Bad Penny (28 page)

Bradley shrugged. “She pretty much rubbed our noses in it, that’s what happened. She went after him on her own. Found all the proof she needed. But Presley knew the noose was tightening and had himself a little mental breakdown. At least, that’s what everyone thought. While he was in a hospital bed, supposedly unable to communicate, he was planning an escape. Dupree was on to him, though. When he made his escape from Dallas Memorial, she was right behind him. She followed him all the way into Mexico, with the aid of a fellow bounty hunter named Wilson McKay. Since no arrest warrant had been filed for Presley, there was no bounty on him. It was how she got around your country’s laws against hunting bounty.”

“Yes, I did find that much out. So she caught him and avenged her friend’s murder. What happened after that?”

“Oh, Presley was found guilty. His wife divorced him. Life goes on, I guess.”

“No, I meant…what happened to Dupree after that?” “Oh. Hell if I know. She’s something of an enigma, you know.” “No, I do not. Please explain.”

“It has to do with her childhood. When she was six, she and her mother

were hit by a drunk driver. Her mother died. She survived. Then, when she was thirteen, a man broke into their home and murdered her father with a knife. He slit her throat first, leaving her for dead. But she wasn’t dead, and she watched the man stab her father to death, unable to cry out for help.”

Luis was getting sick to his stomach. Once again this woman whom he suspected of murder, however reluctantly, was turning out to be anything but what he’d expected to find.

“How did she come to be a bounty hunter?”

“Art Ball, the owner of Ball Bail Bonds, hired her to do paperwork. I think he just felt sorry for her. She’d just been turned loose from the foster system and didn’t have anywhere to turn other than to odd jobs or living on the streets. One thing led to another and before you know it, she was a full-fledged bounty hunter. Damnedest thing…She turned out to be one of the best. Isn’t afraid of Old Nick himself.”

“Old Nick? I do not know this man,” Luis said.

“Oh…yeah, sorry. It’s an American phrase. It means she’s not even afraid of the devil.”

Luis exhaled slowly as he leaned back in the chair. So. A woman unafraid of the worst of men. Solomon Tutuola certainly fit that description. Every person he’d met along the way who’d seen Tutuola, even Padre Francisco, had referred to him as el Diablo.

“I am told this woman is married to the other bounty hunter…Wilson McKay, the man who was with her during the capture of Mark Presley. I

am also told that they’ve quit their jobs and moved to McKay’s childhood home. Is this true?”

“Yeah, only they didn’t exactly quit. One of McKay’s clients freaked out and tried his best to kill him. Shot him full of bullets. He just didn’t die. Then, after Cat Dupree nearly died in that tornado, I think they both thought it was time to try something different.”

“Ah,” Luis said, more to himself than to Bradley.

It made sense. In such circumstances, both of them quitting their respective jobs did not necessarily mean they’d come into money, only that they had been given second chances at life and had chosen a different path. Still, he’d come this far. He wasn’t going to leave until he’d met Cat Dupree. If nothing else, he was more than curious about such a woman.

“So if I wanted to talk to Cat Dupree, I would find her at the McKay ranch?”

“Yeah, that’s what I hear. You can always call first to make sure they’re there.”

“Yes, I will do that. Do you by any chance have an address and phone number?”

“No, but I can get it for you pretty easy. Hang on.”

Bradley swung around to his computer and in moments came up with all the info Luis needed. Bradley printed it out and handed it over.

“Thank you very much for you time and information,” Luis said, as he pocketed the paper.

“Anything for a fellow detective,” Bradley said. “Hope you find your doer. Nothing rankles more than to have an unsolved case go cold on you. I’ve been there a few times myself.”

A short while later, Luis was on his way back to his motel to pack. It was early enough that he could easily get to Austin and out to the ranch. The sooner he got this over with, the happier he would be. But he wasn’t going to call first and warn them that he was coming. He wanted the element of surprise to be in his favor. Most of all, though, he wanted to be home with Conchita and their new little girl. He wanted laughter and joy back in his life. Like McKay and Dupree, maybe it was time for him to rethink his occupational options.

Jimmy Franks was on foot once more, cursing thorn bushes, skunks and mean herd bulls with every breath. It wasn’t as if he could just take off down the road walking in plain sight of God and everybody. Not after he’d pulled that stunt with Carter McKay.

So he’d been forced to stay off the roads and travel from one pasture to another, climbing through fences and ducking down in the tall grass or hiding behind the occasional stand of trees whenever a car would pass by. His only saving grace was that he was not in a heavily traveled area. It seemed that the only vehicles he saw coming and going were locals. Now

he just needed to find one of their houses and get himself a makeover and a ride.

After about an hour of walking, he topped a small hill, stopped to take a breath and then smiled as he looked down into a shallow valley. At last. But there was good news and there was bad news.

Good news: He counted a truck, a car and an ATV, all within plain sight. That meant a new ride.

Bad news: No telling how many people lived there, but it appeared that they were all at home. That meant it might be a little difficult to get them to part with clothes, food and a vehicle.

Truth of the matter: None of it was their decision. He patted the gun in his pocket and kept on walking.

Journey Mathers was six feet, five inches tall, fifty-seven years old and deaf in both ears from a bout with measles at the age of six.

His wife, Arpatha Mathers, was of average height but weighed a good three hundred pounds plus, and had been deaf since birth.

She and Journey had married over twenty-two years ago, and she’d given birth to twin boys they’d named Bill and Will. Bill had died at birth. Will, who was now twenty years old, with the mental capacity of a two-year-old, had been put in a home for the handicapped after he’d gotten too big for Journey to lift.

In the grand scheme of things, Journey and Arpatha didn’t have a lot going for them, but they managed, and most of the time they were happy.

They were both in the living room, watching TV and reading the captioned crawl at the bottom of the screen when Jimmy walked in the back door with his gun drawn. He heard the television and quickly moved into the hall. When he saw the size of the man and woman sitting in front of the television, the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

The man looked like Bigfoot, or what he thought Bigfoot would look like, if there was such a thing, and the woman was just plain huge. He palmed the pistol, making sure the safety was off, and then aimed it at the back of the man’s head before yelling,

“This is a holdup! Get your asses down on the floor—now!”

Total denial of his existence was the last thing he expected. Confused, he yelled again.

“Get down, motherfuckers! Get down now!”

The man was making motions with his fingers and pointing to the television. When Jimmy saw the woman answer back in the same way, he nearly shit his pants where he was standing.

What were the odds of walking in on a houseful of deaf-mutes? He almost danced a jig. He could do as he pleased and they would never even know he was there.

Slowly he backed away, then hurried into the kitchen, quickly scanning it for some quick food and the possibility of a set of car keys.

There was a platter of fried chicken on the counter, covered over with a paper towel, and a wooden plaque in the shape of a car hanging on the wall near the door. The catchy phrase that had been burned into it all but shouted Here I am, help yourself.

“‘A car for keys and keys for a car.’ Well, if that isn’t just too cute for words,” Jimmy muttered.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being observed, checked outside to check the makes of the vehicles, then chose the keys to the Chevy Malibu sitting near the mailbox.

He grabbed the platter of chicken with one hand and the car keys with the other, then headed out the door, feeling smart enough about the situation to let the door bang behind him as he left.

He was almost at the car when a big dog came out of nowhere, barking and snarling.

Jimmy dropped the platter of fried chicken as he made a run for the car. It was all that saved him from a real ass chewing.

“Shee-it,” he muttered, as he started the engine and spun out of the driveway as fast as the car would take him.

He was still hungry and still in skinhead mode, but he had wheels and Cujo had himself some fried chicken. All in all, it could have been worse.

Seventeen

“Paging Dr. Danvers. Paging Dr. Danvers. Dr. Danvers, pick up on line three.”

It was the first thing Carter McKay heard when he began to wake up. He couldn’t imagine what TV show Dorothy would be watching this early in the morning or why he couldn’t smell coffee brewing. He did know, however, that she was nearby, because he could smell the scent of her lemon-verbena shampoo. She’d used that scent for almost as long as he could remember. He reached sideways, expecting to feel the softness of her hair against his palm and instead felt resistance, as if he were caught in an extension cord.

That didn’t make sense.

Dorothy was nearby—his nose didn’t lie—but he didn’t know why things didn’t feel right. Then he opened his eyes, recognized a hospital room and couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten here.

He started to panic until he saw Dorothy dozing in a chair near his bed. Through a set of double windows, he could see Charlie standing out in the hall, nursing a can of Coke and talking to a doctor.

Okay. He was in the hospital. He looked down at himself, checking for stitches or casts. Nothing. Then he heard the steady beep, beep, beep of a machine and looked over his shoulder.

Hell. That looked like a heart monitor. He remembered what they looked like, because his dad had been hooked up to one after he’d had his heart—

Dear lord, he thought, remembering the pain in his chest. He’d been trying to get home. But why? Something urgent. Something vital to—Oh no!

He gasped, then started flailing at the wires hooked up to his body. What came out of his mouth was slurred and sounded as confused as he felt, but his mind was racing. He had to make them understand.

“Dorrie…wake…wake!”

Dorothy jumped up so fast, she was upright before her eyes were good and open. All she could think was that Carter was awake and talking. That had to be good.

“Oh, honey!” she cried, and ran to his side, patting his face and kissing his cheek. “We’ve all been so worried.”

“Wisson…talka Wisson.”

The heart monitor was going haywire. A nurse came running into the room, saw her patient flailing on the bed and quickly grabbed his arm to keep him from jerking out his IV.

“Mr. McKay, you’ve got to calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Carter glared—as darkly and fervently as it was possible to glare from the flat of his back, with his bones feeling like rubber.

“I needa talka Wisson…”

A doctor came running into the room, issuing orders and grabbing at Carter’s arms, restraining him while the nurse produced a syringe full of meds. Whatever she shot into Carter’s IV put him under fast.

Despite that, Carter’s last word was still “Wisson.”

Dorothy didn’t know why it was so important that their eldest son be present, but if that was what Carter wanted, then that was what he would get. The next time he opened his eyes, Wilson Lee would be at the foot of his daddy’s bed or she would know the reason why.

She glared at the doctor, then sped past the nurse on her way out the door.

“Charlie!”

Charlie was so startled, he sloshed part of his Coke out of the can as he reacted to an oh-so-familiar tone.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Call Wilson. Tell him his daddy is asking for him and to get here as fast as he can.”

“Yes, ma’am. Is Daddy worse?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. Just do what I said.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Charlie said, and was already punching in the numbers to

Wilson’s cell phone as his mother flew back into the room and shut the door in his face.

It was after eleven. Wilson was just finishing up the chores, and Cat was grilling hamburgers outside. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she could manage a grill, and when she’d offered to make hamburgers, he’d jumped at it. Now, the aroma of burgers grilling was in the air and making his belly growl.

When his cell phone rang, he flinched, then his gut knotted. When he realized the call was from Charlie, he was almost afraid to answer. Charlie was at the hospital. Please God, he prayed silently, don’t let anything be wrong.