Vengeance is Mine (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Standing in handcuffs on the side of the highway, Tony Agrioli gave Cody a sheepish grin. “Hello, gentlemen.”

John looked truly surprised. “Well, you
do
know Cody.”

“I told you, officer. We met in Las Vegas, and that's why I'm here.” Tony's eyes narrowed when he saw Griffin. He'd seen him somewhere before.

Griffin felt the same thing, but he couldn't place the stranger. “Why is this man under arrest, Washington?”

John was surprised at the tone of Griffin's voice. He allowed himself a deep, not very well-concealed breath before willing his temper down. He worked for Griffin, and it wouldn't do to make him mad with what he longed to say. “The bank robbery's all over the radio, and when I come past the Center Springs store, I saw this dark-complected feller standing outside. He matches the description of one of the robbers, so I'm taking him in for questioning.”

“You can cut him loose.” Cody dug in his shirt pocket for a toothpick. “He was with me at the store when the bank was robbed. He moved to Center Springs today.”

Tony grinned. “That's what I told this officer, but he was insistent. Kind, but insistent.”

“Now hold on,” Griffin's tone changed. “He might know something about the bank job. They might have split up.”

“The boy's done told you, Griffin.” Ned's voice was firm. “This Tony feller just got here.”

John unlocked the cuffs and Tony rubbed his wrists. He gave Griffin a shy grin and explained how he knew Cody and Center Springs. “It's an honest mistake, and I'm glad to see that the law around here is on their toes.” He was glad he'd left his Colt back at the house with Samantha. It would have been hard to explain to the deputy back at the store. It was funny, really, to be cuffed for a robbery he didn't commit. They'd have a stroke if they knew the things he'd done in the past, and had never been in bracelets before in his life.

Worried that he couldn't place the olive-skinned newcomer, Griffin simply nodded. “All right, then. White, let's go.”

With a long-suffering look of apology, White slipped back behind the wheel and as soon as Griffin slammed his door, they left in a quick U-turn.

Ned squinted at Tony. “Tony how much?”

At his look of bafflement, Cody stepped in. “His last name is Agrioli.”

“You Indian?”

Tony had already been down that road. “My family is Italian, but they live in New York. I live in Vegas.”

“That explains why you're dressed for a funeral.” Ned held out his rough, sun-browned hand and they shook. “Ned Parker. I'm constable here in Center Springs, and Cody's uncle.”

“I thought Cody was constable.”

“He is. It's a long story.”

John waited to shake. “No hard feelings. Just doing my job.”

Tony returned a solid grip that told of immense power resting behind the gigantic deputy's quiet demeanor. “None at all, but my wife might be worried by now. Can you take me back?”

“Sure 'nough.” John smiled. “Mr. Ned, what's going on at your house? I saw Mr. Wilbert there when I passed, drinking out of a fruit jar.”

“Hootie's hurt. We need to get back over there and check on him.”

The smile disappeared. “I'll meet y'all there after I drop Mr. Tony off.”

Cody grinned up at the deputy, despite his worry about the dog. “You sure you won't go on back where you were…checking on folks?”

John knew Cody had already figured out he'd been at Rachel's house, dropping off a few bags of groceries for her children and the nieces and nephews that lived with her. “Well, since things is all right at Rachel's, I figure I can spare a few minutes at yours. Don't let on to Sheriff Griffin about it, though. C'mon my eye-talian, you can ride in the front this time.”

Chapter Nineteen

As they left the river bottoms behind, Griffin looked back over his shoulder at the parked cars receding in the distance. “I didn't expect them to be waiting there like that.”

White's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “I did. Ned's been at this a long time. It was a sure bet he'd seal up that road.”

“I can expect Cody to be with him. Those two are like peas in a pod, but Washington had no business being out there.”

“Sheriff, you had John working last night till late, serving warrants with Dolph and Van, remember?”

“So?” Griffin didn't think twice about sending his deputies out at all-hours. Deputies Washington, Dolph Wicker, and Van Simmons were used to leaving their families well after dark to serve at the sheriff's whim.

“Well, I imagine he probably figured he could spare an hour or two and run up here to see Rachel. He talks about her a lot. She must be some punkin'.”

“That's misuse of county property.” Griffin stroked his white mustache thoughtfully. “A man could get himself in trouble using tax dollars to run around with country whores.”

White frowned. “Sir, I believe she's a decent woman. Her husband run off a while back, and she's taking care of her dead sister's kids along with her own.”

“And how does she pay for that? I know for a fact she ain't got a job. Probably on her back.”

“I don't know how she made ends meet before she met John. But Mr. Ned hired her to work in his field and I think she's taking in washing now, too.” White wondered how Griffin knew about Rachel's business. “Sheriff, why'd we come out here in the first place? There's half a dozen other ways them robbers coulda gone. If it'd been me, I'd-of headed toward Dallas. Robbing banks is one thing, but crossing state lines is another.”

They drove for a full minute before Griffin answered. “I had a feeling they went north. I wanted to look around up here, in case they headed for the river. Instead, we come up here and find them Parkers loafing on the side of the road.”

“I don't believe they were loafing. They were parked out of the way. It wouldn't-a took a second for them to pull their cars across the highway, if the bad guys was to come along.”

Martha Wells' voice crackled over the radio. “Sheriff, you close by?”

He picked up the handset. “Pretty close. Why?”

“You have visitors. The FBI boys want to see you.”

“Put 'em in my office and I'll be there in five minutes.”

White glanced down at the speedometer. There was no way they'd be at the courthouse so fast.

“They're in with Judge Rains.” Martha's tinny voice almost sounded as if she were laughing.

Griffin hissed like he'd cut his finger. “Shit.” He keyed the handset. “All right. Any updates on the fugitives?”

“No, sir. I expect you'd have heard on the radio if we'd found anything.”

White bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. Only a handful of people could be so short with the sheriff, and Martha was the third of three, behind Ned Parker and Judge O.C. Rains.

Griffin didn't answer. Instead he slapped the handset into the metal bracket and steamed for a minute. They passed Gate 5, the main entrance to Camp Maxey, a World War II infantry training camp that had bustled with activity in the 1940s. Griffin glanced up at the curved iron sign over the stone columned entry and idly pictured how it would look if they had lights on it. In one of those light bulb moments, it reminded him of the flashing, colorful neon in Las Vegas, which took him back to the man John Washington had detained…

…who said he was from Vegas…

…and Griffin clicked on the flicker in the man's eyes when they met.

Griffin remembered seeing “Tony” in Vegas only two weeks earlier. It was at the table with Malachi Best, when they were hammering out the last details of a laundering process for his newfound drug money.

Tony was the man Best ordered to kill an entire family, while Griffin sat numb, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. Now Best's professional killer was in Center Springs, looking for him.

Nearly panicked, Griffin could barely sit still. His heart pounded. He wanted to throw White out of the car and drive off, lights and siren running, until he was in Mexico. But he'd already ripped his britches with the cruel men down there who would also kill him in a New York minute if they had the chance. As it was, he was fortunate they hadn't sent anyone to Chisum already.

With the Mexican connection gone, Griffin found a way to launder the money through the Vegas mob. He thought it worked after he “salted” them with the first suitcase full of legitimate bills, but they'd apparently already discovered his deception.

So they sent Tony, a hit man, to kill him. Griffin first ran across the definition only a year earlier from an FBI letter. Now he had to find a way to eliminate the assassin and get gone before someone else came after him. He was still alive only because Tony Agrioli hadn't gotten a good chance at him, yet.

Maybe it was because he was constantly surrounded by deputies and lawmen. No one knew it, but Griffin only slept in his house once or twice a week. Other nights he sacked out on a cot in the courthouse. Every now and then he stayed with a widow woman who allowed him into her bed only when she was overpoweringly lonely, after he worked on her for days over the phone, and promised to take her on an occasional weekend to Dallas for shopping and restaurants.

His hand unconsciously slid to the butt of his pearl-handled pistol, to make sure it was still in the holster. He'd have to come up with a plan now. Griffin needed to think of a way to deal with Tony first, then he could get his hands on those prints. He only learned of them when R.B. at the drugstore mentioned he'd developed some pictures that Top Parker shot of him and a man named Whitlatch.

He didn't think anyone was around when he met with Whitlatch that snowy morning in front of the courthouse to take his usual cut from their smuggling operation. Who'd expect a kid to see them beside the Confederate statue on the snowiest day in years?

Griffin grinned. He had an idea. A setup, so Washington or one of the Parkers could do the work for him and take out that Yankee, or the other way around. If he could get them after one another,
somebody
would get shot, and he'd come out ahead, no matter who it was.

Chapter Twenty

“Where's Top?”

Miss Becky shook her head. She could tell Ned was mad about something. She didn't know if it was because dogs had nearly killed Hootie, or maybe it was law work. “He didn't come in after Wilbert brought Hootie inside.”

Pepper sat in Ned's rocker, pressing one foot barely enough to move. Hootie slept fitfully on the pallet.

“Pepper. You're up to something. Where's Top?”

Startled, she nearly jumped off the rocker. “Why'd you say that? I'm sittin' here minding my own business.”

“That's the reason.” Ned studied his granddaughter. “The only time I see you sitting on your hands is when y'all think you're into something. Now, where is he?”

She figured the truth was the best idea. “Uncle Wilbert gave him a twenty-two and sent him out after that pack of dogs that hurt Hootie.”

“Lands!” Miss Becky threw up her hands. “Ned, them twenty-two bullets can go a mile. He'll shoot somebody, or hisself with that gun.”

“No he won't. He's old enough to handle a rifle. I've been thinking about giving him one myself.” He knew exactly what Top had in mind. “How long has he been gone?”

“An hour or so.” Pepper rocked harder under the questioning. “Right after we came in. Uncle Wilbert told him ‘vengeance is mine,' and Top took that rifle and was gone.”

Miss Becky shook her head. “That ain't right, to blaspheme the scriptures like that. The good Lord will take care of what needs doing Himself.”

Ned snorted. “Sounds like He's using Top to do it. Y'all hear any shootin'?”

“No, but we been inside with the fans going ninety to nothing.” It was unseasonably warm for October, and everyone looked forward to a good cool front to make it feel like fall.

“All right, then.” Ned spun on his heel and went out on the back porch. Hands in his pockets, he stared toward the roof of Cody's house, barely half a mile away. While he was thinking, a ragged pickup truck crept down the highway and up the drive.

Ned felt himself deflate.

Isaac Reader again. He killed the engine and leaned out the window. “Listen, listen, Ned! I guess you know about the bank robbery, and I think I done figgered out who killed Tommy Lee Stark.”

Even though he hated to be hollered at, Ned walked out to meet him. “You seen Top?”

Derailed from his train of thought, Isaac paused. “Not since yesterday. Why?”

“He's off with a twenty-two.”

“What's he huntin'?”

“Dogs.”

“With that killer out there?”

“What do you know about it, Ike?”

“Listen, listen. I figgered it out, like I said. It's The Skinner.”

Frustrated at so much being out of his control, Ned scrubbed a hand across his head. “Tell me what you think you know.”

“The Skinner is back and settling up with the last of us. Looks like he started with Tommy Lee.”

The Skinner had terrorized Center Springs two years earlier, first killing and then mutilating animals. As the months progressed, he moved from torture to skinning, from animals to people, and when he targeted Ned's grandchildren, all hell broke loose on the Red River. The killing spree abruptly ended one stormy night, but the community feared his return.

Ned sighed. “Have you seen him?”

“No, but listen, you know he's been a-layin' low. I think he decided to come back and start killin' again, and this time he's a-usin' guns and shootin' people in the head. You know, they kill quicker than cuttin' throats. Cleaner, too.”

“Well, that's true, but I doubt he's back.”

Isaac paused didn't seem to hear. “Listen, listen. Some folks is saying that you and Cody settled up with him down there in Mexico. I know y'all don't want to talk about it, but I don't believe y'all did what they're saying.”

“No. Cody chased some other bad folks down to the Valley, but it wasn't The Skinner. He's gone. I'm gettin' worried that things are coming unraveled around here. Now tell me about that bank robbery you saw.”

“I done told the sheriff and the FBI.”

“Tell
me
.”

“Listen, I's standin' there in line to get me some cash when they come sashayin' in the revolving door like nobody's business. One of 'em hollered for everybody to put their hands up…”

“Which one?” Ned interrupted.

“Why, I believe it was the man.”

“You don't know the difference between a man's voice and a woman's?”

“Why, of course I know. It was the man. Anyway, listen, listen, everybody throwed their hands up and them two went to work. They split up, with her holding ever'body with that shotgun and he took off inside with the bank manager to where the safe deposit boxes are.”

Isaac stopped, as if waiting for Ned to ask a question.

“Go on, Ike.”

“Listen, listen, he knew what to do. He was in there a-bangin' away for a minute and then he came running out with a bag full of money.”

Ned interrupted him again. “Did you see him put money in there?”

“Why no.”

“Then you don't have any idea what was in that bag. It could have been full of newspapers for all you know.”

“Why would somebody keep newspapers in the safe?”

“That ain't what I said, Ike. Never mind. Go on.”

Ike pulled his ear. “I don't believe I ever heard of anybody saving newspapers like that. Anyway, they headed for the door at a trot, and I thought for a minute the manager was going to get that gal's gun, because she dang-near fell off them high heels of hers on that slick tile floor, but she caught her balance.”

“Tell me what she looked like.”

Reader thought for a moment. “Listen, she was hard lookin', but not hard to look at, if you know what I mean. Lots of makeup, poufy blond hair, bright red lipstick, and wearin' clothes so tight I thought the seams would bust. That gal's built like Sofie Watkins out by Razor.”

Ned once heard Miss Becky say Sophie was “blessed.” Him and every other farmer in the county knew what that meant. “Was her chest really big like Sofie's?”

Ike smiled. “Sure was.”

“Could you see the tops of 'em?”

“Huh?”

“I'm asking because you sometimes say things like you really know what you're talking about. Did you see skin? They might have made her up to draw more attention to her chest than to notice what them robbers really looked like. Was her top low enough you could you see between 'em?”

Isaac's mouth worked like a fish. “Why, why, listen, I wasn't
tryin'
to look down her shirt.”

“Did you see 'em, or not?”

“Well, listen, I guess I noticed. Why?”

“Because she might have been made up to look different.”

“Oh, naw, They was real all right.”

“All right. How old were they?”

“Her titties? I reckon they were as old as her, though I guess if you take off a few years before she grew 'em…”

Ned rubbed his head some more. “This is what makes me tired when I'm-a talking to you. How old were them
bank robbers
?”

“Oh, thirties, I reckon.”

“Tell me about the other'n, the man.”

“Slender, in a suit and hat.”

“How'd his clothes fit?”

“Listen, it was hanging off of him like it had fit once, but he'd lost weight. It reminded me of Jeeter Rhodes, you know how skinny he is and…”

“Anything else?”

“Didn't pay no attention. I was busy looking down the barrel of that pistol he was waving around…wait, he had a white bandage on the side of his face.”

“A bandage?” Ned felt his face redden. Talking to Isaac also raised his blood pressure. “Don't you think that's something you should have thought of at first?”

“Listen, listen, I been so rattled since then that I'm a nervous wreck.”

“What did it look like, the bandage?”

“Big, white piece of gauze taped to his face. It had a little blood seeping through.”

“Did you tell that to Griffin, or the FBI?”

“I…I don't remember. I reckon I did.”

Seeing the worry in Isaac's eyes, Ned let him off the hook. He gave Reader's arm a pat. “All right. And back to what we was talkin' about at first. I don't know why Tommy Lee was murdered, but if there's somebody else running these bottoms doing them kind of things, we need to keep everybody close to the house.”

“All right, Ned. Listen,
you
keep an eye out for The Skinner. It can't be nobody else.” Isaac paused. “You know one thing I'm proud of, though….”

“What's that?”

“Them bank robbers weren't clowns. I saw a picture show a while back where the bank robbers dressed up like clowns. I don't know what I'd-a done if they'd been dressed thataway, and all that makeup. You never know what people are like under all that paint. You know, I'm afraid of clowns.” Isaac shifted into reverse and backed up. “I'm gone.”

Hands in his pockets, Ned stared at the red gravel under his feet.

Minutes later, he heard the distinctive crack of a .22 rifle.