Color Of Blood (38 page)

“I think they’re doing something bad. Let’s leave it at that.”

“They’re minin’ uranium, mate,” Jimmy said.

“How do you know that?”

“They mine uranium all round this place. Nothin’ special: big pits, lotsa water.”

“Where do they get water from out here?”

“Aquifer. Way underground.”

“Have you been on the property?”

“Sure, but them fellers bloody crazy, mate. Every mob knows that. Put up a fence. No one puts up a fence out here. You seen any fences?”

“No.”

“Right. So me and me mates just walked in one day. Chased us down like we was a pack a dingoes. Fancy guns. Scared us right good. Ain’t goin’ back in there again.”

“Who are they?”

“Yanks.”

“You sure they’re mining uranium?”

“An’ other stuff. Minin’, processin’: lotsa things, not jus’ uranium. We got all kindsa stuff in the ground. Everybody wants some. Bloody funny, if y’ ask me.”

“Processing?”

“Yeah. First you mine, then you process. They truck it to Port Hedland: think they’re pretty clever, eh?” He grinned.

“What do you mean?”

“Not too much in them big bloody shippin’ containers.”

“How do you know the containers aren’t full?” Dennis asked, rubbing his sore throat.

Jimmy laughed. “Put ’em on trucks, mate. Sound like empty drums when they hit a bump. Out here we see plenty trucks: can tell the full ones.”

“But how do you know the containers are from that plant?”

“One of them big bloody white cars in front, ’nother one behind. It’s like they guardin’ it. Container’s always the same: red, small yellow stripe round the top, like a yeller ribbon. Sent a truck through couple days ago. Same thing.”

“When?

“When what?”

“When did they send a truck through?”

“Maybe two days. Track runs by the settlement. We see everyone drives by.”

Dennis looked out the back window again, but could not see a dust trail.

“Do you think they’re following us?” Dennis asked.

Jimmy stared into the rearview mirror.

“Don’t reckon so.”

“How much farther to the track?”

“A mile.”

Dennis turned again to look out the window, and Snippy growled at him as they locked eyes.

“He really doesn’t like me,” Dennis said.

“Toldja, mate, don’ like whitefellas.”

Neither man spoke for a while. Jimmy kept up a steady but bouncy pace through the rough terrain.

“So if the containers are mostly empty, what do you think is inside them?” Dennis said.

“Maybe nothin’.”

“How about drugs?”

Jimmy frowned and took a quick glance at Dennis. “Drugs?”

“Yeah, what if there are drugs inside those containers? You know, they disguise the drugs to look like mining materials.”

“Where they gettin’ drugs from?”

“I heard they have a small airport there, right? Maybe they’re processing more than just uranium?”

Jimmy contorted his face in concentration and finally shook his head.

“Dunno ’bout that, mate.” The thought seemed to bother Jimmy, and he kept silent for the rest of the ride.

After reaching the track, Jimmy stopped the car and got out, took his walking stick, and opened the back door for Snippy.

“Sure I can’t give you money?” Dennis said.

“Maybe.”

“OK.” Dennis pulled out ten twenty-dollar Australian bills. “Thanks for all your help. I think you saved my life back there, Jimmy.”

“Shouldn’ be goin’ out ’ere with them enemies round, Denny. Bad enough without blokes chasin’ y’.”

Dennis drove west along the track toward the red ball of a sun. Jimmy and Snippy disappeared in the dust trail he left behind. He knew Judy would be worried that he had not been able to take her to the airport, but she would have gotten a ride somehow and not missed Simon’s play. Of that much he was certain.

Wait until she hears about Jimmy,
he thought.

Dennis parked the burned plastic-reeking LandCruiser behind a small building near the hotel. Exhausted, he sat in the hot vehicle for several minutes collecting his thoughts. Nothing from here on was going to be easy, and he was determined to get out of the dangerous little town of Newton. He debated the wisdom of returning to his hotel room, but he felt he had a good enough head start.

A kill order,
he thought.
What the hell was I disturbing that would justify a kill order?

His hand shook as he checked to make sure the pistol had a charged round. He took out the small silencer from his pocket and attached it to the end of the barrel. After getting out of the car he poked the gun down in the small of his back and pulled his shirttail over it.

It was dark as he approached the hotel. He slipped in through a side door and walked up to the bar. A man in his fifties, face darkly tanned and wrinkled, sat staring at the TV set above the bar.

“Pint of Emu Bitter,” Dennis told Maggie.

“Good lord,” she said. “You look famished.” She pushed the glass across the bar top to him. “Schooner, mate. Pints are down in Melbourne.”

She stood on the other side of the bar and leaned forward conspiratorially.

“You’re in for a nice surprise,” she said, smiling.

“Surprise?”

“I don’t want to spoil it.” She winked. “But you’ll see.”

“Come on,” Dennis said, taking a huge gulp of ice-cold beer and feigning a dose of good nature. “What surprise?”

“Won’t be disappointed?”

“Of course not,” he said, taking another huge gulp. His Adam’s apple throbbed, reminding him of his adventure in the desert.

“Your brother is here—from America. For your surprise engagement gift! When he asked for your room number, I couldn’t give it out, of course. But when he told me why, well, I couldn’t resist.”

“Really?” Dennis said, trying with every ounce of energy to force a grin.

“He’s waiting in your room with Judy and a bottle of champagne. You’ll act surprised, right?”

“Oh, that knucklehead,” Dennis said, finishing the beer. “I can’t believe he did that. We’re always playing tricks on each other. That practical joker!”

“Well, just act surprised,” she said.

“You know what would be really fun right now?” Dennis said. “It would be a great way to get him back. Are you up for a little mischief?”

“What?” Her eyes twinkled.

“Well, the room next to us is not occupied, right?”

“I guess not,” she said.

“Well, it would be really hilarious if I could get in there. There’s a locked door separating the two, and I could sneak up on my brother and surprise him instead. Maybe the maid could knock on the room we’re staying in while I slip through the connecting door. When my brother turns around after answering the front door, well, I’ll already be in the room. It’ll surprise the hell out of him.”

“Good lord.” She giggled. “You Yanks are so bloody devious!”

“Can you talk to the manager to get the key for me? It would be so much fun.”

“He’s not here right now, but I can get the keys. You wait here.”

Dennis’s stomach was in turmoil as the cold beer swirled and foamed. He felt a nauseous wave of guilt wash over him as he thought of Judy.
What had they done to her? Why in God’s name did I allow her to come?
he wondered.

Waiting for the bartender to return, he patted the small of his back for reassurance. The silencer was still attached, and he would probably need it.

With each passing second, rage built in him. The thought of Judy being harmed made him flash with anger. He put the thought out of his mind. He had never killed a person, but he was suddenly more than willing.

By the time the bartender came back with the maid, Dennis was so angry he had trouble speaking.

Wearing a dull smile, he explained the gag to the young woman. She was to call out “Room Service,” and persist until his brother came to the door. After he answered the door, she was to leave promptly and not worry about the yelling as Dennis surprised him from within his own room. Dennis said he would bring down the master key right afterward.

He took two twenty-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to her.

As they approached the two rooms, Dennis tiptoed, and she followed his lead. Using the master key, Dennis let himself into the adjoining room as quietly as he could, and motioned with his head for the maid to start knocking.

He slid the key into the door lock between the rooms as she knocked on the other door.

Dennis waited and heard nothing from the other room. She continued to knock and call out “Room Service!”

He wondered whether anyone was in his room and began to sag a little before he heard a man’s voice say, “Go away. We don’t need anything.” The man sounded as if he were sitting on the bed, which was to Dennis’s left in the opposite room. If the maid did what she was supposed to do, she would keep knocking until he answered the door. That would require the man to stand up and walk down the small hallway in front of Dennis, answering the door to his right.

But the maid would have to get the man to answer the door or the plan would not work.

She knocked louder. “Room Service, do you need fresh towels?”

“No,” the man yelled. “No towels. Just go away.”

She hesitated a little at his gruff tone, and Dennis prayed she wouldn’t stop.

Finally she knocked a third time and said timorously, “Room Service?”

This time the man stood up off the bed, and Dennis could feel him walk heavily to the door. As the man opened the hall door, Dennis turned the key and pulled the adjoining door open, holding the pistol in his right hand.

“Please, no towels,” the man said.

“Sorry, sir,” she said.

Dennis swooned as he glanced at the bed; Judy lay motionless on her back. She was fully clothed with her ankles and wrists bound by plastic ties. Her mouth was covered with gray duct tape; her eyes were closed.

The man shut the door and turned to see Dennis pointing the gun at him. Dennis noticed a pistol tucked into the man’s belt at the front.

“Drop the gun,” Dennis said. “Use your thumb and forefinger of your left hand to pull it out. Then drop it.”

The man stood looking at Dennis, his gray eyes intensely focused first on the pistol and then at Dennis’s eyes. He was no match for this agent, but Dennis knew that if he acted quickly and decisively to keep the agent off-kilter, he might just win this confrontation. He prayed the agent would not try to resist, because Dennis was certain he could kill this man.

To Dennis’s relief, the man dropped his weapon as directed.

“Kick it over here,” Dennis said.

“Kick it yourself,” the man said.

“Fine,” Dennis said, aiming the pistol at the man’s thigh. “This is going to sting a little.”

“Asshole,” the man said and kicked the pistol half the distance between them. Dennis knew that if he bent down, he could easily be reached by the agent’s foot.

“My friends at the Bureau say that if you want to stop someone with a bullet but not kill them, you put a round in their shin. Do you know why? Because the thigh is too close to the femoral artery, which could easily kill a man. The shin, though, is all bone and it hurts like hell when it splinters.”

For the first time since their brief encounter, the man’s eyes twitched.

“You are so far off the reservation, my friend,” he said. “They said you were crazy, and I can see what they mean.”

“You want to see crazy?” Dennis said, pointing the pistol at the man’s groin.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Then tell me what you did to her.”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t fuck around! What did you do to her? Kill her?”

“No, we can’t do that. You, on the other hand, we’ve been authorized to do whatever it takes to stop you.”

“Then what did you do to her?”

“I said, nothing.”

Dennis lowered the pistol barrel and pulled the trigger. The small silencer did its job surprisingly well, filling the small hallway with a flash, pop, and the smell of chemicals.

The man fell back on the seat of his pants, clutching his right shin below the knee.

“You fucker!” he yelled. “You crazy fucker.”

Dennis quickly bent down and grabbed the agent’s pistol off the ground and stuffed it down the front of his pants.

“I’ll try this just once more,” Dennis said, trembling with rage. “What did you do to her?”

“Drugged,” the man said, rocking back and forth. “She’s OK. She’ll wake in a while.”

“Where are your ties?”

“My back pocket.”

“Get one out.”

“You fucking get it out.”

Dennis took a step forward and pointed the pistol at the center of the man’s forehead.

“Fuck you,” the agent said, reaching to his back pocket with a blood-splattered hand. He held one up.

“Put it on your wrists and pull it tight with your teeth.”

The man did it slowly, glaring at Dennis all the way.

“Turn over and lie on your stomach.”

He lay face down, and Dennis reached into the man’s back pocket and pulled out another plastic binding. With a foot pressing into the small of the agent’s back, Dennis bound his ankles, and then reached into the bathroom and pulled out a hand towel.

“Turn over and sit up,” he said.

The man turned and grabbed his shin with his bound hands. His pants were soaked in bright-red blood.

Dennis threw him the towel. “Here, stop the bleeding,” he said. “I can’t stand the sight of blood. And crawl into the closet there.”

“I’m not going in that closet.”

Dennis stepped forward again and aimed at his forehead.

“Jesus, take it easy, you crazy fuck,” the agent said. He scooted the several feet to the small closet and squeezed into it sideways, his knees nearly up to his chin.

“I’m going to close the door, and then I’m going to jam that chair over there underneath the knob. I’m going to try to wake her up, and if you’re telling the truth, I’ll leave you here to get out after we’re gone. If you’re lying, then I’m going to come back and empty this clip through the door.”

Dennis shut the door, grabbed the chair and lodged it at an angle under the doorknob.

He sat on the bed next to Judy and for a moment was afraid to touch her. He pulled the tape off her mouth, and she reflexively opened it slightly to breathe.