Michael McGarrity - Hermit_s Peak

"Do you know Gloria's married name?"

The old man shook his head.

"But she lives in Anton Chico."

"Where is Perfecta's place?"

"On the highway to Santa Rosa. The truck is parked next to the barn."

"I didn't see it on the way in."

"You can't. A hill blocks it from view. You have to be driving back to Santa Rosa to see her place from the highway."

"How far?" Thorpe asked.

"Two miles. It's just before the road curves around the mesa. You'll see it."

"Thanks."

Russell keyed the radio as he left the community center and made contact with Art Garda.

"You were supposed to be back a half hour ago," Garda said after acknowledging Thorpe's call.

"I may have located Aland's truck."

"When will you know for sure?" Garda asked sarcastically.

Thorpe took the first turn after the bridge at sixty miles an hour.

"About one minute."

"Standing by," Garda said.

Thorpe floored his unit along a straightaway, braked through a gradual curve, saw Perfecta's barn and Aland's rig, and slowed down.

"Truck in sight."

"Can you positively ID the rig?"

"Give me a minute." Russell rolled to a stop, reached for his binoculars, and focused on the lettering on the driver's door.

"It's Aland's. He's got the trailer unhitched from his cab. Looks like he's planning to leave it here."

"Give me an exact location."

Thorpe snapped off directions into the microphone.

"What should I do if he tries to leave?"

"Stop him when he gets on the highway. If nobody moves, stay put.

Sergeant Melendez is responding. ETA ten minutes. Sergeant Gonzales is rolling now. Good work, Thorpe."

Ten-four."

Smiling to himself, Russell parked his unit, left the engine running, and scanned the farmhouse. All looked quiet. As he lowered the binoculars, his radio crackled and Melendez's voice came over the speaker.

"ETA five minutes. Is everything cool?"

"Roger that. Nothing's moving. Do we have a search warrant?"

"Not yet. Art Garcia is enroute to magistrate court."

"Ten-four."

Melendez clicked off and Russell settled back to wait.

Lenny Aland watched the cops from the living room window. For twenty minutes, two police cars had been parked at the end of his mother-in-law's driveway. At first Lenny told himself the cops were just taking a break and shooting the shit. Now his gut ached with the feeling that he was about to be busted.

Lenny didn't think of himself as a criminal. He wasn't a wife-beater, a drunk, or a bad-ass, and he'd never been in jail. He was forty-eight years old and had spent most of his adult life on the road, hauling whatever he could on a for-hire basis. Only a fraction of his runs consisted of hauling stolen merchandise, but the work netted him the biggest portion of his income. Without it he'd be scraping along, driving a piece of shit rig, trying to live on 15,000 dollars a year.

He took his eyes off the cops for a moment and glanced at his truck. A top-of-the-line model with a sleeping compartment and all the accessories, it had set him back over 150,000 dollars. It was midnight blue with stainless steel grillwork, a chrome bumper, custom running lights at the top of the cab, primo mud flaps, and fancy cherry red pinstriping. It was his pride and joy. But with the cargo in the box, it was about to become a big time liability.

He snorted and rubbed his belly where the gas pressure had built up. He was about to get hammered by the cops because of Rudy Espinoza's stupidity. If he hadn't murdered Carl Boaz, the cops wouldn't be here.

He switched his attention back to the cop cars just as another unit drove up, and Lenny knew for sure his goose was cooked.

Gloria, his wife, stood by his side nervously biting a fingernail. She knew exactly how he made his money.

He'd married Gloria eight years ago when she still had a slender figure and a young-looking face. Then she hit forty and her body got wide, her face got fat and her arms got flabby. Lenny didn't care; he was no prize himself.

"Are they coming here?" Gloria asked.

"What do you think?"

"Don't snap at me."

Lenny grunted.

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

"Can't we leave?"

"They'll just stop us on the road."

"Think of something."

"Like what?"

"Maybe they're not here for us."

"Yeah, right," Lenny said.

"See the cop standing behind his car. He's got binoculars trained on the house."

The senior citizen meal delivery van came down the highway with a turn signal blinking. The cop with the binoculars halted the vehicle, talked to the driver for a minute, and sent him on his way.

"We're screwed," Lenny said.

"Take your mother to the kitchen."

"I don't want to go to jail, Lenny."

"You don't know anything about my business, understand? Tell them you came along for the ride to keep me company, and don't know nothing."

"What about you?"

"I'll get a lawyer."

A fourth patrol car drove up.

"Shit!" Lenny said.

"Is it time for my meal?" Perfecta asked.

Lenny grimaced in the direction of his mother-in-law, who stood in the middle of the living room, her hands clasped on the rails of a walker.

A stroke had left her partially paralyzed, and her mind was mostly mush.

She barely knew who she was. Except when Gloria came to visit, the old lady had a live-in assistant, who cost Lenny a pile of money to employ.

"Take her into the kitchen," Lenny repeated, just as the phone rang.

Gloria picked it up, listened for a moment, and held it out with a shaky hand.

"I hope they bring me lamb chops and peas today," Perfecta said.

"And peaches."

Gloria gave Lenny a scared look, went to her mother, and walked her through the kitchen door.

"Yeah," Lenny said into the phone.

"This is Sergeant Gonzales with the New Medco State Police, Lenny. Who is inside the house besides your wife and mother-in-law?"

"Nobody. What do you want?"

"We're here to serve a warrant. I want you to step outside the house and stand in plain view with your hands where I can see them. Are there any guns in the house?"

"No."

"Are you armed?"

"No."

"Hang up the phone and step outside. Stay calm and nobody gets hurt."

On the porch step with his hands palms out and open, Lenny watched the four police cars come up the driveway. The front unit rolled to a stop and a uniformed sergeant with a stubby chin and square face got out of his cruiser and stood behind the car door.

Behind him, three officers emerged from their units with guns drawn.

"What's this all about?" Lenny asked.

Gabe studied Lenny before responding. Aland wore a work shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots that added an inch to his five seven frame. A full mustache covered his upper lip, and deep worry lines creased his low forehead.

His hands were shaking.

Gabe didn't see any bulges in Lenny's clothing. He made a circular motion with his finger.

"Very slowly,

Lenny, I want you to make one complete turn and then stop. Keep your hands away from your body."

Lenny finished the turn to find two of the cops within striking distance. One held a gun on him while a baby-faced officer patted him down.

"He's clean," the baby-faced cop said as he tossed Lenny's truck keys to Gabe.

"Check inside," Gabe ordered.

The cops moved into the house as Gabe walked to Lenny, smiled, and handed him some papers.

Lenny couldn't focus on the document.

"What's this?"

"You want me to read it to you?"

"No."

"What's inside your trailer, Lenny?"

"You tell me."

"How about a truckload of stolen goodies from Texas?" Gabe asked.

"I don't know nothing about that."

Gabe took the papers out of Lenny's hand and waved them in his face.