The Investigator (Letty Davenport, #1) (102)

“We’ve had people call us and say that they were planning to come out peacefully, more or less . . .”

“You believed that?” Letty asked.

“No, I didn’t. Some people think it has to be considered as an option. We’ve also had reports that they plan to crash the Mexican side and disappear into the backcountry there.”

Letty said, “Right.”

“Then what are they going to do?”

“I’m about ninety percent sure they’re going to blow the fucking bridge,” she snapped. “After that, I don’t know.”

“What else you got?”

“Militia trucks have been tearing out of here toward that cave John was talking about and I saw a swarm of people around the jail. I’m about seventy-five percent that he pulled it off. Seventy-five percent and climbing. I should know for sure, later this afternoon. I’m going to walk back into town and do my lost-fuckin’-waif act. See what I hear.”

The unidentified man laughed: “Keep it up, babe. You’re doing good. Is there anything we can do for you? Can do for you?”

“Yes. You can threaten this Rodriguez guy, the TV guy, about what will happen to him if he gives me up. And make arrangements for me to talk to you through this TV link.”

“Have you checked other commo—”

“Yes, I’ve checked on everything. Even the Mexican side is shut down. They cut the fiber-optic cable, so no Net. They’re using commercial walkie-talkies to communicate, so if you could monitor them somehow, that’d be good. There’s only one other possibility that I can see, and that’s CB. There are some tractor-trailer trucks stuck behind the roadblock, and if I could get to one, and use his CB, I might be able to communicate that way. Range is only two or three miles. But that’s a long walk and I really need to get back to the bridge. You might tell the cops on the other side of the roadblock to monitor channel . . . what? Sixteen? For a call from Letty?”

“We’ll do that, but we expect this TV truck to be in the thick of it, so why don’t you focus on what you’re doing right now? I’m exceptionally good at threatening people, so if you’d put Rodriguez on . . . And, hey, babe, easy does it. Okay?”

“Call me ‘babe’ again and I’ll shoot you in the balls when I see you.” She’d gotten that line from a Minnesota cop friend.

“Then thank God I haven’t identified myself,” he said, laughing. Letty suspected that she would like him. “Give me Rodriguez.”

Letty waved Rodriguez over and he took the headphones and the mike. Letty walked over to the camerawoman and said, “I don’t know your name.”

“Candace. Not Candy. Not Cherry. Ochoa.”

“Like the town across the bridge?” Letty asked.

“No relation. You got a pretty cool job. Could you give us ten minutes when it’s over?”

“No. Anyway, I might want to use your link some more, so, if I come around . . .”

“We won’t turn you in,” Ochoa said. “Frankly, I think Rod-boy was an idiot to take this job. Though he’ll make a shitload of money from it, of which I will get maybe one-tenth of a shitload.”

She talked like a camerawoman, Letty thought. “How long ago did you know this was going to happen?”

“This morning, about five o’clock. Rod was told to be ready, and they might have sweetened the pot for him.” She rubbed her fingers together, meaning a cash payment. “We didn’t know what was going to happen, but Jael called Rod at five o’clock and said there’d be a big deal in Pershing and we’d be stupid if we didn’t get down here to cover it. There was nothing else going on, so . . . here we are.”

“Don’t give me up,” Letty said.

“We won’t. Listen, you got any chewing gum? My breath is like it’s coming out of a dragon’s asshole or something . . .”

Made Letty smile. Just like a camerawoman: world going to shit around her and she’s looking for a stick of gum.

Rodriguez came back, in maybe a lighter shade of pale. “That guy,” he said, “is somebody I never want to meet. Ever.”

“Did he identify himself?” Letty asked.

“No, but I know who he is.”

“Who is he?”

“You know those Romans who nailed Jesus to the cross and enjoyed it? One of them.”

“Good. As long as he made himself clear about your position in all of this,” Letty said. “Hey: catch you later, Rod-boy.”

She headed back down the hill.





TWENTY-THREE




Stepping back:

Gotta mosey. Just fuckin’ mosey, you can do that, for Christ’s sake, John. Relax your shoulders. You’re supposed to be here. You’ve taken over the town. Kick out those feet like some goofy fuckin’ clodhopper. Mosey!



* * *





Kaiser moseyed down the street, blades on his nose, blue cowboy bandanna over the bottom half of his face. Fifty yards out, he smelled barbecued hamburger, turned to look, saw a man cooking on a grill in his backyard, as if this were an ordinary summer afternoon. Smelled good.

Wearing jeans and a canvas shirt and bandanna mask, Kaiser looked more or less like the militiamen. He had the shotgun slung behind his shoulder, barrel down, so from the front, you really couldn’t see exactly what kind of weapon it was.