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Albert was parked on the shoulder in the southeast corner of the intersection, facing west. Toward Amarillo. Weird being in a place he’d seen so many times without ever actually being here.
He’d arrived a full two hours early. He couldn’t help it. He’d been so anxious about being late, he’d padded his schedule, and now here he sat in Bob’s truck, parked at the famous intersection, feeling conspicuous. Fortunately, only one vehicle had passed in the first hour. They hadn’t paid him any mind at all.
On the drive, Albert had had plenty of time to think, and he’d come to the conclusion that maybe, someday, he might call the Blanco County sheriff, Bobby Garza, and tell him exactly what had happened at the zoo. No, scratch that. He’d call John Marlin, the game warden. Marlin had saved his animals, so Albert owed him one.
So maybe Albert would call Marlin and walk him through it, from start to finish.
The note. Zoos are prissons. Postmarked from Dallas.
The young man on the tour, solo, in a Dallas Cowboys hat.
Albert’s alarm bells going off, but still not understanding exactly why the kid was here.
Then Albert, being an idiot, patrolling the zoo grounds off and on all night, wondering if the kid was going to show up and try to turn all the animals loose. Why else had he paid so much attention to the gates and the fences and the grounds in general? He wanted to release the animals from prison.
Albert’s thoughts were interrupted by a vehicle on the horizon, coming this way. Could it be Sylvia, also arriving early? He was so damn nervous, he couldn’t sit still. His mouth was parched. What would he say to her? What if it was awkward. What if they both knew in the first few minutes that their reunion simply wasn’t meant to be?
What if she didn’t show at all? That could happen. He knew that. No sense in pretending that possibility wasn’t looming out there, bigger than a water buffalo and twice as ugly.
But this vehicle coming now—it could be her.
Now he could tell that it was an SUV of some kind, which could certainly be a rental. He figured she would have flown into Amarillo, and four major car-rental companies operated out of that airport. It wasn’t like it was some little rinky-dink outfit, so she could’ve—
The SUV took a left and kept going.
A minute passed.
Albert’s thoughts returned to that night at the zoo. He had gone out at midnight and all was quiet. The gates were closed and chained. No sign of any problem whatsoever. The animals were calm.
He had fallen asleep after that, but woke at 2:35. He walked the grounds again, and as he neared the main entry gates, he heard something. Metal on metal. A chain rattling? Somebody attempting to enter? Then he was pretty sure he heard someone running away. Was it a person, or an animal trotting along the fence line? It could even be a wild deer outside the fence. He shined a powerful flashlight in that direction, but he saw nothing unusual. He waited for a full fifteen minutes, but he heard nothing more that concerned him.
Back inside, he dozed, but didn’t really sleep.
He decided to make another round at 6:00. Surely if the kid from Dallas had planned some sort of vandalism, he would’ve tried it already. The sun would rise in an hour, but at the moment, it was dark outside. The three-quarter moon was obscured by a heavy blanket of clouds.
He went straight toward the entry gates. The flashlight was in his hands, but he didn’t have it turned on. Didn’t need it. He could walk these grounds blindfolded.
Then he saw it. There was somebody out there, using a small light as he fooled around with the inner gate. He had already made his way through the outer gate.
Albert should have turned around and called 911. Or he should’ve shouted from here to scare the person away. But that’s not what he did.
He turned his flashlight on and jogged forward, yelling, “What are you doing? Get away from there!”
As he got within thirty feet, he could see that it was in fact the kid from that afternoon. The Dallas Cowboys fan. The kid raised his own flashlight—and a gun in his other hand. He immediately fired a shot and Albert instinctively hit the ground, covering his head. His flashlight hit the ground and went out.
He remembered screaming, “Don’t shoot me!” and it made sense at the time. The kid wasn’t here to kill anybody, was he? Albert hadn’t recognized the truth yet. He thought the kid might just run away, given a chance.
But there was another shot. And another. Albert could feel the impact of one of the bullets in the ground very near his head.
And then somebody yelled, “Stop!”
It was confusing out there in the darkness, but Albert realized that a third person was present. After that, it all happened fast. The Dallas kid wheeled around and fired again, but the other person shot back. Just once, but it was enough. The kid from Dallas collapsed, and now it was hard to see anything at all.
It was hazy after that. Memories muddied by adrenaline.
Albert remembered picking up his flashlight and confirming that the kid was dead—but he wasn’t from Dallas after all. The ID in his wallet said Framingham, and then Albert realized the truth. Carducci had sent him. But how? How had he discovered where Albert was? It didn’t really matter, did it?
Albert had to act fast. There wasn’t time to weigh his options. And what options could there possibly be?
Albert took the kid’s wallet. Took the gun—a revolver. And now he saw a car parked on the shoulder of the highway. Not right outside the gate, but twenty yards south. A neon-green Ford Fiesta. Hard to miss.
Albert hurried back to his house and grabbed his getaway bag. Never thought he’d need it, but he was so glad he’d kept it ready all these years.
He stopped at his truck, but if he drove that, they’d know what to look for. So he went to the Fiesta and saw the keys in the ignition. He got in and just drove south. Maybe he’d change his mind later and decide it was time to stop running, but for now, he just drove. He just wanted some time to think.
He’d closed the outer gate behind him, but he couldn’t lock it closed, because the chain had been cut. One of the animals must’ve nudged it open later. After that, the grass eaters among them were happy to find fresh grazing on the side of the highway, and the rest of them had probably followed out of curiosity.
It took a good thirty minutes for Albert’s heart to stop racing. What now? Where would he go? Was there any hope at all?
Who the hell was that person who had saved him? After firing the shot, the person had simply stood there for a long moment, as if pondering what he had done—and what he should do next. Then he had turned and sprinted into the night.
But right before he had run, for a brief moment, the clouds had opened and the moonlight shone through. Albert saw a face, but shadows were cast across it, and he couldn’t make out any features. A young man? Maybe. Difficult to tell.
He was wearing an orange jacket and carrying a backpack. That much Albert knew. But nothing else.
Maybe he’d share these details, sparse as they were, with John Marlin someday, or maybe he—
Another vehicle, this one coming from the west. The right direction, if it was Sylvia coming from Amarillo.
Albert took a deep breath.
The vehicle was closer now, and Albert saw that it was a larger luxury car. Maybe a Chrysler or a Cadillac. That was more Sylvia’s style. Black car. Four doors. Definitely did not fit in with the flat, dusty landscape. Yes, a Chrysler.
The car slowed and stopped at the intersection, facing him. No blinker. Now just twenty yards away. Albert couldn’t see the driver through the glare on the windshield.
Could the driver see him?
The Chrysler sat there for a long moment, then moved forward slowly.
Albert was holding his breath.
Then the Chrysler eased off the side of the road, toward Albert, and came to a stop in front of the truck.
He could see her now. He could see Sylvia. She was smiling, and maybe crying a little, too.
This was really happening.
They opened their doors at the same time.