Roses Are Red

Chapter Forty-Four

There can be no more mistakes. The Mastermind knew all about the FBI's Betsey Cavalierre and Detective Cross. He was on top of everything, even the police officers assigned to the case. They were part of his plan now.

It was a gorgeous day for his excursion into the countryside outside Washington. The lilies and daffodils and sunflowers were in bloom, and the sky was clear; it was bright china-blue, with just a couple of cloud puffs placed symmetrically to the east and west.

The current bank-robbing crew was staying in a farmhouse just south of Hayfield, Virginia. It was a little more than eighty miles southwest of Washington, almost in West Virginia.

He rounded a bend on an unpaved road and saw the rear end of Mr. Blue's van jutting out of a faded red barn. A pair of dogs were roaming in the yard, biting at horseflies. He didn't see any of the gang yet, or their girlfriends, but he did hear their loud rock-and-roll music: Guitar-heavy, southern-flavored rock that they played constantly, morning to night.

He walked into the farmhouse living room, which had been remodeled to resemble a loft. He saw Mr. Blue, Mr. Red, Mr. White, and their girlfriends, including Ms Green. He could smell coffee brewing. A broom was leaning against one wall, which meant they had cleaned up a little before he arrived. Next to the broom was a Heckler and Koch Marksman's rifle.

"Hello, everybody," he said and waved shyly, his way. He smiled, but knew that they considered him a geek. So be it. Ms Green was looking at him like he was a geek with the hots for her.

"Hey, mon professor," Blue said and gave him a light-hearted grin that was so insincere it hurt. The Mastermind wasn't fooled. Mr. Blue was a stone-cold killer. That was why he had been chosen for the First Union and Chase robberies. They were all killers, even the three girls. "Pizza," he held up two boxes and a paper bag," I brought pizza. And some excellent Chianti,"