Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(7)

I made my decision and walked over to the tree line in the back of the parking lot. I planned on following it to the rear of the building and looking in some windows.

I’d gotten about half way there when the door to the Red Barn opened, and Debbie and Mary Sue stepped out, acting as if everything was normal. That made me feel better. They stopped and chatted, and I mentally urged them to get in their cars and drive away, but my telepathy was shooting blanks and they stood there gabbing. Sheesh.

Finally, Mary Sue made a laughing comment about freezing her buns off and the two of them got in their vehicles and started them up. Their windshields were covered with snow, so they got out, gloved them clean, and got back in and waited for the defroster to do its job.

From behind I heard the big Cadillac engine start up. I realized right away what had happened. Ostrich Boy was going to follow one of them, probably Mary Sue, and I had made a critical error by being so far from my vehicle. If she took off now and he followed her, I’d never be able to get to my truck in time to follow them. I chided myself for my rookie mistake.

My adrenaline doubled down and my heart raced, pounding so loud in my ears that I swear everyone within five blocks could hear it. I holstered my Glock and tore ass down the street toward my truck in a full-blown sprint that would have made Usain Bolt stand and cheer.

I had a good three hundred feet to go before I reached St. Anna’s parking lot when from behind I heard a car creep across the snow-covered gravel lot of the Red Barn. I turned around just in time to see headlights swing around and head in my direction.

I needed to hide, fast, otherwise I’d be seen. I saw a row of small evergreens and dove behind them, sliding on my stomach in the snow, just as Mary Sue’s VW sped past me. She was going way too fast on the slick road. I’d have to have a chat with her about her driving habits.

It was close, but I wasn’t spotted. A couple of seconds passed and I saw what I was afraid of. The Cadillac SUV pulled out of Charlotte Valley Road and followed Mary Sue’s car on Route 10.

When the SUV passed me, its big four-hundred-horsepower engine roaring loud to accelerate the three-ton machine, I peered in the side window and saw a single occupant. Ostrich Boy.





7





Debbie still hadn’t left the parking lot yet, but when she did she’d be heading my way. I didn’t want to take a chance on her seeing me, but I had no choice. I had to get going in my truck before I lost Ostrich Boy.

The defroster gods were on my side and they took their time clearing the windshield of Debbie’s BMW. I made it back to my truck and with wheels spinning and kicking up snow I tore ass out of the church parking lot and onto Route 10. I looked up in my rearview mirror and saw the familiar sight of Debbie’s halogen headlights pulling out from the parking lot. That was close.

I accelerated and pulled away, impressed with my little Toyota’s power as I passed through seventy-five, tightened my seat belt, and backed off when I touched ninety. The roads were wet from the fallen snow, but not yet frozen. At least not where I was, but it wouldn’t surprise me to start running into frozen patches of road. The squiggly “Bridge Freezes Before Roadway” sign popped into my head and I tried to remember if I would be racing over any of the thousands of small bridges that crossed the many streams and creeks that meandered through upstate New York. I drew a blank. Damn warm beer.

I rounded a slight bend and spotted the taillights of the SUV and backed off the gas. I didn’t want to get too close and get made. Some law enforcement officers might actually opt for that. One of the techniques for thwarting emotional crime, which this was a case of, was delay—the thinking being that the longer the interaction between attacker and victim was delayed, the more likely that the aggressor would get over his anger towards his victim and move on. I could pull up to the SUV with my lights off and force him off the road, sending him to the hospital for the night.

I didn’t believe in that theory. Not even close. I’d listened in on enough illegally tapped phone calls to understand that you never gave these guys a second chance. If you had an advantage, like the one of surprise that I had now, you used it.

I resisted the urge to pull up alongside him and empty my Glock into the side of his face. While that would be satisfying, his dead body would bring unwanted attention, so I had to be patient and see what developed. I knew that Mary Sue’s house was still a few miles away, but I didn’t know what Ostrich Boy’s plan was. I did know that it wasn’t good, and that he was going to die tonight. Other than that, I was at a loss.

In one stretch of road where Route 10 upsloped and curved slightly, I could see the SUV stalking Mary Sue’s car in the same view. The short little greasy-haired bastard was doing an admirable job of keeping a safe distance from her so that he wouldn’t be spotted, and I used the time to think through possible scenarios.

Would he force her off the road? I doubted it. Too risky. Someone could drive by, see them, and offer assistance. Or just drive by, keep going, and now you had a witness.

Would he follow her to her house and break in after she went inside? That was risky too; Ostrich Boy had no way of knowing if anyone else was home, and everyone in Summit, and most of upstate New York, had at least one hunting rifle handy. I had a .22, a .223, a .30-06, and a twelve-gauge shotgun. And lots of ammo. Glock was my pistol of choice, and I had three 17s, one in each bedroom, all locked away in quick access furniture safes. I had dozens of 9mm spare clips lying all over the house, like most homes had ashtrays in the seventies.