Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(89)

Bone gripped the handle of the .38 as he walked at a normal pace around the side of the courthouse. As there were Klansmen in every direction, he knew his movement would be undetected, though it troubled him that he had lost sight of the sandy-haired prosecutor. Probably went back to Lawrenceburg, Bone thought, not fretting it too much. He knew their bases were covered tight. Cappy was here on the square, just as would be expected. The Sleepy Head was being covered by Cappy’s girlfriend, who had been instructed to say that Cappy was in Pulaski marching with the Klan. And Cappy’s Orange Dodge Charger was still parked at the First Church of God and should be empty of any obvious traces of Bone. Even if the prosecutor had an inkling that something wasn’t right, there was no trail for him to follow. Finally, and most importantly, Martha was parked a block north of the square in the truck. Once Bone shot Haynes, he’d drop the gun and make a beeline for the truck as pandemonium ensued after the shooting. As everyone should be running to get away from the sound of the shots, he’d blend in with the hundreds of other Klansmen dressed just like him.

When Bone had made it to the west side of the square, he noticed that at least four sheriff’s deputies had cleared a path from the top of the stairs to the squad car. Seeming to sense that something was about to happen, numerous television and newspaper reporters had crowded around the steps and just inside the courthouse.

Something is about to happen, Bone knew. He had always known when the kill was near. It was a gift. Something he’d had since he first went deer hunting with his father, when he was ten years old. A sixth sense. As if he could smell the blood of his prey.

The doors to the west side of the courthouse flew open. Bone tensed, then immediately began to relax as the movements of the people around him started to slow down. Bone had always figured he would have been a great race car driver, because when everything became very fast for most people, the world slowed down for him, and he was able to see things that most people missed.

Two deputies burst threw the doors, first followed by a white man in handcuffs that looked familiar. One of Haynes’s lawyers maybe. What the . . . ?

Then another sheriff’s deputy, whose hand was on the handcuffed lawyer’s shoulder and was pushing the prisoner forward toward the squad car.

What the hell is going on? Bone thought. Where is . . . ?

There. There he is.

Bone took the pistol out of his pocket as Bocephus Haynes came through the doors right on the heels of the deputy pushing the prisoner.

Bone inched forward to within just a few feet of where the other deputies had blocked the sidewalk. There wasn’t much room, but Bone saw an opening. He would have a clear shot if no one got between him and Haynes.

Bone cocked the .38 and sucked in a quick breath, thinking about the moment a year and a half earlier when Bocephus Haynes had cost him a six-figure payday. What had the nigger lawyer said? Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?

Underneath his hood, Bone smiled as Haynes actually stopped directly in the opening created by the deputies guarding the sidewalk. Haynes was talking to the handcuffed man, and his back was to Bone. His entire back was exposed in the opening.

Now . . .

Bone shuffled forward, moving the gun out from under the robe. The sheriff’s deputies also had their backs to him at this moment, looking toward the north side of the square.

Bone brought the gun up and stepped into the opening. He was now just a few feet away from Haynes, with a clear shot.

Though his fellow Klansmen were chanting and reporters were yelling questions, Bone heard nothing. He saw nothing either. Nothing but the back of his target.

Gotcha, Bone thought as he pulled the trigger on the .38.





80


Bone had fired two shots before he realized that the handcuffed lawyer had pushed Haynes out of the way and absorbed both bullets. As the prisoner began to collapse in front of him, Bone pointed the gun at the ground where Haynes had sprawled after being pushed out of the way. The killer started to press the trigger again but felt the wind go out of him as someone’s shoulder dug into his lower back. “You son of a bitch!” he heard a voice scream in his ear, but Bone was rolling now. Rolling and coming up to his feet in one motion. Immediately, Bone saw his attacker and instinctively brought his right hand up to fire the .38.

But his hand was empty. The gun was gone. Bone’s eyes shot wildly to the ground. Where is it?

“I’ve got your gun, *,” the sandy-haired prosecutor said. “I picked it up when I went DeMeco Ryans on your ass.”

“You,” Bone said in disbelief.

“Me,” the man said, his voice so loud it rose over the screams of the people, who had fled the moment the gunfire started. “Ambrose Powell Conrad, assistant district attorney for Tuscaloosa County, by God, Alabama.”

The prosecutor stepped forward and cocked the pistol at Bone’s head.

Bone shuffled backward a few steps, intending to run. He didn’t think the prosecutor would shoot him. But when he turned, he looked right into the barrel of another gun.

“Move and I turn your head into a canoe,” the man said, and Bone raised his hands, as he saw right off that this man would shoot him.

In his peripheral vision Bone now saw that all of the Giles County sheriff’s deputies were kneeling on one knee and pointing their guns at him. If he did anything at this point, it would be an execution.