Days of Reckoning (17 page)

“Hey now, I didn’t come here for no fucking café latte. I got problems bigger’n you ever heard of, and I’m entitled to a few beers. This here’s real money, and I want a real beer for it.” He rose from his stool and leaned forward over the bar.

The bartender merely motioned and nodded. Jesse turned around to see to whom, but he didn’t make it before a pair of burly arms wrapped around his chest and lifted him into the air. Jesse’s arms were pinned firmly to his side.

“Get the fuck offa me!” he shouted. Several of the patrons began laughing and catcalling as the bar’s bouncer moved Jesse to the door. “Put me down you fucking nigger!”

The large black man who held Jesse made sure to bump his captive’s head against the doorframe as he moved the cursing man through it. That shut Jesse up for a minute, and he was unceremoniously dumped on the street outside. “Go sleep it off, buddy,” the bouncer called after him. “Fucking redneck,” he muttered as he turned back inside. The other patrons cheered loudly; it was always fun when it was someone else being thrown out of a bar. The bouncer acknowledged the accolades with a wave of his hand. The crowd returned to their normal low roar. Outside, Jesse McClintock cursed and swore that the bouncer would get his. He stumbled off to find his car and head home for some ice and his gun.

They sat in the same coffee shop they’d been in before. Sam used his cell and tried to call Jesse McClintock first, but did not get an answer. Jesse had yet to invest in an answering machine or voice mail, so he couldn’t leave a message. He called Tim Butcher’s number next. Again, he failed to speak to the man himself. At least Tim had a machine set up, but Sam elected not to leave any message. Eldon Marshall’s residence netted the same result. Sam slipped his cell phone back into his jacket.

Miranda waved her hand absently in the air. “Making house calls on suspected militiamen who are probably holed up waiting for Armageddon just sounds like a good way to get shot up.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, think about it. They’re extremists to begin with. Paranoia feeds most of their beliefs. Second, it looks like they’ve been trying to get illegal weapons, so they’re probably scared to death that the government is going to come knocking. And most importantly, they just lost a whole bunch of their group in a major shootout, without taking anyone down themselves.”

“I see your point,” Sam replied with a nod. “Everything else aside, if I had a killer as efficient as Damon after me, I guess I’d be pretty antsy too.”

“Believe me, I think these guys are worth looking into. It’s just that showing up in the middle of the night seems like a real good way to get added to this week’s body count.” Miranda rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Sorry, I must sound like a pretty pathetic rookie.”

Sam laughed and touched her arm reassuringly. “Forget about it. You’re right anyway. If the Chief weren’t dead, he’d probably have my ass for putting you in harm’s way.” His smile faded a bit.

Miranda took hold of his hand and squeezed it. “I doubt that. If what we’ve found is accurate, Chief Wainwright was one of the bad guys.”

“Hell if I know. I guess I’ve got the rank, but these departments don’t work like the military. There’s a lot of guys that have been here longer than me. The mayor could ask one of them to fill in until the city can hire a new chief of police. I suspect that’s what will happen, especially since I’m pretty involved in this investigation.”

They stood by Miranda’s car, which was parked on the street in front of Sam’s house. “I really appreciate you being around for all of this,” Sam said. “Hector was my main go-to guy, and with him in the hospital, well, it’s nice to have someone reliable around.”

Miranda shrugged. “No problem. I hope the other guys at the station aren’t getting jealous or anything.”

Sam laughed. “Believe me, there’s plenty of work to go around, especially with this Unity Day coming up. We’re backing up the campus police for security and crowd control on that one. Besides which, if the guys are jealous of anyone they’re jealous of me, for running around with someone as attractive….” He cut himself short and looked at the ground. Several awkward seconds passed as he shuffled his feet and tried to recover himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply….”

Miranda gently placed her hand on his cheek. “It’s all right. I think I know what you meant.”

Sam found it very difficult to maintain eye contact with her. Her touch felt good, but part of him wished she’d take her hand away. He searched for something witty to say, but came up empty.

Miranda finally got him to look at her, and held his eyes with her gaze. She saw a lot of uncertainty there, mixed with regret, perhaps concern. She hated seeing him stumble about in the dark, but it was what she had to do. She couldn’t even comfort herself with the thought that, after this was all over, things could be better and the air could be cleared. Because that could never happen, not if she wanted to stay alive. She smiled sadly at him.

“Sam, we’re both under a lot of stress, and things aren’t going to get better for a while. Under such circumstances, people do strange things. So if you want to kiss me, I don’t mind.”

Sam blinked. He struggled again for something to say, but the flood of anxieties, desires and worries jumbled his mind. Almost without thinking, he leaned closer to Miranda, not sure of what he was doing, or if he even wanted to.

She made his decision for him, tilting her head up and pressing her lips against his. Her mouth was warm, soft and gently forceful, working his open. But she didn’t push any further. Sam ran his hands through her hair and across her shoulders. Miranda gently tugged on his lower lip, then pulled away, and it was over. She smiled, patted his cheek, then turned and got into her car. Sam watched as she pulled away with a wave. All he could think of was how she would have tasted if she had kissed him more deeply. It was a pleasant fantasy indeed.

#

Miranda considered her options as she drove away, meanwhile watching Sam in her rearview mirror. As a woman, she was rather pleased to see he was still rooted to the spot where she had left him standing. Gloating over her feminine charms was, however, something she would have to save for later.

The three remaining members of the Sparta Militia were a problem. Sooner or later Damon’s body would turn up, and then everyone would start looking for a new suspect. She decided to deal with Jesse McClintock first. He was the one who owned Damon’s rental, and she figured it would be best to first get rid of those closest to the dead man. Miranda sped to her place to change and equip herself for another night on the town.

“Hey now, a man’s entitled to enjoy himself some. Yes sir. Loretta, she done took off for her momma’s place, so I’s decided to celebrate.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Barry.” Sam didn’t specify which statement caused his sentiment, but Barry was too drunk to care. “You should probably get yourself back home and sleep it off before you get locked up for public intox.”

“Aw, you ain’t gonna arrest me, is you? At least I didn’t get throwed outta the bar like that McClintock kid.”

“McClintock? What McClintock?”

“That boy Jesse,” Barry drawled. “One that works in the lumber yard with me. He started mouthin’ off at the bartender and got tossed out on his ass.”

“Home I guess.” Barry let out a monstrous belch. “He was shoutin’ off a bunch of bullshit about getting’ his gun and cappin’ him some nigger ass. Full of shit, if you ask me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“The bouncer’s a nig- a black guy. Jesse don’t like them none.”

“So I’ve heard.” Sam rubbed his chin and wished Miranda hadn’t left already. He could always call her, he supposed. “Thanks Barry. You’ve been a big help. Get yourself inside now. You want me to walk you home?”

Sam looked from his house to his car. He really wanted to sit down with a beer, a movie and possibly Miranda. He shook his head to clear his mind. Work needed to be done. He thought about calling Miranda to let her know what was going on, but decided against it. Sam didn’t want to expose her to any more danger, especially if Jesse was serious about getting a gun in his presumably drunken state. The detective patted himself over, making sure his Glock rested snugly in its shoulder holster and his PPK was seated comfortably against his right hip. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and strode over to his car.

“Where to go now?” he wondered out loud. If Barry’s sense of time was even remotely correct, and that was assuming a lot, Jesse had plenty of time to head back to his place and be on his way back to the bar. Sam doubted he would carry out his threat of vengeance on the bouncer, but to be on the safe side he decided to head to the bar first. Besides, if it was a place Jesse visited with any regularity, there was a good chance that Eldon Marshall and Tim Butcher would be there as well. Meeting either of them would be well worth the trip.

Miranda changed into black jeans and a dark turtleneck sweater. She tied her hair up in a neat, tight bun and fitted the short blonde wig over it. She didn’t want Jesse to recognize her on his doorstep. Besides, who could be scared of a pretty little blonde? She looked over the weapons she had laid out on her bed. She opted for the Walther with the threaded barrel and a Bruegger & Thommet sound suppressor. Jesse lived in a residential area, and she didn’t want to attract any attention from the neighbors. If she remembered correctly, he had a wife. She wasn’t sure what to do about that woman, but decided that the pistol with its silencer looked pretty menacing and would cow most people into submission. And if Jesse’s wife turned out to be a problem, well, distasteful as it was, Miranda would do what she needed to.

#

The Night Owl was crowded and smoky. The odor of cigarettes, spilled beer and a variety of bar foods – both fresh and regurgitated – stung Sam’s nostrils. A DJ spun hard rock music over the sound system, while several dozen patrons attempted to dance on an overcrowded, makeshift dance floor. The rest filled the tables and barstools, or leaned against counters along the walls. This place was a “townie” bar; one frequented more by the full time inhabitants of Sparta than by the students who attended the college. The clientele was mostly white male, poor laborers from the lumberyards or local construction companies. Sam nodded to the bouncer as he walked in; presumably this was the same man who had thrown Jesse McClintock out earlier that evening. The large man moved closer to him and leaned in to hear over the din.

“I’m Detective Sam Connor.” He had to shout to be heard, even from inches away. “I hear you tossed somebody out earlier this evening. Scrawny little guy, name of McClintock.”