Bad Bones (Claire Morgan) (30 page)

“I ain’t takin’ nothin’ back. And that’s what you say now. Wait’ll you hear what she’s been up to since you been locked up inside that hospital.”

Anger gushed through him. “Okay, Bones, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wanna know what I saw after they took you away that day?”

“You stayed around and spied on them?”

“That’s right. I sure did. I saw everything, too.”

“How is she then? Is she all right? Tell me where she is. I gotta go see her. It’s been a long time. She’s gonna be worried ’bout me.”

Bones laughed. “Better sit down, bro. You ain’t gonna like this. No way in hell are you gonna like this.”

“Just tell me where she is, damn it!”

Punk watched Bones sprawl down on the couch, very near their rotting brother. The smell was stomach turning, probably left over from the body fluids soaked down into the carpet. Punk gagged a bit and then covered his nose and mouth again.

“I creeped around her house some, Punk, that’s how I got the scoop.”

On edge and shaking with anger, Punk waited. He knew good and well that the more he begged and demanded Bones to tell him, the longer Bones would make him wait. Bones was just ornery that way. “Never you mind then. Keep it to yourself. I’ll just go over there and find her for myself.”

“Wouldn’t advise that, Punk. They already got it out on the tube that you escaped from the crazy house. Heard it on my police band radio about an hour ago. They found that orderly you beat up and now everybody’s lookin’ for you. Our pretty face will be plastered all over the news by sunup. Good thing I’ve been hiding out at the mine shaft, or they’d of picked me up already.”

Punk just stood there and tried to think what he should do. He felt like throttling Bones, and that would be good enough for the jerk. He hadn’t changed at all.

Bones was still grinning, all relaxed and comfortable. “Okay, if you gotta know so quick, she done went and got hitched again.”

“No, she did not. You’re lyin’, Bones.”

“Oh, yeah, she sure did, too. And get this, Punk. She lived over there in St. Louis with that new husband of hers for a time and then she just up and ran off and shacked up with one of our own brothers.”

Punk felt unable to breathe. Like his world had come to an end. “No, she did not. You’re lying to me, Bones. She’d never do that. Never, ever. She’d wait for me. She always said she only wanted me.”

“Ain’t lyin’, bro, cross my heart and hope to die. But I got some good news for you, too. Our dear brother who is now screwin’ your own little true love is gonna be fightin’ tonight down at the Lake Inn. We can get him there, easy as pie. You know, wait ’til after the fight, when he’s tired and won’t have much left in him. He’s pretty good now, but not against the both of us, and I’ll help you put ’im down. Never liked that kid, anyways, and I haven’t got to break all that many bones since you left. Had to lay low and such.” Bones laughed and started cracking his knuckles because he’d always liked the sound of that, too.

“You been stayin’ here? With that?” Punk looked down at what used to be his older brother.

“Nah, not so much in here. I’ve been livin’ out at my new hideout in the mine shaft mostly. Especially since the snow started up. Got it fixed up pretty good, too, nice and warm. Nobody can find us out there.”

“Okay, c’mon, let’s get outta here. We gotta make us some plans.”

Before noon the next day, Claire and Bud were back out in boondock paradise checking out some of the less crazy neighbors of the two feuding clans. She had a bad feeling that every single person with a functioning brain stem residing in the immediate feud vicinity hated all Fitchvillers and Parkervites worse than the proverbial poison dart, each and every single one. Thus, they would probably unload upon inquiring detectives any ill will and incriminating details about their nutty neighbors with gleeful alacrity. So they drove past Fitchville’s newly repaired and reinforced entrance gate and passed the place where they had first trekked through the deep snow and spied on the quaint quasi-village/hillbilly cult. They passed a trailer park that sat across the road, but it looked deserted so they decided to have patrol cars canvas that area while they concentrated on the neighbor whose property abutted the two feuding families. When they found a road leading off to the left, they followed it and found the gravel in fairly good repair and partially scraped of snow. So they bounced and jounced along, Bud telling her about his latest romantic phone call from Brianna. At least they did until they heard a barrage of gunfire coming from the direction in which they were headed.

Bud cut his love story short and accelerated until they swung around a thick stand of pine trees and a large two-story, white clapboard farmhouse came into sight at the end of the road. They slowed to a stop and peered out over the seemingly innocent-looking place, until they heard more gunshots coming from somewhere behind the house and then echoing down through the woods. Drawing their weapons, they got out together and stealthily made their way up the snow-slick front yard, where they found a couple of vans parked out front and a few more shots ringing out in the cold and crisp air, definitely emanating from out back. Claire gripped her new 9mm a little tighter and took the right side of the house, while Bud crept around the other side. She inched slowly up to the rear corner, where she could just glimpse the woman standing out in the backyard.

Fortunately, she was facing away from Claire. Unfortunately, she was holding a huge .357 magnum in both hands, and keeping a steady bead on the six people stretched out at her feet, spread-eagled belly down in the snow. The woman suddenly cried out in a loud voice that brooked no funny business, “Hear me good, people! Do not move a muscle or I’ll shoot you. And don’t think I won’t. Do exactly what I say or you are gonna be dead.”

Okay, that was enough for Claire. She stepped out behind the woman, her own weapon out front and aimed dead-center on the woman’s back. “Drop it, lady! Now! Drop your gun!”

The woman froze where she stood, and then slowly turned her head around until she could see Claire. Then before Claire could blink, the other woman spun and crouched low, her giant weapon focused on Claire’s chest. “Don’t think so. I don’t disarm for anybody. So you drop it, lady, or I’ll shoot you. You hear me? I am a very good shot, and this gun will blow a hole the size of Montana through your lungs.”

Okay, now. Claire stared at the woman, but she kept her weapon right where it was. She wasn’t known for disarming herself, either. The woman holding the gun on her was tall and striking, gorgeous, really, and young, probably in her thirties, long silky black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but her eyes were green, sorta like pure Chinese jade green, unwavering, unafraid, and definitely harboring nothing but business. Claire decided to go official.

“I am a police officer. I said drop that gun!” Claire kept her own weapon on target and unwavering.

Luckily, Bud decided to show up, and not a minute too soon, either. The situation was sticky, to be sure, and Claire was very glad she had brought him along to have her back. Standing against a .357 was never a good thing. Bud moved out of his cover at the other end of the house, weapon extended and pointed at Vivid Green Eyes. “No,
you
drop that gun, lady, just like my partner said, and nobody’ll get hurt,” That was growled in Bud’s most intimidating voice, and Claire welcomed the gruff menace as a step in the right direction.

Then, before Bud or Claire could move, all the women lying on the ground lurched up onto their knees, almost in tandem, with six guns held in expert two-handed grips and all aimed directly at Bud, followed by a whole lot of unsettling sounds, like safeties going off and rounds being chambered.

“Oh, crap,” said Bud, and for very good reason.

Exactly
, thought Claire. “We are Canton County Sheriff detectives,” she said with more calm than she was actually feeling at the moment. “Now all of you relinquish your weapons. We have backup on the way.” That wasn’t true, of course, but maybe they’d believe it. Claire waited a few seconds for them to obey her command, but to no avail. Looked like an eight-woman, one-man standoff, all right, which was always a pretty dicey affair, especially since there were just two of them on her side.

Finally, the lady with the .357 magnum said, “Okay, and I am FBI. I will, if you will.”

What the hell? Claire didn’t think so. She wasn’t born yesterday, after all. “You first. I always try to be polite. And do make it quick. A gun that big pointed straight at my heart makes me feel downright insecure.”

At that, the self-proclaimed Fed gave a slight smile. Then she spread her fingers wide apart and let the gun dangle by the trigger guard on her right forefinger. She squatted down slowly and gently laid her weapon on the snow and then raised both arms out to her sides. Immediately after that, the half dozen ladies on their knees did exactly the same thing in exactly the same manner, and with impressive syncopated movements, at that, almost like an Olympic water aerobics team without the bathing caps and water. Then to Claire’s utter surprise, they all looked around at each other and started clapping their hands and laughing as if they were having the time of their lives.

“Great show, Laurie!” one called out to Madame .357.

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that,” cried another delighted female.

“That’s the best exercise we’ve done so far! It seemed so real. Especially the expression on that cute guy’s face when we all drew on him.”

Claire watched that cute guy’s face color to the exact shade of a sugar beet. He said with a more pleasant inflection, “Well, I hope all those weapons aren’t loaded.”

“Oh, they are loaded all right,” said Laurie, the alleged FBI agent. Then she looked at Claire, who still had not holstered her Glock and didn’t plan to do so any time soon. “You got a badge, detective? Or is this some kind of shakedown?”

Claire pulled the chain with her badge out from the neck of her parka and showed it around. The FBI lady examined it, close up and suspiciouslike. “Alrighty then. I’m satisfied. I’m Special Agent Laurie Dale, glad to meet you.” With a wide smile, she jerked off her right glove and stuck out her hand, all friendlylike.

Claire holstered her weapon and took the other woman’s hand. Laurie Dale gripped it nice and tight, and said, “These are my students. We’re the Ozarks Chapter of the Pack Those Pistols Gun Club. The ladies here are all participating in my carry-conceal class. We were reenacting a hostage crisis of sorts when you showed up. We got a bit of a bonus lesson today, right, girls?”

The girls all nodded and started rising to their feet, excited and talking together and seemed very happy nobody got shot. Actually, Claire was pretty happy about that herself. For, truth was, it could’ve been a bloodbath.

Claire said, “You’re really FBI?”

“Yeah, assigned out here at the farm for the moment.”

“You have time to sit down and talk to us? We need to ask you some questions about your neighbors.”

“Those crazy ass Fitches? Or those idiot Parker boys? I’m not surprised you’re on to them. Just a sec, and we’ll go inside and have a nice little chat.” She turned back to her waiting students. “Well, ladies, I guess that’s gonna have to be it for today. You got a little taste of the real thing, quite a surprise for all of us, I’d say. Hope you learned something from these two detectives. See you next week. Same time, same place. Bring plenty of ammo. We’re gonna do some target shooting.”

The chattering girls holstered their guns and proceeded around the side of the house to their cars, and Laurie Dale led Claire and Bud up onto the screened-in back porch and then through a door and into a nice big warm country kitchen, replete with the delicious smell of homemade chocolate fudge cake in the air.

“Have a seat. How about some cake and coffee? I’ve also got chocolate chip cookies. I baked a big batch this morning for the club.”

“Thanks,” said Claire.

“I’ll take both,” said Bud, trying not to drool.

While Claire and Bud shrugged out of their heavy winter parkas, Special Agent Dale poured them both big white mugs full of steaming hot coffee and then put down a platter full of homemade cookies in front of them. She cut them both a piece of the most fantastic looking cake, three tall layers, with fudge icing and miniature chocolate chips on top, and sliced strawberries all around the edge of the cake stand. Claire’s mouth actually started watering. That’s what she got for skipping breakfast. She put the first bite in her mouth as Laurie leaned against the bar and gazed at them. “So, you two are goin’ after all my yahoo neighbors, huh?”

“That’s right. We’re working a double homicide case. One of the Parker boys and his wife were both murdered recently.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. One is the body they found over in Ha Ha Tonka, right?”

Claire nodded, and Bud concentrated on eating his cookies.

“Well, I’m out here surveying my property lines, too, so join the club. And I’m filming any movements from about a dozen different game cameras I’ve got strapped to the trees out there. My SAC is interested in what they’re up to over there. Want my take? They’re all a bunch of mental patients running wild when they should be locked away somewhere.”

“So, you really are a Fed?” Bud asked, swallowing a bite of a rather large chocolate chip cookie, one about the size of a saucer, in fact. Claire took another bite of the cake, too, and almost shut her eyes in ecstasy. Laurie Dale was one helluva a cook. She ought to open a bakery, no doubt about it, maybe one with a gun range out behind it.

“That’s right. Out of our Springfield office. Love this assignment, though. Gives me more time to spend out here in the boonies with my husband, Scott. This is his farm, been in his family for years so they’ve dealt with those ignorant Fitches and Parkers for decades. Scott’s an attorney, and a damn good one. They all know he’ll sue if they ever step one foot on our land or cause us a spot of trouble. So they behave themselves where we’re concerned. But they go at each other nonstop. You’d think we lived in the hills of Kentucky during the Civil War.”

“What are you looking for with those cameras?”

“You name it. Gun running, prostitution, child abuse, illegal imprisonment, and that means those poor women born into Harold Fitch’s realm. He does like to degrade them. I’m surprised they don’t try to run away every single night of the year, and/or kill themselves. I sure couldn’t hack that kind of sexist treatment. There’d be a bunch of dead male chauvinists lying around all over that damn valley.” She paused long enough to take a drink of her coffee. “What about you? Any luck yet?”

“Well, we’re working both cases. The guy at Ha Ha Tonka. Paulie Parker. And we recently found his wife, Blythe, too, murdered in their home. Both beaten to death with blunt instruments. Her throat was slit. His wasn’t. We believe she was born a Fitch. You ever heard of either of them?”

“Nope. Scott and I don’t exactly swap recipes with those weirdos. They stay on their side of the fences, and we stay on ours. The surveillance thing is relatively recent. Chatter is that they are working on a deal with some organized crime elements, but I haven’t been able to prove it yet.”

“Could be the Petrovs out of East St. Louis. They’ve got ties to Blythe. Both of our vics died brutal deaths. Have you ever heard of a Parker marrying a Fitch?”

“I’d say not. That certainly doesn’t happen every day. Maybe never before those two hooked up.”

Claire took another bite of the cake, couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t going to leave a crumb on the plate, and Bud wasn’t gonna get any of hers this time, either. “You know anything about the ATF having a man in deep cover over there in Fitchville?”

Laurie shook her head. “Nope. That’s news to me.”

“We didn’t, either, until he paid me a call at my place last night, showed me his badge, and told us to back off and let him do his job before we got him killed.”

“Well, that’s interesting, I must say. Agency cooperation at its worst. Too bad nobody tells anybody anything. It’s a miracle we all don’t end up shooting each other. Like this morning, for an example. I almost shot you. We need to coordinate, and do it all the time. But that double murder you’re working on doesn’t surprise me. It’s a regular Hatfield and McCoy war going on up here, with our property stuck right smack dab in the middle of it.”

“Have any of them attempted to harass you or your husband?”

“No, like I said, they respect Scott and his ability to sue their pants off in court. They do not want their backward lifestyles plastered all over the newspapers. That goes double for the Fitches. It would be harder to make their women wear gingham and walk three steps behind their men, if the media ever got hold of it and it hit the airwaves. As far as the Parkers go, they pretty much keep to themselves. A brutal bunch of guys, not too smart, either. I heard they had a father who abused them. But the Fitch men don’t spare the rod, either.” Laurie sat down on the high stool beside Claire. “But I can tell you one thing, there’s lots of shooting going on over there, at all hours, both sides, too. Most of it comes from an area that our land doesn’t abut. I think they’ve been holding illegal fights for money out there, too, and for years. Can’t prove it, though. Ever heard of a guy named Punk Fitch? Story is that he’s got a twin brother who’s even worse than he is. Real badasses, both of them, and they like to work together when they beat the crap out of people. I’ve got a feeling they’re in the middle of lots of the illegal stuff going on around here.”