Side by Side (28 page)

73

If it was up to him, Peanut Smoot would have set the store on fire and shot anything alive that came out through a door or window. The Utzes were outsiders who had inherited the store from a relative of theirs. They were smug bastards, who figured they were too good to do business in a way that would make their little cracker-box store a profitable enterprise.

Since Mr. Laughlin had asked him to do what Max said, he’d wait for Max to get there before he went in to get the Dockerys. Getting those two out without destroying the store meant that Peanut might buy it from the Utzes’ estate for chump change already stocked. He doubted any of the Utz kids would come out to the middle of nowhere and run a store that didn’t sell enough goods to pay them minimum wage. If they did, he’d make it plain that they had no alternative but to sell it to him.

He had already figured he would have to stage an accident that would explain the deaths of Ed and Edna “Busybody” Utz. The sheriff would investigate it, hold a midnight inquest, and the funeral home would cremate the bodies by accident, and that would be it.

Peanut smiled, pleased by the perfection of his plan.

Terrible tragedy was a part of life. You live, you lose people you love, you make money, you die and you go to heaven—if you’d accepted the Lord Jesus as your savior, which Peanut had on many occasions.

He could hear the kid bawling through the walls of the store.

Peanut hollered out, “Ed, I got an idea! Why don’t you and Edna just go take a drive and when you come back all this will be like it never happened.”

“I already phoned her daddy,” Ed called out.

“I bet you never talked to him, though,” Peanut said.

“Yes, I did. He’ll be sending people you don’t own out here to straighten you out.”

“Naw, Eddie. See, my people got something called
sophistication.
They’ve got the judge’s phone blocked and wired. Point is, nobody is coming out here but people I’m partnered with. They’ll come, and they’ll kill you all with poison gas or something that won’t leave bullet holes in you.”

“Hey, Peanut?” Utz called out. “I got an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss my
sophisticated
butt.”

Utz’s barky laugh was exactly the kind that could piss a man off.

74

Serge Sarnov saw the store ahead and unzipped his jacket to make sure he could get to his gun quickly.

The cell phone in Max’s lap rang and he picked it up. “Yeah?”

Serge stretched his arms out.

“We’re coming up on the store now,” Max said. “Okay. That’s good. We’ll call them in if we need them.”

He closed the phone. “The Major and the FBI agent are coming in through the roadblock. Two cars with Major Keen’s people are there and they’ll hold back unless we need them.”

“Fewer hands involved, the better,” Serge agreed.

Max turned into the lot, illuminating one of the twins, who was dressed completely in hunter camouflage and holding a shotgun across his chest like a soldier. Max pulled in beside him, threw open his door, and stepped out. The men in the back seat did the same. Serge slowly opened his door and got out last.

The twin put a walkie-talkie to his ear. “There’s that Tahoe full of men here.” He listened for a second. “Are one of y’all Max Randall?”

“I’m Randall.”

“Yeah, Daddy. One’s him.”

“What’s the situation, pal?” Randall asked the twin.

“The old people that own the store won’t give us our hostages.”

Max said, “Where is Peanut?”

The twin raised his arm and pointed at the store. “Back there with my brother Curt. We got them boxed up. They live in the back part.”

“And the Dockery woman and child?” Serge asked.

“Inside.”

“The occupants, these Utzes, are they armed?” Serge asked.

“Everybody around here has guns,” Burt said. “I’m supposed to shoot anybody that comes out the front door, but the woman that killed Buck and Dixie is Daddy’s. My daddy said you can go around there.” The twin smiled.

“Who cut the power line?” Sarnov asked.

“I shot it in half.”

“What marksmanship,” Serge said.

“We shoot good on account of all the hunting we do.”

“What’s your name?” Serge asked.

“Burt.”

“You just stand here, Burt, and don’t do any more shooting. We will do any shooting that needs to be done.”

“Even if the Utzes comes out?” Burt asked.

“Yes, even then,” Serge said.

Burt exhaled loudly and shook his head as he thought it over. His breath was like something that might be expelled by a bloated corpse being opened up. “Okay. But if you need me to, I will.”

Max and Serge were about to walk around the building when Alexa Keen’s sedan came into view and pulled off the road.

Alexa and Antonia Keen climbed out of the car.

Serge had never met the two women, but he could see a resemblance between them. One was two or three inches shorter and lighter skinned. The Major held herself more stiffly than her sister. The agent was the more attractive.

“Major, this is Serge Sarnov. He’s—”

“I know who he is,” Antonia Keen interrupted, offering her hand.

“Why’d you bring her?” Serge asked Major Keen, meaning Alexa.

“What is your problem?” the agent asked. “As far as I can tell, this has nothing to do with you. So why are
you
here?”

“My understanding was that your sister wasn’t supposed to have a location until Monday.” The Russian ignored Alexa, spoke to Antonia.

“I didn’t expect her here now,” Max agreed.

“I didn’t expect it would be necessary to bring her in now either, but it is,” Antonia Keen told him. “Do you want to delve into
why
it is necessary now? I trust her. She’s had twelve years’ experience with volatile situations such as this one has become due to a series of screwups.”

In Serge’s book, the FBI agent was an unknown, unproven quantity. The woman could be a valuable asset, but he had a well-founded distrust of cops. With the crooked ones, loyalty was just a commodity. And most of them carried a lifelong dislike for their old enemies.

“I insisted on coming here,” the FBI agent said. “So far, this is strictly amateur hour. The woman and child were supposed to be captives. How hard is that? They sure as hell aren’t captives any longer. Not only did this young lady, whose background in combat is limited to the bridge table, escape, but she managed to kill two people with extensive experience in criminal violence in the process. This clearly has to be handled by someone who has the expertise to make sure it is done right from here out. I am the only one who can do that. I will make sure the deed is done in the manner of kidnappers, make sure the right evidence is left for me to find.”

“She’ll clean up this mess,” Major Keen said. “Any more questions?”

Serge told the Major, “I trust you because you’re up to your ears in
our
deal.”

“She’s my sister and she’s in this up to her ears, too,” Antonia said.

“She brought in Massey,” Serge reminded her sourly.

“She had her own reasons. She cut him loose when he started making progress,” the Major informed him curtly.

“If I wasn’t in on this, he’d have already crawled up your asses,” Alexa said. “Now, thanks to you people jumping the gun and trying to take him out prematurely, I don’t have him to lend credibility to my story. Am I wrong?” she demanded.

Serge thought about it as he stared into the agent’s hard eyes. He had a talent for detecting lies and she was not lying. This was a woman who was tired of being taken for granted, a woman who wanted to make the kind of money the firm could pay her. Just like her younger sister, this one had a sociopathic, selfish bent. Alexa Keen was one hard-core bitch. She’d go along with killing the Dockerys. And with killing the Smoots, who had been set up to take the blame.

“Okay,” he said. “Fine. Show us how to do this right.”

“First off,” the FBI agent said, “you can’t just take machine guns and shoot up the place, because the evidence recovery team won’t buy it. Bodies and buildings riddled with holes won’t work. No redneck kidnapper would do that. The subjects have to be put down with a knife, or a bullet in each skull. And preferably not before Monday in case Fondren needs proof of life.”

“We altered the timeline,” Max said. “This can’t wait. We do them now, especially with Massey somewhere out there. We’ll stash them dead and you can find them on Monday. I never saw why they had to be found at all.”

“Because,” Alexa said, sternly, “unless I find them, I won’t get the publicity. I won’t be able to control the evidence, so I won’t get my payoff, my reputation won’t be enhanced so I can’t open my security firm, and you won’t have a name to put on the large checks you are going to write me over the next ten or fifteen years. That’s why. Do it my way or I’m out of this.”

“If you’re out, you’re dead,” Serge said.

“You touch a hair on her head,” the Major said, “and you’ll have to shoot me, too. I die, the chain breaks. Without the contacts I have, Bryce will get the needle.”

“Okay,” Max said. “Hell with it. But first thing that goes queer on this deal, and sis’s dead and we’ll sanitize everything down to bare dirt.”

“Fine,” Major Keen said. “If Alexa’s not on the level, you can kill her as many times as you like.”

“So,” Serge said. “How do we do this?”

“What are we facing?” Alexa asked.

“An old couple inside. Man’s armed. They won’t give up the Dockerys without a fight.”

“So, any ideas?” Serge asked the agent.

“The oldest one in the book,” the agent told him. “How’s your Greek history?”

75

Winter Massey used the woods as cover to reconnoiter the store. Two men in black BDUs in front of the place, one of the Smoot twins off by himself. Sarnov, Randall, Alexa, and Antonia Keen having a discussion out of earshot of the others.

He picked his way around to the back where Peanut Smoot and the other twin were guarding the rear, using the black truck for cover and lighting. The twin stood beside the truck, aiming his shotgun at the store. Peanut was behind the open driver’s door, holding a handgun casually.

It was a siege. Someone was inside the building holding the Smoots at bay. Winter’s ear caught the unmistakable sound of a child crying. It had to be Elijah Dockery. He had no idea where Dixie and Buck Smoot were, but he doubted they were inside the store. Was it possible that Lucy had somehow escaped and made it here?

Winter figured his odds with a frontal assault were all against him. The men in assault suits wore ballistic vests, and his flashes would instantly give away his position. The Hydroshock slugs might not penetrate the vests, but they would break or at the least shatter ribs, take the men off their feet for a while. Inside twenty-five yards, the 00 buckshot pellets would remain within a twelve-inch cluster. He was more accurate with a handgun, but as soon as he started shooting, all of the targets would be firing at him, and he’d never get a chance to use his pistol. Even with tree cover, his chances of surviving the first few seconds were not good.

The twins had shotguns—probably three-inch Magnums loaded with buckshot—Peanut was brandishing a large revolver, the three men in black had MP5s, and Sarnov probably had a pistol. Alexa was carrying a Glock .40. As far as Winter could tell, only Antonia had no weapon.

Winter couldn’t imagine shooting Alexa, but he well might have to, and he knew he could. Her killing a woman and child was more incomprehensible. He was amazed that she could have hidden her true self so effectively for so many years.

“Ed and Edna!” Peanut hollered. “Send the woman and kid on out. I’ll let both you live. You got my word on it. Ain’t like they’re your kin. She killed my Dixie and Buck. I can’t allow that to go unanswered.”

“If you’ve seen the condition this young lady’s in, you know that whatever happened to your kids was a site less than your kin deserved!”

Winter knew he had to act before the people out front spread out. These people were all accustomed to violence.

His only advantage at that moment was that nobody knew he was there. Surprise only took you so far, and sometimes the surprise was yours.