut her damn throat. Best believe that.”

“I do believe it, Lucas. Like I said, our fight’s not with you. You were just paid to do a job of work. Didn’t pan out. So now we both get to make it right and get on with business. Midnight. We’ll be there.”

“Awright then,” he said and hung up.

“Damned hotel PBX system,” King growled. “Blocked the trace. Good work on your end, though.”

“We can get the money from Sheriff Hayes’s office,” I said. “He’ll have a buy-money stash. Then-”

“‘We’ is not the operative word,” King said. “‘We’ means us, not you. It’s our girl missing, and we will go meet this guy and get her back or bring him back in a rubber bag. You are still beat to shit from the morning, so you are going to stay put.”

I sat back in my chair and just looked at him. I knew that what he was saying made sense. He had the authority to execute the swap, and the means to put up the proper surveillance and backup nets.

“You know I’m right on this,” he said with a weary smile.

“Yeah, but.”

“I understand. But let us do our jobs. We know she’s alive, for the moment anyway, and if we can get her back for five grand, we will have dodged a large bullet. You stay put. We don’t need any stray operators in the mix right now. We get her back, we’ll call you and you can go see her in the hospital, okay?”

Much as I wanted to go along, Lucas wouldn’t know me from Adam. He wanted his money, and probably wanted to put some distance between him and his prisoner now that he knew she was a cop. I agreed. “Can she have her mamba stick back?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That belongs to the state; she no longer does.”

King left to round up his team and make arrangements. I went out front and took the shepherds. We watched them go. Gelber still looked angry, but I now suspected he was one of those guys who always looks angry. I spotted the county cruiser Hayes had promised sitting out in a corner of the parking lot and walked over to shoot the breeze with the deputy. To my surprise, it turned out to be one of the Big brothers.

“I see you’ve got a new job these days,” I said.

Bigger John grinned and stubbed out his cigarette.

“Does M. C. know you hired on over here?”

“Don’t reckon,” he rumbled. “But he will.”

“I never thanked you guys for saving my bacon the other night,” I told him.

“That done it for us,” he replied. “Them Creighs is outta hand. They find that Harper girl?”

I had to think for a moment before remembering Harper was Carrie’s maiden name. “SBI’s got an angle, going to work it tonight,” I said. “Did you know her before she left for Charlotte?”

He shook his head. “Wasn’t born yet. But Mingo-he knew her. Said her old man had been a problem once upon a time, but not no longer.”

He lit up another cigarette and blew a big cloud of aromatic smoke out into the night air. It momentarily made me want to go back to the noxious weed. A car came by us going into the parking lot, and two kids in the back were staring at us as they went past.

“We have a pretty good line on Agent Santangelo,” I said. “Some guy named Lucas wants to trade her for cash money.”

“Might be Lucas Carr,” John said. “He’s done some stick work for M. C. from time to time.”

I didn’t have to ask what stick work was. “Have you ever heard any rumors about Grinny Creigh and children in the county?” I asked him.

“Other than she cooks ’em and eats ’em?” he asked.

“Yeah, besides that. Something maybe worse.”

He didn’t say anything for a long minute, just kept puffing on his cigarette. It looked like a white toothpick in his massive paw.

“We did a road scrape once,” he said finally. “You know, one’a them real messy MVAs? Old boy had drove himself into a tree on a bad curve. His bottom half was puddled up a coupl’a feet from his top half. The top half was still alive, talkin’, like nothin’ had happened.”

“Adrenaline’s amazing stuff,” I said.

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed. “So’re seat belts. Boy couldn’t see he’d done been cut right in half. He was goin’ on, mile-a-minnit, sayin’ he had to do surgery, that he was a doc, and he was late. He didn’t look like no doc, more like one’a them ay-rabs. Wasn’t no way we could move’m or help’m, so we let him talk, just kinda waitin’ for him to bleed down. Couldn’t’ve got’m out without a backhoe, you know what I mean? I asked him where he was goin’ in such a damn hurry.”

“And?”

“Said he had to git to the county hospital here in Marionburg. Kept jabberin’ on about how late he was. Other boy with me, he asked’m who was he cuttin’ on. Said he had to do surgery on a kid. By now, he was nose down and goin’ fast. Other boy asked him, what kid. Said one’a them kids over to Miz Creigh’s place.” John glanced up at me to see if I’d heard the important bit.

“Kids? As in plural?”

He nodded. “Kids. At Grinny Creigh’s place.” He ruminated on that notion for a moment before continuing. “Now, there ain’t been no kids to go anywhere near that Grinny Creigh’s place for some time, not after hearin’ the old folks around Robbins County talk about her boilin’ babies by moonlight an’ all. Anyway, M. C. shows up. Wasn’t unusual-he always comes out when we get a bad MVA.”

He took a final drag on the hapless cigarette and pitched it. “You know what?” he continued. “I b’lieve he knew that fella. M. C. got there just about the time this so-called doctor crossed Jordan. M. C., he tells us to go back on patrol, he’s takin’ over the scene. Called some other deputies in, called the funeral home over here in Marionburg. Last we heard of it.”

“When was this?”

“Three years back,” he said. “If there’s any paperwork, M. C.’s got it in them private files of his.”

“Fatality on the highway, the state cops do the investigation,” I pointed out. “The state police reconstruction team comes in. They close the road, make a big deal.”

“Not if they don’t hear nothin’ about it,” he said calmly.

I leaned back on the left front fender of the cruiser and thought about this little story. One among many about Robbins County.

Stories. Unfortunately, that was about all we had. Stories and flashes of mortal violence in the night that seemed to evaporate in the cold light of day. What in the hell would a foreign doctor be doing up here? I’d seen one last night, but no locals would want an Asian or any other kind of foreigner working on them-they’d call in a woods healer first. But kids, plural, at Grinny’s place? This would interest Carrie, along with what I’d overheard, a lot. I told him that Sam King would want to talk to them both.

Bigger John was watching two teenaged boys lounging around an expensive German car, trying to pretend they weren’t checking out something interesting inside. John turned on the cruiser’s headlights and caught them square. They put their hands in front of their faces, moved away from the car, and then sauntered back toward the main lodge as if nothing had happened. I heard the radio crackle into life inside the cruiser. John bent forward to listen and then grunted.