Mariah Stewart - Dead End

Evan Crosby was moving fast to catch up. They greeted each other silently, and Evan motioned that he’d be following from the tree line. Connor nodded in agreement, and both men took off across the gently rolling terrain in pursuit of Annie and her abductor, the identity of whom was a mystery to both Connor and Evan.

The cemetery ended at a high black iron fence capped with tall spikes. It was too high to vault over, and impossible to climb. Connor approached cautiously, his gun in plain sight, slowing his step.

“So. We meet,” the man holding Annie called to him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Connor Shields.”

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Connor replied. “I know what you are, but not who you are.”

“Allow me. Luther Blue.” He pronounced the name defiantly.

“Luther Blue? But you’re the one who…” Confusion crossed Connor’s face for just a second.

“The one who shot Brendan, yes. Yes, I am.”

“I was going to say, the one who saved Annie.” He kept his eyes on Luther, willing himself not to glance at Evan, who approached Luther slowly from behind, as quiet and deliberate as a cat stalking a mouse.

Luther Blue laughed. “So the story goes.”

“What do you mean, so the story goes?” Keep him talking, Connor told himself. Give Evan time to get himself into position.

Luther grinned.

“Brendan didn’t have his gun drawn, did he?”

“Well, he drew on me.”

“But not on Annie.” Connor met her eyes, and silently begged her to be silent, to be still, not to give Luther any reason to react. But she was a pro. She’d know what to do.

“It’s immaterial.” Luther shrugged. “He was planning on killing her, not there and then, but yes, it had already been decided. However, after that was set up, it occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone-you’re going to have to forgive that lousy pun-and still come off looking like a hero. You have to give me credit, it was pretty damned slick.”

“About as slick as the back of your head is going to be if you so much as blink.” Evan stood behind Luther, the barrel of his gun flush against Luther’s skull.

“I can still take her out with one shot,” Luther said calmly, as if they were discussing where to have lunch.

“You’ll be dead before your finger twitches.”

“Shall we see?” Luther remained cocky, even as he began to pale.

Evan pushed the barrel into Luther’s head.

“What do you think, Shields? Who’s your money going on?” Evan asked.

Luther’s eyes shifted back to Connor, who had not moved from his spot twenty feet away.

“My money’s always been on you, pal,” Connor said.

“Nice.” Luther smiled, careful not to move his head. “I think you two must be best buds.”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Evan said. “I think you have two choices here. I think you drop the gun and take your chances with a jury, or I put a bullet through your brain right now.”

“What do you think, Agent Blue?” Connor spoke softly, evenly. “A minute ago, you were bragging about how slick you are. Think you’re slick enough to outwit a jury? Slick enough to make a deal? I’ll bet you know plenty about the kiddie slave trade, plenty the government would love to hear. Who knows, you could trade a little of this for a little of that.”

“Or,” Evan repeated, “I could put a bullet through your brain right now.”

The air was thick and the sun almost directly overhead. The four stood stock-still for a full minute. Three were holding their breaths; the fourth was weighing his options.

Finally- clunk.

The Glock hit the ground, and Luther released his hold on Annie, who stepped away from him and into Connor’s arms. Connor knew she must be aching to go to Evan, but the scene had yet to play out.

Luther held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Crosby, you’ve got cuffs?” Connor asked as he walked toward them.

“No.” Evan shook his head. “You’re going to have to take him in, anyway. I don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“Now he tells me,” Luther muttered.

Connor stood in front of Luther, the gun in his hand pointed straight at Luther’s chest.

“I want to know one thing. Did you kill my brother?”

“Saint Dylan?” Luther asked. “No. No, that was Brendan.”

“Do you know why?” Connor stepped closer.

“Because he thought Dylan was you.” Luther smiled and pointed in the direction of the road. “Shall we go?”

“Why did he want to kill me?”

“Because of what you’d seen in Santa Estela. He was afraid you’d ask too many questions.”

“What about Santa Estela?” Evan frowned.

“Our friend here was running a kiddie shuttle out of the country, sold them off to-where, Luther?” Connor asked.

“To whoever offered the most money, of course.”

Evan stopped and stared at Luther’s back. The man continued to walk as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Who did you sell to in Pennsylvania?” Evan asked. He called to Connor, “Stop for a minute.”

He caught up with Connor and Luther and grabbed Luther by the lapels. “Who did you sell to on the East Coast?”

“I didn’t do the selling, Agent…” Luther paused. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Who did the selling, Blue? Who did you give the kids to?” Evan persisted.

“They were brought to me by a contact in Santa Estela. I moved them out of the country. Where they went to once they left Santa Estela, I have no idea.”

“Who paid you?” Evan was almost in his face.

“I don’t think we’re going to continue this conversation any longer.” Luther turned to Connor. “If you’re taking me in, take me in. Let’s not waste any more time. It’s hot out here…”

They walked between the rows of graves, an odd little parade of four. Luther first in line, Connor directly behind, his gun drawn. Still calm, Annie walked hand in hand with Evan, keeping the pace. They were within thirty feet of the tent when Connor put his hand on Luther, bringing him to a halt.

“Annie, find John Mancini. I don’t want to go into the crowd with a gun drawn,” Connor said.

Evan walked around in front of Luther, his hand on the gun inside his waistband.

“Just in case you’re thinking about taking off into the crowd,” Evan told him, “there’s nothing that would make me happier than putting a bullet in you.”

Annie returned in minutes, John and several other agents in tow. John walked silently around Luther, as if inspecting him.

Finally, he said, simply and without emotion, “Take him in.”

Connor handed Luther over to several of his colleagues, one of whom cuffed him and started to lead him away.

“Luther,” John called out, and Luther turned.

“There was no CI in the McCullum case.”

“What?”

“There was no confidential informant used in the McCullum case.”

“You stay up all night last night, looking for that?” Luther asked.

“Didn’t have to,” John told him. “I was the special agent in charge. And it was Memphis, by the way, not Detroit…”

Four nights later, Evan leaned an elbow on the bar at Taps and looked around, still dazed by all the attention he had received after his role in bringing in Luther Blue had been announced by the FBI in a statement crediting him with the apprehension of one of the major players in the international traffic in child slavery.

“Way to show up the feds.” Todd Holiday slapped him on the back for at least the fourth time. “Unbelievable, man. You made us all proud.”

“Hey, I heard the FBI wants to hire you; that true?” Joe Sullivan sidled up behind him.