Heat

Chapter 6

Jesse stood at the bathroom sink and looked at himself in the mirror. The face that stared back at him was still unfamiliar; there had been no mirror in the solitary confinement cell where he had spent so much of his prison stay.

The nose was the worst; it had been broken twice and badly repaired in the prison infirmary. It was flat across the bridge and distorted at the tip, but at least he could breathe through it properly. There was scar tissue around the eyes, and the right ear had begun to cauliflower at the top. He looked like nothing so much as a punchdrunk fighter. The face would scare anybody; it certainly scared him.

The doorbell of the suite rang, and Fuller knocked on the bathroom door. “Barker’s here,” he said. They had been in the suite for three nights.

“Be right there,” Jesse said. He tightened the knot of his tie, slipped into his jacket and looked at himself. The suit and shirt had been finely cleaned by the hotel, and, except that his clothes were a bit loose on him, he thought he looked quite well. He wrapped the blade of the sharp steak knife in two sheets of hotel stationery, making a kind of scabbard, then tucked it into his belt at the small of his back. In a few minutes, he knew, he would either have preserved his freedom or stolen it by killing Barker. He hoped Kip would not force his own death by resisting. Since the day he had been arrested Kip had been the only person who had treated him decently.

Jesse buttoned his jacket and walked into the living room. Barker sat at the dining table, and a catalog case rested on the floor beside him. “Sit down, Jesse,” he said.

Jesse took a chair two down from Barker, so he could reach him easily.

Barker took a sheaf of papers from an inside pocket and handed them to Jesse. “See if that’s what you want,” he said.

To Jesse’s surprise, it was, including the letter signed by the attorney general. “It looks just fine,” Jesse said.

Barker reached into the case and removed an automatic pistol and a box of ammunition. “I wouldn’t send anybody, even you, up there unarmed,” he said. “It’s a brand new, Hechler & Koch 9mm automatic; takes fifteen in the clip and one in the chamber. It was bought this morning at an Atlanta gun shop in the name of Jesse Barron, and all the proper forms were filled out, so it can’t be traced to any government agency.”

Jesse nodded and removed the weapon from its holster.

“No need to load it now.” Barker handed him a card. “Here’s an eight hundred number; memorize it; Kip will be on the other end of it.”

Jesse glanced at the number, committed it to memory and returned the card to Barker. “I’m not going to report in every day,” he said. “I don’t want people noticing the calls.”

Barker reached into his magic case again and produced a small cellular phone in a leather pouch. “This is a very special cellular phone,” he said. “Press this button and your conversation is scrambled. Hide it somewhere. The eight hundred number is programmed in already; just hit zero-one and S-E-N-D. The cellular coverage in the St. Clair area is good.”

Jesse accepted the phone and its recharging accessories. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Remember that you have absolutely no law enforcement authority. Whatever happens, this is not going to be your bust. I want you to work this so that you get evidence, then call us in for the climax, is that clear?”

“Perfectly.”

Barker handed him a well-worn wallet; inside were a driver’s license, a credit card, social security card and some business cards from Jesse Barron’s business.

“These look good,” Jesse said, shoving the wallet into his hip pocket.

“Kip tells me you’ve got your cover down pat, and I’ve arranged to have Barron’s name put on your fingerprint record, so if you get printed for any reason, you’re okay.”

“It sounds like we’re all buttoned up, then,” Jesse said. “Except I’m going to need a good bit of cash.”

“How much?”

“I’m going to need a vehicle and a little nest egg; say, thirty thousand?”

Barker turned to Fuller. “Get him twenty-five, and get a receipt.”

“I’ve got that much now,” Fuller said.

“Give it to him.”

Fuller produced some banded stacks of bills from his briefcase and handed them to Jesse; he wrote out a receipt, and Jesse signed it.

“I want you on a plane to Boise today,” Barker said, “and in St. Clair tomorrow.”

Jesse shook his head. “I’m going to buy a vehicle here, register it in Barron’s name and drive across country, picking up motel receipts and buying stuff I need. I’ll be in St. Clair in a week or ten days.”

Barker leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “I guess you think I’m just turning you loose,” he said. “I guess you must think I’m a blithering idiot.”

Jesse smiled. “That’s pretty close to my personal opinion of you, Dan, but I know very well you wouldn’t let me out except on a leash.”

“I’ve got better than a leash,” Barker said. “You’re to report to Kip daily on your way to St. Clair and every chance you get once you’re there. If you go too long without reporting in, I’ll fall on you from a great height.”

“Sure, Dan.”

“Get something straight, Jesse; you haven’t been paroled; you’re still serving your sentence. You’re just going to be doing your time in St. Clair.”

“Right up until you get your indictments,” Jesse said.

“That’s right, pal; right up until the president signs your pardon. Until that day, you’re nothing but an escaped federal prisoner. You got that?”

“Sure, Dan.”

“I can press a button, and there’s a nationwide manhunt for you in full swing; the Immigration and Naturalization Service already has you down for arrest if you try to cross any border, so don’t get it in your mind to tool on up to Canada or down to Mexico, got it?”

“Sure, Dan.”

“And something else you’d better know, boy; if this doesn’t work out — for any reason — if I don’t get good busts on those three men, then you’re going back to Atlanta, and you’ll never see the light of day again. If the cons don’t kill you, then you’ll never make parole; I’ll personally see to that.”

“I know you will, Dan,” Jesse replied. He stood up and turned to Fuller. “I’ll need a ride to a used car lot,” he said.

Barker stood up and turned to Fuller. “Call me when he’s on his way.” He picked up his catalog case and walked out of the room.

Fuller sighed. “I’m glad that’s over,” he said.

“Let’s get moving,” Jesse replied.

“Jesse,” Fuller said, “you’ve got a gun now; can I have the steak knife, please? The hotel would just charge it to my bill.”