The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(81)

“How?” Rick asked, also standing.

Tom smiled. “I don’t know... but I’ve got an idea. For now, though, we need to get some rest. And given what’s happened already, I think we should stick together. Let’s all go to my house. It’s probably dusty, but it’ll do for the night.”

“Good idea,” Powell chimed in. “I could probably arrange for an officer to watch–”

“No,” Rick said, cutting Powell off and turning to Tom. “Whoever the man that tried to kill Dawn is, he probably knows where we all live here. If he survived the fall, then he’ll come back for more. An officer won’t stop him.”

“Well, son, do you have another suggestion?” Tom asked.

Rick nodded. “Yes, sir, I do.”





69


JimBone made the call from a pay phone in Northport at 6 the next morning. His clothes were still wet, and his testicles were so sore he could barely walk. Fucking nigger bastard, he thought, already planning his revenge. He had heard of the great Bocephus Haynes, Pulaski’s only black trial lawyer. And he was certain that Mr Haynes would hear from him again. But first, he had to break the news. The phone picked up on the first ring.

“Well?” Jack Willistone said, forgoing a greeting. Even at the break of day, Jack sounded alert and irritated.

“No dice, boss. I about had her in the car, but Drake and the old geezer showed up before I could get away with her.”

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” Jack muttered. “Did they see you?”

“I... I’m not sure. There just wasn’t enough time to set it up,” JimBone said.

Silence filled the line. JimBone knew to keep his mouth shut and not to apologize.

“OK, Bone. Just be at my house next Wednesday.”

JimBone smiled, relieved that payday was still going forward. “Will do, boss.”



Jack Willistone slammed the phone down, and began to pace the floor of the kitchen. It wasn’t like JimBone to fail. No one could account for the old SOB’s surprise yesterday; even Jack had been caught off guard by that. But nabbing the girl should have been easy as pie. Must’ve been out of his control, Jack thought. Then he shook his head. It didn’t matter. Failure was failure. Bone will be taking a pay cut. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Jack sighed and gazed through the bay window to McFarland Avenue below, where he could still see the remains of the Ultron plant. He knew there wasn’t anything else he could do.

Buck Bulyard was dead. Dick “Mule” Morris was dead. Willard Carmichael and Wilma Newton were bought and paid for. The Ultron plant and the documents it held were ashes and dust, and Faith Bulyard had been “handled”.

So what if Murphy testifies? Taking her out was just added insurance. Newton’s testimony is out there, even if it is tainted, and there’s nothing sweet little Dawn Murphy can do to take it away.

Jack smiled and lit a cigar. Murphy is irrelevant. With what we’ve done, Tyler should be good enough to either win outright or keep the verdict below the policy limits.

Jack blew a smoke cloud in the air, and chuckled softly.

Either way, I win and the merger goes through...





70


As the sun began to rise over the cotton field, Rick walked out onto the porch. Billy Drake leaned against the railing, holding a 12-gauge shotgun. Three packs of birdshot were lying in a box on the ground beneath him. Behind his father, Rick noticed that a hunting rifle and a .38 caliber pistol were leaning against both rocking chairs.

“Got enough ammunition?” Rick asked, handing Billy a mug of coffee and taking a sip from his own.

“I think we’d manage pretty good. He’d have to bring a pretty big posse to get past this porch.”

Rick nodded and drank some more coffee.

“I’m glad you patched it up with your teacher,” Billy said. “I always liked him. He played for the Man.”

Rick knew that his father had been offered a scholarship to play football for Bear Bryant, but had turned it down. Billy Drake hadn’t gone to college. Instead, he’d taken over the family farm when his own father died of a heart attack when Billy was eighteen.

“I like the girl too,” Billy said, chuckling. “And I can damn sure tell that you do.”

Rick turned his eyes from the rising sun, and gazed at his father. “Is it that obvious?”

Billy just smiled.

Rick smiled back. For several minutes, neither of them spoke as the sun made its gradual ascent over land that had been in Rick’s family for almost a century.

“Dad, I don’t know how to thank you,” Rick said, his voice thick with emotion. “I... really didn’t know where else to turn.”

“No need for thanks,” Billy said, fixing Rick with eyes that would pierce glass. “You did right coming here, Rick. You’re my son and this is our land.” Billy turned his gaze out over the railing. “God have mercy on the poor sonofabitch who declares war on us.”





71


At 8.55 the next morning, Powell Conrad was waiting in the lobby, pacing the floor and listening on his cell phone as Trish Ball droned on about the investigation of the Black Warrior River.

“They been calling every fifteen minutes like you asked, but there’s nothing so far. Those boys been up all night and are wanting to know if they can quit or if you still want to drag the river.”