Good Day In Hell (27 page)

“All right, then,” he said. He turned to Marie. “Officer Jones,” he said, “you secure the prisoner. Get her to my car. I’m goin’ to go secure Mr. Keller’s weapon.”

Marie stepped over and grasped Laurel by the shoulder as Shelby moved toward the house. He was passing by Keller when there was a flat bang and a flash of light from beside the house. Shelby gave a grunt and sank back against Keller. Keller
wrapped his arms around him, trying to hold him up. Shelby sagged, dead weight in Keller’s arms. Marie whirled, trying to bring her pistol to bear on the source of the shot, the whites of her eyes showing in the dim light. The second shot took her in the belly and punched her off her feet. She cried out in agony, the gun dropping from her nerveless fingers as she clawed at the pain. Keller screamed as well and let Shelby’s limp form slide to the ground. He fell to his knees beside her.

“Oh God,” she cried. “Oh, God …”

Keller answered with a snarl of rage as he scrambled for Marie’s gun on the ground. “I wouldn’t,” a voice said.

Keller looked up. Randle was standing by the porch, the rifle trained on Keller.

“I’m gonna need the key to those handcuffs,” he said.

Marie screamed again. The sound tore at Keller like talons in his guts. “Fuck you,” he grated at Randle.

Randle put the gun to his shoulder. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You give me that key, and I won’t put another bullet in sweet thing’s head. I can’t miss from here.”

Keller staggered to his feet. There was a red haze before his eyes, pulsing with every beat of his heart, and a roaring in his ears like surf. Hello, old friend, he thought. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, pulled it out. He held it in front of him like a talisman. “Come and get it, you cocksucker,” he said, his voice an animal growl.

Randle just grinned. “Not hardly,” he said. He gestured toward Laurel with the gun barrel. “Unlock her cuffs.” He kept the gun trained on Keller as he stepped behind Laurel and fumbled at the lock. Marie’s screams had subsided to dull moans. His fingers didn’t want to work. Finally, he felt the lock give. Laurel stepped away and faced him. She reached out and ran her hand down his face, gently, caressingly. Then she slapped him, hard. “We oughta make you sit here and watch her die,” she hissed. She kicked Marie in the hip, drawing another groan of pain from her.

“It’s a nice idea,” Randle said. “But with a belly wound like that, it could take a while. And we ain’t got time.” He raised the gun to his shoulder again. Keller could see the dark circle of the barrel. He heard the crack, waited for the impact, the pain,
the oblivion, but it was Randle he saw crumple to the ground. It was then he saw Shelby’s arm fall back to the ground, the pistol in his hand.

“Roy!” Laurel shrieked as Randle’s body thudded to the earth. She moved toward him. But as Keller dove for Marie’s gun on the ground, she reversed direction and fled into the darkness as Keller came up with the gun. He fired blindly, knowing it was useless with no target. When the slide popped back and Keller’s frantic jerking of the trigger yielded nothing but dry clicks, he tossed the gun aside. He crawled to Marie’s limp form on the ground. He rolled her over. Her face was gray with pain and shock. Her eyes were narrow slits of agony. He pulled her head into his lap and brushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes opened a little and she seemed to focus. “Jack?” she said weakly.

“Shhh…” Keller said. His face was wet with tears. “Don’t talk.”

“It hurts, Jack,” she said. “It hurts …”

He dimly registered the sound of a car starting. “I know, honey, I know,” he said. “Hang on, Marie, help’s on the way.”

“Where’s Ben?” she mumbled. “Is Ben okay?”

“Ben’s not here, sweetheart,” Keller said. He moved her hands away from where they clasped across her stomach. Her shirt was soaked with blood. He pulled the shirt up. The blood was everywhere. He couldn’t find where it was all coming from. He heard another voice, a low murmur. It took him a moment to make out the words, slurred and halting as they were. “For thou art with me … thy … thy rod and thy staff they … comfort me …”

Marie tried to raise her head. “Shelby?” she whispered.

“Shhhh…,” Keller said. “He’ll be okay.” Shelby’s voice subsided to a low mumble for a moment, then became stronger. “God be merciful,” he said clearly, “to me, a sinner.” Then there was silence, broken only by the rasp of Marie’s breathing and the mechanical ratcheting of the crickets. Where the fuck are those people? Keller raged silently. Then he heard it, off in the distance, a gentle thudding that quickly grew to a hammering roar. He looked up as the helicopter swept over the scene, its spotlight probing the clearing. A godlike voice bellowed over the sound of the rotors. “THIS IS THE POLICE!” the voice boomed. “THROW DOWN YOUR
WEAPONS!” Keller looked over. Shelby had rolled over onto his back. The spotlight showed his open eyes looking up into the light. There was a slight smile on his face, as if he were seeing angels. Perhaps he was, but those eyes would never see any earthly sight again. Keller saw the explosions of red and blue light through the trees as what looked like a small army of vehicles came up the road. The chopper continued to circle, filling the world with its sound and glare. Keller stared up into the light like a mystic staring into the sun and hoping it would bum out his eyes. Then there were people next to him, their hands on his shoulders. Keller looked up. Two figures in green coveralls were leaning over. One of them reached down while the other knelt in front of him. Keller felt a tugging. Someone was trying to take Marie. “Come on, buddy,” he heard a voice say. “Let me see her.”

The car lights flashed, explosions in the darkness, red, blue, white. Keller remembered tracers ripping the desert night, rockets from nowhere filling the world with light and fire and death. And everywhere the sound of the helicopter, the sound that filled the world and drove out all thought. “Go away,” he whispered, “Just go away…”

“Dude,” another voice said, “I can’t help her if you won’t let go.”

“I can’t get a pulse,” a third voice said. Keller looked down at Marie. Her face was pale and still, the lights flickering chaotically across her skin. He reached up to stroke her hair. His grip relaxed and he felt her being lifted up and away from him.

“I’ve got a pulse on this one, but it’s thready,” he heard someone say. He couldn’t tell who they meant. He wanted to ask, but all he could do was look up dumbly as figures moved purposefully around him. Finally someone told him to stand. It seemed to take him a long time to comply, as if he had to learn how to walk upright again. But finally, he stood, swaying slightly like a drunk. Then they put the cuffs on him.

Laurel saw the lights and sirens approaching as she turned onto the hard road. She slowed the car down. Just another car on the road, she said to herself, just another car on the road… Her knuckles were white on the wheel. Had they seen her pull out? Would someone recognize this car? She figured it had belonged to the cop
who had come onto the scene, the guy Roy had shot. If someone recognizes it, she thought, I’m fucked. She didn’t even have a weapon.

The vehicles passed by at high speed, red and blue flashers pulsing in the darkness. Laurel let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That was close.

She drove aimlessly for a long time, her only direction away from the farm. She knew it wouldn’t be long before someone called in this vehicle as stolen, but she was paralyzed with indecision. She had gotten used to going along with Roy’s plans, but all those were gone now. All the scenes he had planned were back in the farmhouse. Even if she had them, they were written for at least two players. She couldn’t carry them out herself.

After a while, she saw the signs for 1-95. She pulled onto the highway and slotted herself into the stream of traffic heading south. She could keep driving, maybe go to Florida and hide out there. Then she saw an exit sign and everything clicked into place. She knew there was only one place left to go.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The lobby door banged open with a sound like a gunshot. Angela saw the deputy behind the desk jump halfway out of her chair in surprise, then sit back down as she approached. Her leg had been acting up, and she cursed her slowness as she made her way toward the desk with her cane.

“You’re holding a Jackson Keller,” she said before she had even reached the desk. “I’m here to see him.”

“Are you his attorney, ma’am?” the deputy asked. She was a slender black woman who looked too young to be in uniform.

“No,” Angela said. “But his attorney is on the way.”

“Hang on just a minute,” the deputy said. She picked up the phone and pressed a button. She turned away and conducted a murmured conversation, too low for Angela to hear. When she was done, she turned back.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said. “Mr. Keller isn’t available.”

“What the hell do you mean ‘not available’?” Angela said. “Has he been charged with anything?”

“Ma’am,” the deputy said, “you need to calm down—”

“I will not calm down!” Angela shouted. “Damn it, why is he being held?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” the deputy said frostily.

“Well, then, Deputy,” a deep voice behind Angela said, “perhaps you’d like to let me talk to someone who does know. Or better yet, let me talk to my client.”

Angela turned. A tall white-haired man was standing there. Even though it was four in the morning, he was dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He held an equally expensive-looking briefcase in one hand. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a courtroom. He walked up to the counter, put down the briefcase, and extended his hand. “I’m Scott McCaskill.”

The deputy shook his hand with a sour expression on her face. “I know who you are,” she said, hesitating a significant beat before adding, “sir.”

“Good,” McCaskill said. “Please tell the officer in charge I’m here and I need to see my client.”

“Like I said,” the deputy replied. “Mr. Keller is—”

“Ma’am,” McCaskill interrupted, “In my jacket pocket I have a cell phone. On that cell phone I have speed-dial. On my speed-dial list, near the top, I have the home number of Judge Martin Ballantine. Are you familiar with the name?” The deputy shook her head.

“Well,” McCaskill went on, “Martin Ballantine is a federal district court judge. Now, I’ve known Marty Ballantine for a lot of years. He’s a good fellow. Heck of a poker player. But he’s not what you’d call a morning person.” McClellan withdrew the phone from his jacket pocket. “I really would hate to wake him up. But I will if I have to, and I’ll be sure to let him know that the reason I’m getting him out of bed to issue a writ of habeas corpus is because a Deputy—” He craned his neck to read the nameplate on the deputy’s uniform “—Deputy T. Clevenger refused to let me see my client. Now, how are we going to handle this, Deputy T. Clevenger?”

Clevenger refused to meet his eyes. “Wait here,” she mumbled.

“I will,” said McCaskill, “but not long.” The deputy fled into the back. McCaskill turned to Angela and smiled. “And how have you been, Angela?” he asked pleasantly.

“Pissed off,” she said. “Thanks for coming so fast.” She gestured at him. “What do you do, sleep in that suit?”

McCaskill chuckled. “No,” he said. “But it’s worth taking the time. Makes them”—he jerked his chin at the door—“take you more seriously. So what’s this all about?”

“I don’t know,” Angela admitted. “Jack called me. He said he was being held here. He said …” She paused, swallowed. “He said Marie’d been shot.”

McCaskill looked puzzled for a second, then comprehension dawned. “Marie Jones? The officer he got involved with?”

“Yeah.”

“Dear God,” McCaskill said. “Is she dead?”

Angela shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Oscar went to the hospital to find out. You remember Oscar Sanchez?”

McCaskill nodded. “How could I forget him?” he said. “They don’t think Jack had anything to do with Marie’s shooting, do they?”

“I don’t know,” Angela said, her voice cracking. “I don’t know anything.”

McCaskill put a hand on her shoulder. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll find out. Just try to stay calm.”

Angela took a deep breath, then nodded. “I’m okay,” she said.

The front door opened. The man who stepped in was as tall as McCaskill and seemed twice as broad. His close-cropped hair was streaked with gray.

“Lucas,” Angela said in surprise.

“Hello, Dr. Berry,” McCaskill said. There was surprise in his voice as well.

Dr. Lucas Berry walked over and shook hands with McCaskill. “Good morning, Counselor,” he said. He turned to Angela. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes for a moment without speaking. There was a look of concern on his dark brown face. “How you doing, girl?” he said softly.

She smiled at him. “I’ll hold up. How did you know Jack was here?”

“Oscar called me,” Berry said. “He said Marie’d been shot. And that Jack was there when it happened.”

Angela’s smile vanished. She nodded.

“Mr. Keller is one of your patients, Dr. Berry?” McCaskill broke in. His face had become bland and expressionless. “I wasn’t aware that there were any substance abuse issues.”

Berry hesitated. It was Angela who spoke up.

“It’s not that, Scott,” she said. “Dr. Berry treated Jack while he was in the army. Jack still sees him sometimes.”