Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(119)

His eyes flew to the clock. Maybe she wasn’t planning to leave today. Maybe she’d stay around. But he didn’t believe it. He’d hurt her too much last night, and she’d get away as soon as she could.

“I’ve got to make a phone call!” he yelled.

“Shut up over there.”

For the first time he realized he wasn’t alone. The city jail held only two small cells, and the bed in the next one was occupied by a seedy-looking character with red eyes and a scraggly beard.

Bobby Tom ignored him and kept on shouting. “I get a phone call! I want it now!”

No one answered.

He began limping frantically around the cell. His bad knee protruded through a jagged tear in his jeans, most of the buttons on his shirt were missing, along with part of a sleeve, and his knuckles looked as if they’d been through a meat grinder. He returned to the bars and began calling out again, but the drunk in the next cell was the only one who responded.

The minutes ticked by on the clock. He knew how much pleasure Jimbo was getting out of seeing him like this, but he didn’t care. His voice grew hoarse, but he couldn’t keep quiet. He tried to tell himself his behavior was foolish, that there was no logic behind this sense of urgency, but his panic wouldn’t abate. If he didn’t get to Gracie right away, he’d lose her forever.

Nearly half an hour elapsed before the door that led out to the main room of the station opened again, but this time Dell Brady, Jimbo’s good-looking black deputy, walked through. Bobby Tom had never been so glad to see anybody in his life. He’d played ball with Dell’s brother, and the two of them had always gotten along.

“Damn, B.T., you’re about yelling the place down. Sorry I couldn’t get in here earlier, but I had to wait for Jim to leave.”

“Dell! I’ve got to make a phone call. I know I’ve got the right to make one phone call.”

“You made it last night, B.T. You called old Jerry Jones himself and told the owner of the Dallas Cowboys you wouldn’t play for his team if it was the last one on earth.”

“Shit!” Bobby Tom slammed his fists against the bars, sending shafts of pain shooting up his arms.

“Nobody ever saw you so drunk,” Dell went on. “You about destroyed the Wagon Wheel, not to mention what you did to Len.”

“I’ll take care of all that later, and I promise I’ll settle up with Len. But right now I have to get to a phone.”

“I don’t know, B.T. Jim’s really got it in for you. Ever since you and Sherri Hopper—”

“That was fifteen years ago!” he shouted. “Come on. Just one call.”

To his relief, Dell reached for the keys on his belt. “All right. I guess as long I’ve got you locked up again before Jim comes back from the coffee shop, what he don’t know won’t hurt him.”

Dell took so long fumbling with the keys that Bobby Tom wanted to grab him by the throat and yell at him to hurry up. Finally, however, he was out of the cell and walking through the door that led into the main room of the police station. Just as he got there, Rose Collins, who’d been working for the department for as long as he could remember and whose grass he used to mow, looked up at him and held out her telephone.

“It’s for you, Bobby Tom. It’s Terry Jo.”

He snatched the phone from her. “Terry Jo! Do you know where Gracie is?”

“She’s renting a car from Buddy right this minute so she can drive to San Antone. She can’t see me—I’m in the back room—but she told Buddy she’s got an early-afternoon flight. He’s making me call you, even though I swore to him last night that I was never going to speak to you again as long as I lived. I never knew you could be such a bastard. Not only what you did to Gracie—she’s wearing sunglasses and I know she’s been crying—but you should see Buddy’s face. His jaw’s all swole up twice its size, and—”

“Tell Buddy not to rent her that car!”

“He has to or he’ll lose his franchise. He’s tried to stall her, but you know how she is. Looks like he’s giving her the keys right now.”

He cursed and shoved his hand through his hair, wincing when he hit a gash near his temple. “Call Judge Gates right now and get him over here. Tell him—”

“There’s no time; she’s climbing in the car now. It’s a blue Grand Am. She’s a pretty cautious driver, B.T. You can take her easy as long as you get going now.”

“I’m in jail!”

“Well, get out!”

“I’m trying! In the meantime, you’ve got to stop her.”

“It’s too late. She’s pulling out now. You’re going to have to catch up with her on the highway.”

Bobby Tom slammed down the phone and turned to Rose and Dell, who had been listening with open interest. “Gracie’s just left Buddy’s Garage. She’s on her way to San Antone, and I need to catch her before she reaches the interstate.”

“What the hell’s he doing out of that cell?” Jimbo Thackery came storming through the door, donut crumbs on his shirt and his swarthy face mottled with anger.

“Gracie’s leaving town,” Dell began to explain, “and Bobby Tom needs to get to her before—”

“He’s under arrest!” Jimbo shouted. “Lock him up right now!”