Stuart Woods - Heat

Affirmative noises came from all three men.

Black got out and rapped on the driver’s window of the Lincoln, and as it came down he found himself looking into the face of a plump, pretty blonde woman. “Hit your trunk release,” he said. He turned to his companions. “I want all three of you in the trunk.”

“What?” Brown asked, incredulous.

“They’re looking for four men in a van, not a woman and a man in a Lincoln. Don’t worry, it’s a big trunk.”

The three men got out of their boiler suits and arranged themselves in the trunk; Black tossed his suit into the trunk along with his bag, tucked his pistol into his waistband and closed the lid. He got into the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. “All right, let’s go,” he said. “I’ll give you directions.”

The woman turned toward him. “Did everything go all right?”

“Shut up and look straight ahead,” Black said. “Have you forgotten your instructions?”

The woman snapped her head around. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s move it, then! Don’t turn your lights on yet; drive to the corner of the building and stop.”

The woman obeyed, sitting quietly while he looked up and down the street.

“All right, turn right out of the parking lot; twenty-five miles an hour, no more.”

The woman followed his instructions. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. “I was about to leave.”

“I’m not going to tell you again to shut up,” Black said. “If you speak again, I’ll throw you out of the car. Do you have your story straight if we’re stopped? Nod your head.”

She nodded.

He finally seemed to have gotten through to her. He began to concentrate on giving her directions.

Half an hour later they crossed a bridge to the island and immediately turned left at a sign for the airport. “Stop here,” he said. He opened the glove compartment and pressed the trunk release button, then got out of the car. His three companions were extricating themselves from their cramped positions and stretching their limbs. One of them took their equipment from the trunk.

“Hey, we made it!” White said, seeing the airport sign. “Good going, Chief Casey!”

Casey opened his mouth to yell at the man; then he saw the woman. She had gotten out of the car and was standing at the rear bumper, looking at them. “Partain,” he said, “you are one stupid son of a bitch.” He pulled the pistol from his belt and raked the woman across the head with the silencer. She went down with no more than a sigh.

“What did you do that for?” Gray asked.

“I did it because she was stupid enough to see all of our faces, and because Partain, here, stupid as he is, told her my name! Now get that bitch into the front seat of the car.”

“What are we going to do with her?” Partain asked.

“What do you think?” Casey said. “Get behind the wheel. You two guys wait here.” He got into the backseat. “Drive back down to the bridge and stop just before you get to it.”

Partain did as he was told. Casey got out and pulled the limp woman into the driver’s position. He turned the steering wheel to the right, put on the emergency brake and put the transmission in drive. He moved the woman’s right leg until her foot rested on the accelerator, pressing lightly on the petal. The car revved slightly and strained against the parking brake. He turned to Partain. “Come here.”

Partain walked over. “Yeah?”

“Release the parking brake,” Casey said.

Partain scratched his head, stepped forward and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled the control that released the brake. The car jerked forward and began to move toward the side of the road.

As it passed, Casey slammed the driver’s door. The car left the road, gaining speed, and started down the slope of the bridge approach, knocking down small pine trees as it went. At the bottom of the incline the car went over a small cliff and flew through the air toward the narrows. There was a loud splash and white foam spread across the black water.

Casey stood and watched as the waters quieted. Then the Lincoln popped to the surface, or nearly so. The roof could be seen as the car drifted away from the bridge with the current.

“It’s not going to sink!” Partain cried.

“It’s going to sink,” Casey said. “If not here, then down a little ways. The farther from the bridge, the better.” As he watched, bubbles spilled from the cabin, and the car slowly sank from sight. “There,” he said. “They won’t find her for a while.”

The two men trudged back up the hill and joined their two companions. It was a few minutes’ walk to the airport. They skirted the building where the night attendant was and boarded the Cessna, tossing their bags into the luggage compartment with the empty jerry cans. Casey worked his way through the checklist deliberately; he could not allow himself to rush. The engine started quickly, and Casey taxied onto the runway, turning upwind. He pushed the throttle all the way forward; the airplane started its roll, and in a moment, they were airborne.

As they climbed away from the field the lights of Seattle appeared in the distance. Near the center of the city, Casey could see a large fire burning.

“Wow, look at that,” Partain said from the backseat. “We must have ignited a gas main.”

Casey stayed under a thousand feet until they were clear of the Seattle Terminal Control Area, then he began his climb and pointed the Cessna east, toward Idaho. All that remained for him to do on arrival was to remove the taped-on, fake registration number from the side of the airplane and reapply the original numbers.

That, and beat the shit out of Partain, he mused.

Jesse left work on Monday afternoon and drove into town. He parked his truck, picked up a Boise paper at the drugstore and walked down to the police station. A young officer was manning the reception desk.

“Hi, I’m Jesse Barron,” he said to the officer. “Chief Casey is expecting me; will you tell him I’m here?”

Pat Casey gave him a wave from his glass-enclosed office, took his hat from a hook and walked into the reception area. “How you doing, Jesse?” he asked shaking his guest’s hand. “Ready for your meeting?”

“Sure,” Jesse said. He followed Casey outside and into a patrol car. Casey backed out and drove toward the church.

“You know, Pat, that’s a real impressive station you’ve got there. Not what you’d expect to see in a small town.”

“You’re right about that, pal; we’ve got all the latest computer stuff, and we can plug into any of half a dozen law enforcement networks with a few keystrokes. My squad cars have got computer equipment, too. You know, Jesse, I ran a check on you the day you hit town.”

Jesse tried to look surprised. “No kidding? You’re a careful man, Pat.”

“I try to be.”

“And what did you find out?”

“That you’re not a liar. You know, I thought about offering you a job on the force, but you moved up so fast at Wood Products that I couldn’t afford you now.”

“You think I’d make a cop?” Jesse asked.

“I think so. You’re a smart guy, and you’ve got guts; you showed that when you took on a guy the size of Phil Partain.”

Jesse shrugged and unfolded his newspaper.

“What’s in the news?”

“Looks like somebody took out another abortion clinic,” Jesse replied, scanning the story. “That’s the fourth one in a month, and it’s okay with me.” He could feel Casey’s gaze on him.

“You against abortion?”

“Murdering babies? Damn straight, I am. I had three girls, you know, and the second two were big surprises. I wouldn’t have stopped either one of them for anything.”