“All right, Eddie.” Dane stood up as well. “Calm down. We’re leaving.”
“Good, because I’m about a cunt hair away from smoking this bitch myself.”
Roselita was on her feet now, too. “You mean you don’t want to have some inbred sniper do it for you from behind a barn?”
Eddie jumped at the table. Ned stopped him by wrapping his thin arms around the big man in a sleeper hold. “Let me go, Ned. Let me go or I swear to God, you’re next.” Eddie struggled to free himself, but Ned had the reach. “Go, Dane. Get her out of here. Go now.”
Tater came out of the barn and trained the M40 on Ned. “Let him go, Ned—now.” It was the first time anyone had heard the man speak.
“You heard the man, Ned. Let me go before bodies start dropping.”
Dane balanced himself on the edge of the table. He knew for all Eddie’s bluster he wouldn’t attack an FBI agent. “Let him go, Ned.”
“Not a good idea, Dane.”
“I said let him go.” Ned did and backed way up. Eddie flexed once he was free, but his bluff had been called. “Get the fuck off my land.” The threat sounded hollow. Tater lowered the rifle, too. “Sure thing, Eddie, but just one more thing before we head out.”
“What?”
“You know a Bernadette Sellers?”
“Nah.”
“How about a Bobby Turo. That name familiar to you?”
“Never heard it before in my life.”
Dane nodded and put his hat on. “You hear about Ned’s trouble over at Tom Clifford’s cabin?”
“Yeah, I heard about it, but I knew it was bullshit. Ned ain’t got it in him to be no killer.”
“Yeah, I agree.”
“So what’s your point?”
“Where were you the morning Tom was shot?”
Eddie got quiet and backed away from the table. It was clear that the wheels in his head were spinning full tilt. “You need to leave,” Eddie said in a near whisper, and stared hard into Dane’s eyes. The tension that started in his jaw rippled though his whole body. “I got nothing else to say.” He looked at Ned with the same intensity, but whatever passed through the two of them stayed silent, unexposed.
Dane pocketed the photo from the table. “We’ll be back, Eddie.”
“I hope so, motherfucker.” His voice lacked the commanding tone he had prior to Dane’s implication. Roselita had already started back to the truck. She’d gotten all she needed. Dane tipped his chin to Eddie and to Tater, who had let the rifle fall to his side, and followed.
“I’m sorry about all this, Rooster.”
“Fuck you, Ned.”
Ned nodded and slowly started down the dirt road toward his ride. A few minutes later, the three of them crammed into the cab of Keith’s Nissan and Dane cranked the engine. He saw Lydia in the rearview mirror as he turned the truck around and headed out. She was standing in the doorway of the main house where she’d been when they arrived. Ned strained his neck to look back at her. Roselita sighed.
* * *
The stolen Subaru hatchback didn’t handle the rough roads out in the country all that well, and he felt every bump in the road deep in his shoulder as if someone were gouging a thumb into the wound. He was pleased to finally be still, and off those godforsaken trails. He had refused to bring anyone with him. He didn’t know anyone from the organization here personally, so despite his injuries, he felt safer working the rest of this job on his own. The last thing he needed out here was another idiot like Smoke to let his American-influenced ego get him killed.
Fenn watched from where he’d stashed the car behind a deep thicket of bushes as the same Americans he’d seen back at the apartment in Atlanta passed him in a bright red pickup truck. They had added one to their number, but he looked even less formidable than the other two. Fenn was not surprised to see them here. They were all seeking the same information. This farm belonged to the American who ran the games. It only made sense that this would be the place to start looking for the boy, but he was hoping to have already come and gone by the time the police arrived. He was planning on waiting until dark to approach the farmhouse, but now he had no choice. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe these American police arriving when they did would provide Fenn with an opportunity. He’d scouted the area thoroughly after he’d hidden the car and found only one man patrolling the property line—another man of no consequence hiding behind the false security of a long, high-caliber weapon. Fenn would make short work of him, but now it was possible that his death would be unnecessary. That man would surely be busy now with the police, making it easier for Fenn to approach the house undetected—possibly even to enter the house. The woman living there was beautiful, nothing like most American women—she was delicate and stately, a woman of Fenn’s caliber. Maybe there would be time to see more of her. Maybe this trio of police in their fancy pickup truck had just made that introduction possible.
Fenn got out of the car, careful of his shoulder, and eased the door closed. He took his baston and a small canteen of water from the hatchback and looked at the suitcase and trash bag tucked down under the back seat that contained a small fortune. Fenn knew he’d be rewarded with a lot more if he could provide his people with the boy, so the idea of taking it for himself never entered his mind. Greed was American. Greed got you killed. He thought of Smoke, and slowly eased the hatch closed. His wound was still a slow-burning fire that spread down his arm, but he ignored it and flexed his fingers. Silently, he made his way through the woods toward the house. He wouldn’t be able to get close enough to hear what they were saying, but he’d be able to see how many people he would need to kill if that’s what it came to. He opened a small pill bottle he’d taken from the same house he’d stolen the car from, and chewed three of the small oval pills into a chalky paste that he washed down with water from the canteen. Within minutes he was feeling better. The throbbing in his shoulder had settled into a dull ache, and he nestled next to a tree and watched the thin man with the rifle fire at the police from the truck—the woman with the pink shirt talking to the old man on the porch. The woman did something of a dance and fell into the other man—the skinny one with the long hair. They all jerked about and bounced around the yard. The man with the rifle chambered another round but lowered the weapon. He had not intended to hit anyone, but fired just to show the old man’s dominance over the visitors. Fenn smiled while he watched the havoc the rifleman had caused. He would’ve laughed if he could’ve afforded to break his silence or give away his position. Other than the man who drove the truck, who remained stoic, the movements of the others in front of the house reminded Fenn of an old silent movie he’d seen on American TV once as a boy. Fenn loved American TV. Keystone Cops, he recalled. Yes, that’s what they looked like. The Keystone Cops. They were very funny.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When Dane pulled the truck over to the side of the street near Lucky’s, they got out and he tossed Keith’s keys on the seat. They walked to the parking lot of the sheriff’s station across the street. Dane and Ned slid into Dane’s old Ford and Roselita stood at the door of her silver Infiniti. Dane rolled the window down. “Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking, Rose? Or are you just going to leave without a word like you normally do?”