Killer Summer

32

The Cherokee took the final turn, pulling past the golf shop and up to the entrance to the inn, where Walt stopped to collect himself.

The tent, set to seat six hundred for dinner, glowed like a giant white lightbulb fifty yards ahead of him. He viewed that distance as a gulf, an open and exposed area where he was a target.

The bottles were fakes. Remy’s best bet was to have them stolen prior to the auction and collect the insurance. Salvo and McGuiness were part of the team hired to steal them, Walt felt certain. But proving intent was impossible.

“You want to run that by me again?” Brandon said.

“Taking the lead guy into custody is more important than the bottles at this point.”

Brandon snorted. “Whatever you say, Sheriff.”

“I know that doesn’t feel right,” Walt said, “but the only way to link this back to Remy is to have George Clooney in custody. Arresting Salvo or McGuiness may not do it, but it would be a start. They probably don’t even know who Remy is, and it’s Remy we want.”

“But I don’t know how to be incompetent,” Brandon complained. “There’s no way these guys get these bottles.”

“We’ve got to make it look convincing. If they take the bottles, the bee will return to the hive.”

Walt had replaced the GPS device belonging to Branson Risk with his own. Branson’s was in the back of the Cherokee. The MC was tracking Walt’s, and he hoped to follow it to whoever was running the heist.

If there actually is a heist.

He waited for word from the MC that they had a good signal on the GPS. He was still trying to fit together the connection with the kid getting Tasered at the lumberyard in Bellevue. He couldn’t make sense of it but somehow believed it was connected to the heist.

“Here comes trouble,” Brandon said.

“Not now,” Walt said, spotting Gail storming toward the Cherokee. He knew that stride of hers, knew that look on her face. Was it for him or Brandon? He hoped like hell he hadn’t got the date wrong for the girls’ coming home.

“This is for me,” Brandon said.

“Well, send her packing. We don’t have time for this.”

Walt felt relieved. But he also understood the power Gail still wielded. How was that possible? How had he allowed such a thing to happen? For all his strengths, this woman’s reach was suddenly his glaring weakness. It just leaped out at him.

“You hear me?” Walt said.

“I get it, Sheriff,” Brandon snapped. His hand rested on the door handle, but he had not opened it.

Over the radio, the MC dispatcher said, “All set.”

Walt tripped the handset. “Roger that.”

“We’re rolling,” he said to Brandon. Gail was five feet from the car.

“Yes we are,” Brandon said.

Walt drove ahead. They both watched Gail in the rearview mirror as she threw her hands in the air and followed.

“I need you, Tommy. Don’t get caught up in this.”

“Ten-four,” Brandon replied hotly, his eyes never leaving the mirror.

Walt’s cell phone rang. The caller ID read CHUCK WEBB.

“I’ve got to take this,” Walt said, slowing the Cherokee to a stop, still a few yards from their destination alongside the tent.

“Shit!” Brandon snapped. He popped his door and climbed out. “Give me a second. I’ll handle this.”

Walt power-locked the car doors behind Brandon and answered the call, his eyes lighting on a dozen different locations. He felt absurdly vulnerable. The wine case, strapped in the backseat, suddenly felt like a bomb.

“Chuck?” Walt said into the phone.

“Listen, I know we’ve both got enough on our plates, but I’ve got a situation here.”

“Can it wait?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.”

“It’s Kevin,” Webb said. “We’ve got a seventeen-year-old female guest who just left the hotel premises carrying a suitcase. She was picked up by Kevin, Walt. Your Kevin. His car, out back by the circle. Reason I know this is the girl’s father is over at the auction. He asked me to keep an eye on her. Considered her a flight risk. And now she’s flown. She’s a minor, pal, and that puts Kevin smack in the middle of aiding and abetting. And, beyond that, statutory-if you catch my drift. And this is one hot babe, so I doubt I’m really that far off.”

Blood pulsed so loudly in Walt’s ear, he switched the phone to the other side, thinking it might help. It didn’t. He could hardly hear.

Once again, he glanced at the attaché in the backseat.

“You there?” Webb asked.

“Yeah,” Walt answered.

Kevin would be nineteen in a few weeks. That was how the courts would see it. Webb was basically right.

“He drove off our property, or I’d offer to help,” Webb said.

“You have helped, Chuck, big-time. Thanks. I’ll get back to you.”

Walt ended the call. He caught sight of Brandon. Gail was tearing into him, one of her rants that could peel paint off the walls. Four of his deputies had formed a gauntlet into the tent.

He speed-dialed a number on his mobile phone. He waited. There was no answer.

He speed-dialed a second number, and was boiling mad by the time Myra answered.

“Myra? Goddamn it, Myra!”

“Walt, what is it?”

“What do you think it is, Myra? It’s Kevin. Again. He’s not answering his phone, and I need to speak to him.”

“Because…?”

“Because he has an underage girl in his car. Underage and carrying a suitcase, Myra. The girl’s father thinks she might be running away, and that puts Kevin square into the middle of it… as in, a felony count. Do I have your attention yet?”

“I’ll call-”

“He’s not answering,” Walt said, “which makes me all the more sick to my stomach. Did you do as I asked? His phone service? Did you do that, Myra?”

“That location thing?”

“Yes, the Web tracking,” Walt said. “The GPS… did you sign up for that?”

“I signed up, but I’ve never used it,” she said. “It seemed kind of like… spying, or something.”

“I need you to go on the Web and find him, Myra, now. Right now.”

Tonight, of all nights, he thought. Kevin had a knack for bad timing.

“I don’t have a clue how to do this, Walt. You know me and computers.”

“Figure it out,” Walt said. “Call someone. Do something. But figure it out. And call me back. We’ve got an hour, maybe less. The father’s going to want answers. Kevin has got to bring that girl back here and right now.”

“Oh, God.”

“It’s up to you, Myra. This is something you’ve got to do. Right now, not a minute to lose.”

“Me?” Since the death of Walt’s brother, Myra’s mothering duties often had been passed to proxies.

“We’re lucky to have gotten the tip. Find him, and then we’ll deal with it.”

Walt hung up. He climbed out of the car. Gail was halfway across the lawn, heading away from him. He felt her receding fury as a wave washing out to sea. No longer directed at him, he celebrated that burden lifting.

Brandon was pale. He looked disoriented. Walt knew that feeling, savored the fact that it belonged to someone else.

“Stand ready!” he ordered his men as he opened the Cherokee’s back door and removed the seat belt from the attaché’s handle. “Chances are, something’s going down.”