NINETEEN

 

Glossy red, white and blue rectangles were plastered on everything, and most seemed to have Birk's name on them. We'd heard on the radio that his staff had planned a large victory celebration for him at his business office, a large brick building facing the bay on the front and an enclosed courtyard in the rear. His choice as the party's candidate during this primary was a given.

Time was no big deal to me anymore, so I stopped by the cemetery first, drove to Sheevers' grave and said goodbye. So much had changed. I cruised around in the dead man's truck while I searched for a plan. I was in no shape to simply run in, guns blazing. The front of the office was alive with well-dressed men and women stringing colored foil ribbons and passing out literature to people on their way to the polls to vote. New cars were arriving as others puled away, and everyone looked so god damned happy.

The General and his troops, one of them a man who'd murdered a fifteen year-old girl in cold blood, had gone away, but not for good. Under Birk's command as governor, they would simply bide their time, wait for the right sequence of events, and it would be back on line again.

I drove past the jubilant crowd, pulled around the block, and examined two buildings on the back side of the block. The taller one was a state office building, filled with administrators and engineers. The other, less well-kept, had once been a hotel, but the Sunset cut its own rates, ran a high-powered advertising campaign. The famous old hotel added a few amenities for a time, and this hotel's owners threw in the towel. A triumphant Sunset Hotel board of directors bought the building and turned it into a supply warehouse.

I stopped the truck in the alley and snugged it up to the warehouse. I sat there, looking like hell. I didn't need to be out wandering around in my condition. A quick look showed both side doors and, beyond that, a dark alley ended at a tall cinder block wall enclosing Bob Birk's courtyard.

Once again, the only choice was to act or sit in the truck breathing carbon monoxide until it didn't matter anymore. I glanced around, saw no one, and got out. The double steel doors were locked, but it took only a shove to open them. From the number of gouges around the cheap and battered lock sets, it was apparent that most of the hotel staff found it easier to carry a screwdriver than a key. The doors scraped across the dirty, dark entry and I stepped inside.

The place smelled of mold and decay, and the drywall was spotted with water. Ceiling tiles hung swollen and broken, exposed conduit was dented and leaked insulated wire at the joints. I walked back to the truck and lifted the rifle from the gun rack, checked to make sure it was loaded, then went back inside the decrepit old hotel. I didn't bother looking around. Even if someone saw me, the odds were against reporting me. People hate to get involved.

The stairs were no more dangerous than any other part of the old structure, and the fire doors at each level hung from their hinges. I wondered if anybody ever came in and guessed it might just be a hangout for winos and druggies. I slowed down and made my way with more caution. I didn't want to blow my one chance to get Birk by stumbling into a nest of dopers with guns.

When I reached the top floor I stopped without having seen a soul. I found a room with a view of the courtyard and settled down to wait.

When I tried to raise the window it stuck about an inch above the jamb and, in frustration, I almost broke it out and said the hell with it. Finally, haltingly, it came loose and I bumped it up little by little until I could sit comfortably and still aim anywhere in Birk's flag-draped courtyard.

It was lock-and-load time, and I slipped a shell into the chamber.

Bob Birk wasn't outside, and I was disappointed. I wanted this to be over, and I had no more patience at all. Katherine was dead and it was obscene for me to be alive. My old pal Bob and I would go together, arm in arm, wing in wing, maybe; who knows how much God can forgive?

It was the longest day I'd ever spent, and it didn't seem fair, now that I was in such a hurry. The General was down there, and as he kept flitting in and out of the office, I wondered if I would have the luck to nail them both. Shadows crawled under the tables and trees and snuck out the other side, and still Birk didn't show. My leg went to sleep and my shoulder woke up. I studied every window on his office building, looked at the scrubbed faces of his people. My stomach grumbled, and I knew then why Oswald brought fried chicken with him. He did it to kill time.

Somebody was shouting. I raised my chin from a cardboard box and blinked into the afternoon sun. An angry voice roared from down below and the rear door of Birk's office crashed open. Birk stepped out onto the ornate tiles of the courtyard and pulled off his jacket, the wide expanse of white shirt an easy target. I lifted the rifle and let the stock settle on the box, steadying it with my leg and squinting down the scope.

He wasn't there. Without losing my position in the sights, I moved the end of the barrel around until I found him again. He leaned upon a loaded banquet table, but before I could squeeze off a shot he roared again and lifted his end of the table. Crystal punch bowls and cakes and flower arrangements and colorful food raced each other to the ground, and most of it got there before Birk flipped the table over on its side. He yanked the wet bar down and slugged the woman bartender, knocking her on her back.

He probably would've done a lot of other weird things, but another woman looked up at that moment and spotted me.

In my surprise at Birk's antics, I had leaned forward to get a better look and was sitting halfway out the window, the rifle aimed toward the ground. The lady screamed and pointed, then others screamed and pointed. I ducked back into the room so fast that I forgot I was only holding the rifle in one hand. The barrel bumped the bottom of the window and the rifle slipped from my fingers. It bounced on the ledge and clattered loudly as it went over the side.

"Shit," I said. I groped for a handhold and tried to pull myself to my feet, but my good leg had fallen asleep, too, and I really didn't have a leg to stand on. I fell over a little pile of debris. I heard the doors downstairs crash open, heard footsteps on the stairs. I leaned back against the wall, pulled the big revolver from my pants, and pointed it at the door.

A large figure dashed up the last step and, as I gripped the gun and felt for the trigger I saw Lonnie Patrick in my sights.

"Mac!" he yelled at me. "Don't do it!"

I was really confused, and when Lonnie plucked the pistol from my hand I just stared at him. "Birk lost the primary, Mac!" he said. "It's over!"

"What?" I said as he helped me up. I stomped my disobedient foot on the floor.

"Birk never even made it to the elections, buddy." Lonnie grinned at me. "They said on the radio that it's the heaviest turnout anyone's ever seen, and he lost. Birk lost big!

"Let's get the hell out of here," he said, and we headed down the stairs together.

"Where's Katherine?" I said.

"She's in the van," Lonnie said, "with Candy. We couldn't find you, man. We've been looking everywhere."

"Why aren't you dead?" I asked. Nobody's ever accused me of being astute. Lonnie was on the first floor landing, and I was clomping along like mad to catch up. He looked back at me.

"One of Willis' neighbors called him and said some guy was snooping around, asking questions - wanted to know where Willis lived," Lonnie said patiently. "Willis called and told us to get out of the house. We couldn't find you anywhere."

"I was out front," I said. "By the water."

"You were out, all right," Lonnie said. "Somewhere out in your universe, I imagine. You must've been doing that Voodoo shit again, because we were yelling our heads off. I tell you, Mac, if you're gonna keep dong that stuff you'd better get a baby sitter."

He pushed open the doors, and Sheriff Hall was leaning against the dead man's truck. He was pointing the huge bore of a riot gun at my chest, and several of his deputies were pointing theirs our way, too. Sirens wailed everywhere.

Katherine and Candy were handcuffed together and surrounded by uniforms. When she saw me with Lonnie her face lit up and she called my name. "Shut up," the Sheriff said, "or I'll shut you up."

More and more cops raced down the alley - deputies, city cops and state troopers. All had their weapons drawn.

"You fellers just hold still," Sheriff Hall said to us, and we stopped in our tracks. A deputy frisked us both and took two pistols from Lonnie, his and mine. "I believe we're about to put a stop to a whole lot of trouble, Clay," the Sheriff said. "You been botherin' the good people of Palmetto Bay for a long time, but I got a feeling they won't have to worry about you anymore."

He had the same smug tone Brer Fox used on Brer Rabbit.

There was a commotion in the street, and Bob Birk barged into the alley with his entourage, pushing aside deputies and policemen alike. When he saw me, his eyes filled with rage. "You!" he screeched at me. "You lousy fuck! I oughta' blow your fucking head off!"

"Oh," I said, sympathetically. "Have we had a bad day?"

"God damn!" Birk's face turned as red as his tie, and he tore the riot gun from Sheriff Hall's hands, stepped forward and stuck the barrel under my chin. We were practically eye-to-eye. A silver .357 Colt pistol materialized from the left, and its muzzle touched Birk's cheek.

"Drop the gun now, Mr. Birk," Willis Traxler said in a calm, conversational tone, "or I'll have to kill you."

"Stay out of this, asshole!" Birk hissed, his eyes never leaving mine.

"No, sir," Willis said. "I cain't do that. Put that gun down."

"Sheriff!" Birk shouted. "This deputy was hiding these criminals in his family house!"

"Traxler," Sheriff Hall was unsure, puzzled by this turn of events. "Don't make things worse on yourself, bud. Back off."

"No, sir," Willis showed respect. The end of the shotgun was buried under my chin, and it hurt like hell. Birk was sweating buckets.

"Hall!" Shouting seemed to be his natural voice. "Get this asshole away from me!"

"Don't try it, sir," Willis kept cool. Without changing tempo, he raised his voice a little and said, "Drop it now, or I will shoot you, Mr. Birk."

His voice held an intensity that surprised me. Birk pulled the shotgun from my throat and Willis took it from him. Birk stepped back, almost insane in his anger.

"Traxler." Hall stepped in front of Birk and tried to stare down Willis. "You're under arrest for insubordination, so give me your pistol, son."

"No." There was no 'sir' this time. "These is good people, Sheriff. I'm gonna make sure they leave this alley alive."

"Men," the Sheriff looked around him, "if this deputy refuses to lay down his pistol again, I'm ordering you to shoot him."

Hall stepped a little closer, but stayed out of the line of fire. "Now," he said firmly, "give me your gun."

"I cain't do that, Sheriff," Willis said. He handed the riot gun to Lonnie Patrick. A rumble of voices swept across the men.

"This man is a police Lieutenant from Tallahassee. He ain't here as a stranger, guys. He's one of us."

He was talking to the other cops only now, ignoring Sheriff Hall. "The FDLE is at the Sheriff's office right now, and they're confiscating his files."

More than one uniformed man cleared his throat and, one by one, the cops crossed to Willis Traxler's side of the alley.

"What the hell you talking about, boy?" the Sheriff said, glancing around him. "Ain't no FDLE in my office!"

"Yes, sir," Willis said. "They are."

More cops crossed over, and some began talking on their walkie talkies. Electronic voices crackled in the air. Hall stood with Bob Birk and three sweating deputies. The troopers and city cops stood apart from the others, hands on their pistol stocks, holsters unsnapped. They studied the showdown.

"Let the women go, Carl," Willis said to a tall deputy who stood beside Katherine and Candy. "C'mon, buddy. You know what's right."

The Sheriff was so busy thinking, he didn't even notice this mutiny in his ranks. The two women joined Lonnie and me.

"What the hell you talking about?" Hall said. "What investigation?"

"Limestone Creek, Sheriff," Willis said. "It seems they's a lot of questions about what really happened that night. I thank they even gonna dig up poor old Renaldo."

"Huh?" The Sheriff tried to get smaller. Lonnie had told the people in Tallahassee that Willis was the man to work with in Palmetto Bay, and I guessed they'd done so. The other three deputies jumped ship and swam to Willis.

"The Sheriff ordered me to take Renaldo there that night!" One of the deputies said to the rest.

"Shut up, Preston," Hall's voice was menacing.

"He ordered me to," the deputy mumbled again, sullen now, and scared.

Birk began making puffing noises and clutched his chest. His tired-eyed daughter stepped from the group and put an arm halfway around him. "Come on, Daddy," she said.

An older man took his other side and they led him away through the hushed crowd. I looked at Katherine. She took my hands in hers and we stood, touching fingers. Sheriff Hall stepped toward Birk's retreating back, then turned to his mutineers. He was a man used to power, and he didn't know what to do. He spun back to Birk again, angry and afraid.

"Birk!" He yelled, but the other man didn't stop, didn't acknowledge him. "Damn it, Birk! Your people better stand behind me on this!"

"Birk!" Hall was on the move now, trying to narrow the gap between them. The entourage turned the corner and vanished from sight. The cops broke into small groups and, heads together, wandered from the alley. Katherine and I missed most of it, because we were busy watching each other.

"It'll take a couple of days to close out my accounts and get my things," I said, finding it hard not to fall into those beautiful green eyes.

"I have time," Katherine smiled. I glanced at my shoulder.

"This thing's going to take a while to heal," I said. "I'll be a burden."

"Oh, Mac." Katherine's face stole light from the disappearing sun. There was that smile again. "You'll always be a pain in the ass, but I love you."

She moved even closer. "I want to give my house to Willis and Addie," I said. "We left their place a mess, you know?" She nodded.

"I don't know how to go about it," I said, "but Mark can figure all that out, I guess."

"You'd use Mark?" Katherine asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd use him. He's my friend, and I don't have many of those."

Katherine laughed so hard I had to prop her up on my bruised shoulder. I decided not to tell her I was being sincere.