David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“I wanted you to know that there is no right or wrong answer for what you’re faced with. I know what I want to do. I want to find out what happened to your parents, and who set you up. But that’s me. You have a different set of circumstances, like you said. Other priorities. But I also want you to know that I’m really good at what I do. I’m not good at anything else, but I am good at this. So if you’ll work with me on this case, there’s a really good chance that we’ll get to the bottom of it eventually.”

Mars appraised him. “You know, I do remember you now. From the game, I mean. You had perfect technique, did everything on the field right. Covered me coming out of the backfield just like the coaches drew it up.”

“But you can’t teach speed, or nimbleness, or the ability to change direction on the fly, or field vision. And you had all of that.”

“It wasn’t a fair fight,” said Mars matter-of-factly. “But I also had the added motivation that this was my only way out. That’s the way it is for lots of guys like me. You had other options.”

“Good thing, because I was not going to be in the NFL for long, hit or no hit.”

“I do want to find out what happened to them. And I know you can help me get there.”

“So that means you’re in?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“One more thing, Melvin.”

“What’s that?”

“Sometimes the truth hurts more than not knowing.”

Mars scowled and said, “Thanks for waiting to tell me that until after I agreed to keep going.”

Mars put his seat back, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

They were back in Texas.

But they still had over five hundred miles and another eight hours — plus to go.

Everything in Texas was big.

It was dinnertime and they were both starving. And they had to use the restroom.

Decker pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a huge facility that had a bar-and-grill component as well as a grocery store and a gift shop. The parking lot was pretty full, mostly with oversized pickup trucks sporting gun racks in the back and semis pulling double trailers.

They could hear the music blaring twenty feet from the door to the place.

They went inside, hit the bathroom, and then made their way to an open table near the back and away from the bar and live music. They ordered drinks and their food.

Mars looked around at the men and women, many wearing cowboy hats and boots, line dancing. Off to the right was a pool hall. To the left was a video game arcade.

When the live band took a break they could hear the smack of pool balls and the trash talk of the men playing. Decker noted a group of young men with pool cues in one hand and beers in the other watching them. When he looked away he saw Mars take a sip of his beer and smile.

“What?” asked Decker.

“Haven’t had a beer in twenty years, man.”

“Right.”

Decker took a drink of his water.

Mars eyed him in amusement. “How’s the diet coming?”

“It’s coming.”

“Trying to get back in football shape?”

“No, trying to live to celebrate another birthday.”

Mars’s smile faded. “Yeah, me too.” He looked at his watch. “The girls will be back by now.”

“They actually landed six hours ago. I tracked their flight on my phone.”

“You can do that?” said Mars. “On a phone?”

“You have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah. So what do you think they can do?”

“Find out what’s been going on. The local police still think we’re FBI. So we can coordinate with them.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to take you back to your old house, let you look around. It might jog something.”

“And if I don’t want to go there?”

“Then you don’t go. I’m not going to force you.”

“What else?”

“Bogart is running down the Witness Protection angle. We’re still going to try to trace the funds Regina used to buy all that stuff.”

“Okay.”

“You remember anything else about your parents?”

“Been thinking about it, but nothing’s come yet.”

“So maybe a trip back to the old homestead is in order.”

“Maybe.”

“It was an elaborate setup, you know. They paid off the girl and the motel clerk.”

“Come again?”

“Ellen Tanner. She was part of it. It was her idea to meet that night at her place, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And she kept you a certain amount of time. Then had the argument and then you left. And she lied about the time. And she checked your wallet when you weren’t looking and cleaned out any cash you might have had, so you’d have to use your credit card.”

“Why would she do all that?”

“Same reason Regina did. She was paid to do it.”

“And the motel clerk?”

“He was waiting for you.”

“How did he even know my car would break down right in front of his place?”

“A car that worked perfectly the next morning when the police showed up?”

“So you’re saying they messed with my car?”

“Maybe while you were at Tanner’s.”

“But wait a minute, I heard the clerk call in the credit card info.”

“Yeah, at about eleven or so when you actually got there. Only he wasn’t talking to the credit card company. He might have been talking to a dial tone for all I know. Doesn’t matter. He probably wrote down the credit card info and then made another call later, at about one-fifteen, to the credit card company so that the official record reflected that as your check-in time. The manual machine he ran it through doesn’t have a time stamp of course. He just wrote in the date, not the hour or minute. But he had to call the card company, so they have a time record of the call. And voilà, your alibi goes out the window.”

Mars put down his beer. “Sonofabitch!”

“Yeah, I was thinking that too. Sonofabitch.”

“That’s a lot of work. A lot of planning.”

“And that means there had to be a really good reason.”

Decker bit into some of his salad with no dressing.

“How is it?” asked Mars, eyeing the lettuce, cucumbers, and carrot strips.

“Actually, I’d rather be eating a turd.”

Mars snorted and waited for him to finish the bite.

Decker said, “They framed you in an elaborate conspiracy, and then they got you out of prison. Why?”

“If it’s the same people.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Then like you said, why?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, Melvin. Why?”

They finished eating, paid the bill, and left. On their way to the car Decker said, “Shit.”

Mars shot him a glance. “What is it?”

Before Decker could answer, the same men who had been watching them inside appeared from in between two parked cars. They quickly surrounded the pair. It was five versus two, and the other men were in their twenties, tall, muscular, and tough-looking.

Decker eyed the guy who seemed to be in the lead. “Can I help you?”

The biggest of them pointed at Mars. “You that dude got off death row, ain’t you? Saw you on the TV.”

Mars didn’t answer him.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, boy,” said the man.

Decker did not really want to deal with these punks, but he also didn’t want Mars to get really ticked and kill the guy. So he said, “Why don’t you go back to playing pool, okay?”

The man ignored him and kept staring at Mars. “You killed your parents and you’re outta prison? Tell me how that makes sense, asshole.”

Decker could see the expression on Mars’s face and didn’t like what he was seeing.

The lead guy continued. “They said you played football? Shit, I bet my little brother could run right over your ass, boy.”