Stephen Cannell - King Con

Victoria was on her knees beside him. "It's true," she said, also trying to save Tommy's life. "The whole thing was a con."

But Joe aimed his gun right in his brother's face. "Hey, go fuck yourself, Joe," Tommy coughed at his little brother.

Victoria wasn't prepared to die, but it seemed like there was nothing she could do to save herself or any of them. She was strangely calm, almost as if this were not reality. Then a remarkable thing happened. She looked over and saw that Beano was looking at her. In that moment, through his startling blue eyes, she could see right into his soul. Despite the situation, it was a beautiful sight.

"Light 'em up," Joe said.

Beano heard the two sharpshooters pull the slides on their assault weapons. Tommy looked up into the deadly bore of Joe's revolver. It was, for a moment, as if time had slowed and was almost standing still. They heard the click of Joe's gun as he pulled the hammer back and aimed at Tommy; this was followed by a distant rumble.

"The fuck?" Reo said, as the ground started to shake. It got louder and stronger, followed by some kind of ungodly screaming…

A shiny, red, three-quarter-ton Chevy Silverado four-by-four exploded over the rim of the hill from below. It flew into the clearing, all four tires spinning loose dirt in the air. It landed hard and the whip antenna, with a red feather taped to the top, swayed back violently, almost touching the back fender. And then three more shiny lacquer-and-chrome trucks, with red feathers and Arkansan license plates, came right behind: two Dodge Rams and a Dodge Dakota Club Cab. There were albino Bateses tied with rope to the roll bars in the backs of the trucks. All of them were holding pump shotguns. Simultaneously, four Ithaca over-and-under shotguns with hand-carved stocks fired in the darkness. Red feathers whipped and swayed in the night as more trucks raced around the clearing.

Reo's two sharpshooters started firing at the trucks. Then three more crew cabs came from the other side, roaring into the clearing. The sound of hillbilly music and Confederate war cries filled the night, along with the reports of shotguns and automatic weapons fire.

During all of this, Joe turned to finish off his brother… Beano lunged at him just before he pulled the trigger. Beano's hands were pinned behind him by the plastic cuffs, but he hit Joe in the stomach with his shoulder, driving him back. They both fell in the soft dirt, but Joe scrambled up and aimed his pistol at Beano. Then, as he was seconds from death, Victoria lunged at Joe, hitting him mid-shin. He went down again, firing the gun in the air. The gun flew from his hand and skidded near the spider hole that was to have been their grave. Beano jumped up and kicked the gun down the hole. He heard it land in the darkness fifteen feet below.

Beano lost track of the commotion behind him as he lunged again at Joe, hitting him with a head-butt, letting all of his adrenaline complete the follow-through.

Joe was finally on his back, dazed. When he tried to lift himself up, he didn't seem to know where he was. There was still gunfire going on in the clearing, but it was mostly mop-up.

Doughboy had taken up a position on the high ground, but didn't count on the Hog Creek Bateses, who drove their shiny trucks right up the hill after him. He was badly outnumbered and finally threw his weapon down and surrendered, lying down on his stomach, looking up at three plastic bug shields on the trucks' shiny grilles. Bronco and Echo Bates pounded on him gleefully.

"Say uncle," Echo yelled, as he repeatedly hit the commando.

"Uncle…" the bleeding man finally said.

Beano could see that Tommy was in deep shock. "Let's get him outta here. He needs a hospital," he said, as Chevy and Cadillac Bates cut the plastic handcuffs with their skinning knives.

Beano and Cadillac lifted Tommy into the rear of the Ram truck. He was delirious now, losing consciousness. Suddenly, there were the sounds of sirens approaching from far away.

"I think we better throw the chairs in the Buick and get rollin'," Cadillac said. "Picnic's over."

The Bates family members ran to their trucks. Beano yanked Joe to his feet and handed him over to Cadillac Bates. "Sit on this movie star till it's time for his curtain call." Cadillac Bates put Joe Rina in the Silverado crew cab, next to him. Echo Bates got in beside the mobster, who now looked over at the huge albino, wondering what planet they'd all come from and who the hell they were.

"You're so gad dum pretty, I might just have ta fuck ya right here, Boy-oh," Echo Bates said and grinned, exposing two empty spaces in his gum line.

Joe feared it actually might happen.

They all left the clearing, going in different directions, not using the road. The four-wheel-drive trucks churned in low gears down the rock-strewn hillside. Beano was holding Tommy as they roared past the burning FBI satellite van. They slowed, but Grady Hunt, Denny Denniston, and the driver were all dead. The remaining FBI men were running toward them, so they didn't stop, but roared on. They had to save Tommy's life in order to save the bubble.

NOBODY KNEW WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO TOMMY OR Joe Rina. They had completely disappeared. Both had been missing for almost two days when Victoria walked into Gil Green's office in Trenton, unannounced and uninvited, and stood across the oak desk from the bland District Attorney.

"Victoria," he said without warmth, "surprised you had the nerve to show up. You're, of course, guilty of half-a-dozen or more crimes… not to mention possible complicity in the death of several Federal Agents in the Presidio."

"I had nothing to do with anybody's death, Gil. If you had me followed, then maybe it's your fault. As I recall, tailing me was not part of our deal."

He sat and looked at her, and then he started to fidget with the pen on his desk. "I suppose we could argue that indefinitely," he finally said softly.

"Sure we could, and I'd win. I wasn't wanted for anything. You can't prove I had prior knowledge of Beano Bates's record, so cut the bullshit."

"I suppose you had some reason to make this visit." His vacant expression was all-consuming.

"Maybe there's a way we can still save a few parts of our original deal, Gil, but it's gonna have to change in a few key areas."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because you aren't holding good cards anymore. Matter of fact, your cards are terrible, especially if you factor in the political aspects. You fumbled this investigation badly. You lost three Federal Agents by screwing up your end. You tried to frame your own prosecutor. The list of 'Oh shits' is awesome," she said.

"I see."

"Do you?"

"And what is it you're proposing?" he said, knowing she hadn't come here to spit this furball up on his desk.

"What if you could still have most of it? What if Tommy Rina is still willing to come forth and testify against his brother?"

"You're harboring Tommy Rina?"

"I'm not 'harboring' anyone; he's not wanted for any crimes, Gil, despite the fact that he's been committing them all his life. But he knows his brother won't rest till he's dead. He'd rather do seven years for second-degree murder than an eternity for profound stupidity."

"Okay, so Tommy comes forward. But nobody's seen Joe. He won't be anywhere around if Tommy is gonna testify against him."

"I can have Joe dropped off on your doorstep."

"And what is Tommy going to say?" Gil asked.

She reached into her briefcase and withdrew a sheaf of papers and handed them to Gil. He looked at them quickly, skim-reading the pages. "It says here that Tommy declares under penalty of perjury that Joe gave him direct orders to kill Carol Sesnick, Bobby Manning, and Tony Corollo," he said, laying the papers down on his desk. "But this confession isn't signed."