The Devil's Right Hand (26 page)

The next few minutes were a chaotic whirl.
Barnes stepped to the back and pulled Keller from the car. Marie
ran interference, placing herself between Barnes and Keller and the
news team. It was a mistake. She was the one they had come to
interview. “Officer Jones,” the brunette reporter yelped, “can you
tell us how you lured the suspects into custody?” The implication
was unmistakable. Marie didn’t answer, just gritted her teeth and
bulled straight past them, with only a “no comment” escaping
between her gritted teeth. Behind them, Keller caught a glimpse of
Stacy with his hand on the back of DeWayne’s shirt. Puryear’s head
was bowed as if he was trying to avoid the view of the camera, but
with his hands bound, there was no way to shield his face from its
blank, pitiless glass eye. Keller didn’t even try; he looked
straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the presence of the camera
or the reporter. The frustrated reporter tried to shove past Marie
to point her microphone into Keller’s face. Marie straight-armed
her, almost knocking her back into the cameraman who directly
behind her left shoulder. Then they were through the heavy metal
doors and into the building.

“
Hey, Raymond,” Billy Ray said. “take
at look at this.”

There were five men in the room: Raymond,
Billy Ray, Geronimo, and the two soldiers that had come with
Suarez. Geronimo had left with Suarez and returned without him, but
with the back cargo area of the Suburban filled with long wooden
crates. They had unloaded the crates, stacked them in the living
room, and pried them open with a crowbar from the garage. Now, the
two gunmen were removing several short, ugly submachine guns from
the crates and cleaning them of packing grease. Billy Ray had been
watching the operation, his attention wandering between the
efficient, assembly-line operation before him and the big-screen
TV.

Raymond came into the room, followed by
Geronimo. Billy Ray picked up the remote and turned the sound up. A
male anchorman with the high cheekbones and perfect hair of a male
model was speaking.

“
...News at Noon Reporter Carmen Reyes
is on the scene,” he said. “Carmen?”

The face of a strikingly attractive brunette
replaced that of the male anchor. “John,” she said in a deeply
concerned voice, “I’m at the Cumberland County Detention center,
where at this moment, detectives are bringing in Jackson Keller and
DeWayne Puryear, the two men implicated in last week’s gun battle
in a Fayetteville neighborhood that left three men dead, including
a Fayetteville police officer. News at Noon has learned that a
Fayetteville policewoman who was the partner of the murdered
officer conducted her own investigation into the killing and
brought the two men into custody.”

As she spoke, the camera pulled back to
reveal the two cars pulling into view. The cars stopped and there
was a confusing flurry of activity, made even more incomprehensible
by the shaking and jiggling of the camera as the reporter and
cameraman moved to the curb. Raymond recognized the older cop who
had interrogated him in the hospital, the one who had called him
Chief. He was followed by a female cop Raymond didn’t recognize.
Between them was the handcuffed figure of Jackson Keller. A hot
ball of rage formed in Raymond’s gut, contending with the line of
pulsing fire around his surgical scar. He couldn’t make out the
words being said by the cops for the sound of the blood pounding in
his ears. Keller looked straight ahead, as if the cameras weren’t
there. “I have you, you sumbitch,” he whispered. “I know where you
are.” He raised his voice slightly. “That’s him,” he said. “That’s
the man who shot my brother.” The camera focused on the duo coming
behind Keller. The small man with his hands behind his back was
bent over practically double to try to hide his face. “And I’ll bet
that guy is one of the ones who shot my Daddy.”

“
Well, shit,
vato
,” Geronimo said in disgust. “How th’ fuck we
supposed to whack ‘em while they’re in jail?”

“
We’ll think of something,” Raymond
said.

The live feed was replaced with a videotaped
shot of a storefront. The words “H & H Bail Bonds” were
stenciled across the front windows and repeated in a smaller format
on the door. “Keller reportedly worked as a bounty hunter for this
bail-bonding business in Wilmington. Calls to that business were
not returned.” The camera was back on the face of the brunette
reporter. One of the men on the couch said something to his partner
and laughed sharply. He stood up and grabbed his crotch with an
obscene humping motion towards the big screen. The two men laughed
again. Geronimo spoke sharply to them in rapid Spanish. The smiles
left their faces. They sat down and got back to work.

“
Keller and Puryear will be arraigned
tomorrow in Cumberland County Superior Court. Carmen Reyes, News at
Noon.” The picture switched back to the male model. Raymond took
the remote from Billy Ray and turned the sound back
down.

“
That’s it,” Raymond said. “That’s when
we take them. When the cops move them to the
courthouse.”

“
Man,” Geronimo said. “You crazy.
They’re gonna have cops all over the damn place.”

“
No,” Raymond said. “Usually only two.
One deputy driving and another with a shotgun in the back of the
van.”

“
I don’t like it,” Geronimo
declared.

Raymond looked at him. “We had a deal.
We do this my way or your boss doesn’t get my business.
Comprende
?”

Geronimo muttered something under his breath
in Spanish and walked out.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Cumberland County Jail is a massive brick
structure that sprawls across two city blocks. The face that the
building turns towards the downtown area is a pleasant if somewhat
sterile metal-and glass facade that would not look out of place on
a museum or a corporate headquarters. Behind it, the vast bulk
attached to the public space is forbidding, blank, and featureless
from the outside. The inside, however, is like any other place
where men hold their fellow men in captivity–a place of harsh
lighting, sudden sharp sounds and loud voices. The man who said
that the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation has never
spent time in a modern jail. The desperation in such places is
deafening.

Keller sat at a gunmetal-gray table in one of
the interrogation rooms. He was dressed in a shapeless orange
coverall, badly worn at the elbows and seat. His shoes had been
replaced by cheap ill-fitting plastic sandals. The official reason
for the footwear was security; there were no laces that could be
used as a garrote or a noose, no hard edges to use as a bludgeon.
Keller suspected that the real reason was the gait the wearer was
forced to adopt, a weary shuffle that was the only way to keep the
flimsy things on the feet.

Keller stared at the mirror on one wall,
keeping his face expressionless. This was another part of the game,
he knew. The waiting was meant to make a subject nervous by giving
him time to think, letting his imagination run over the
possibilities. In this place, the possibilities were mostly bad.
The result was that, while he waited, the prisoner’s own fear began
the corrosive breakdown of his resistance. Waiting didn’t bother
Keller. He was good at waiting.

He knew someone was on the other side of the
mirror, but he didn’t know who. Barnes, almost certainly. Probably
Stacy. He hoped Marie wasn’t there. He didn’t like to think of what
thoughts might be going through her mind if she was looking at him.
Would she be feeling anger? Satisfaction at having caught him?
Pity? He shook his head angrily. This was getting him nowhere. He
was thinking too much. He was playing the game they wanted him to
play. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. He
hunkered down inside his head and waited.

As if the headshake had been a signal, the
door banged open. Barnes came in, holding two packs of bright
orange peanut-butter crackers in one hand and two plastic bottles
of spring water in the other. He put a pack of crackers and a
bottle of water down in front of Keller. He sat down across the
table and opened his.

Keller looked at the crackers and the
water. He debated not taking them, feeling somehow that would put
him in the detective’s debt, giving Barnes some sort of
advantage.
Thinking again
, he
said to himself.
Trying to puzzle out the
hidden meaning. It’s just a pack of crackers. And I
am
hungry.
He picked
them up.

“
You’re welcome,” Barnes said
sourly.

Keller opened the pack. “Thanks,” he said. He
took a bite, washed it down with a sip of water. “My lawyer get
here yet?”

Barnes sighed. “He’s on his way. You know,
Keller, if you’d just tell us what happened, we might be able to
put in a good word for you. Once you get all lawyered up,
though...” he spread his palms apart in an it’s-out-of-my-hands
gesture.

“
Skip it,” Keller said flatly. “I’m not
exactly new at this.”

Barnes took another cracker. “Guess not.” He
let the silence stretch, chewing the cracker while gazing at Keller
thoughtfully. “This was a pretty big collar for Jones,” he
said.

Keller felt his facial muscles tighten
involuntarily. Barnes noticed the sudden tension and his eyes
glinted. “Yep,” he said with elaborate casualness, “they may even
fast-track her to detective. Showed a lot of initiative bringing
you in.” Keller raised another cracker to his lips. He bit back a
curse as he saw that his hand was shaking with rage. Barnes smiled
in satisfaction and stood up. “See you around, Keller,” he said
softly and left.

Keller sat in silence for a few minutes. He
tried to restore his detachment. He knew what was coming next. Sure
enough, after a few minutes, the door open and Marie walked in. She
was in uniform. She sat down across from Keller.

“
I’m still not talking until I see my
lawyer,” he said.

“
Jack--” she began.

“
Why are you here, Marie?” he said. “Is
this off the record? Just you and me?”

She sighed. “You know better.”

“
Yeah,” he said. “I do. You’re here as
a cop, not as...” he trailed off, raised one hand in a helpless
gesture, and let it fall.

“
I am a cop, Jack,” she said. “It’s who
I am.”

“
And that’s your answer.”

She looked puzzled. “What was the
question?”

“
Why I didn’t tell you that I was in
trouble.”

 
She shook her head. “No,” she
said. “That isn’t the question. It never was.”

 “
What was it, then?”

 “
Why you came to me in the first
place,” she said. “Why you...” she glanced at the mirror as if she
had forgotten it was there. She bit her lip. Then she straightened
her back and took a deep breath. “So,” she said. “Are you going to
tell me what happened?”

He spoke slowly, biting off each word as if
speaking to a frustratingly stupid child.
“Not--without--my--lawyer,” he said.

She stood up abruptly, so fast that the chair
almost tipped over. “Okay,” she said. “That’s it, then. There’s
nothing more I can do for you.”

“
No,” he said. “I guess
not.”

She didn’t look at him as she left. He sat
there alone for a few moments, then looked at the mirror. “Nice
try, Barnes,” he snarled. The mirror made no reply.

He waited for another endless time before the
door opened again. A uniformed jailer stood in the doorway. The guy
was slack-jawed and slack-bellied. His eyes were small and mean. A
toothpick dangled from one corner of his mouth. “Time to go back,”
he said.

“
What about my lawyer?” Keller
asked.

“
Don’t know nothin’ about that,” the
jailer said. “My orders is to take you back to lockup. Hold out
your hands.” When Keller hesitated a second too long, the deputy’s
hand dropped to the sap on his belt with the ease of long practice.
Keller gritted his teeth and held out his hands. The jailer snapped
the shackles on. Keller shuffled behind the jailer down the long
brightly lit concrete hallway, lined with heavy metal
doors.

“
If these guys get caught at this,”
Raymond said, “we’re all fucked.”

Geronimo looked at him and smiled thinly.
“You would rather use your own vehicles, perhaps? With license
plates that could be traced back to you?”

They were sitting in the black Suburban,
parked on a darkened residential street. He didn’t know what town
they were in, but it was at least an hour’s drive from
Fayetteville.

“
Relax,” Geronimo said. “Antonio and
Jesus have done this sort of thing before.” He smiled again, this
time with a hint of nostalgia. “Compared to taking out a government
minister, this will be nothing.”

A car started at the end of the street
and advanced towards them with the headlights off. It was a large
black Ford pickup with a crew cab. “
Bueno
,” Geronimo said. “That will be the blocking
vehicle. When it is reported stolen tomorrow, the police will first
look in the immediate area. By the time the search expands to
Fayetteville, we’ll have finished and ditched the car.”

“
Whatever,” Raymond said. As the truck
passed by, Raymond caught a glance of one of Suarez’ gunmen behind
the wheel.
Antonio or Jesus
?
he thought. He had never bothered to learn which was which. He
reached into his jacket pocket and took out the bottle of
pills.