Sweet Dreams, page 9
A few minutes later they were passing dark houses on the dark street. Everything looked different from when they’d come by that afternoon. Emmett, behind the wheel, glanced across the interior and out the side window. “That’s it right there, I’m not mistaken.” Emmett slowed the car and stopped.
Lowell could see lights on in the downstairs rooms. They continued on, passed the judge’s house, and Lowell saw the sedan with the two marshals parked on the street. “See ’em?” he said to Bud Teague. “Mr. John E. Law and his partner still waitin’ to surprise us. I got an idea—let’s surprise them.”
Emmett said, “How do you know for sure the judge is even in there?”
“He was earlier,” Lowell said. “You were with me. You did see him, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I seen him.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“They could’ve moved him.”
“Uh-huh,” Lowell said. “Then why’ve those two marshals been settin’ there almost five hours?”
“Throw us off the trail,” Emmett said, smiling like he was proud of himself.
“That what you’d do, you was plannin’ this operation?”
“I don’t know,” Emmett said. “I’d have to think about it.”
“While you’re thinkin’, go around the block and turn off the lights.” Compared to Emmett, Bud and Toad were neurosurgeons.
Bud Teague opened the rear door, looked at his watch, and said, “Okay, we hit at quarter till.” Lowell watched him walk between two houses that had lights on to the fence that bordered the judge’s backyard.
Headlights still off, Emmett went back around the block, eased the Chrysler to the curb, and killed the engine. Lowell looked at the judge’s house and then straight ahead at the three parked cars in front of them, trying to see the old Pontiac the marshals were in. It was still there about seventy yards down the street. Lowell looked at his watch, four minutes till the action was set to begin. “Sure you can handle them?”
“Do chickens have lips?” Emmett racked the High Standard Flite King twelve gauge.
Toad said, “Mr. Hodge, what do you want me to do?”
In all the commotion Lowell’d forgot about the Toadster. “I want you to go to the south side of the residence.” He pointed. “See that porch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Break in the house, find the judge, and kill him.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Lowell handed him a Ruger Nine.
“I’ve got this too.” Toad held up an Elk Ridge hunting knife that had a brass pommel. “The judge, you want me to gut him, skin him, or carve him?”
“That’s up to you. But you’re gonna have to do it fast.”
Toad got out and crouched along the chest-high shrubs between the judge’s house and the neighbor’s. When he reached the screened-in porch, he looked back at the street, saw Emmett strolling past the parked cars forty yards from the target with two minutes to go. He walked to the edge of the house, where the side and back met, saw a car on the driveway apron, couldn’t tell if someone was in it or not. And then Bud Teague appeared, shotgun leveled, standing partially concealed by tall shrubs in the garden. Toad checked his watch—a minute and a half to go.
•••
Kate heard the toilet flush. The door opened, and Judge Steve came toward her. “This is ridiculous. I’m sitting up here like some kid who’s being punished,” he said, a hard edge to his voice now. “I’m going down to get a drink.”
She’d had enough of Judge Steve’s attitude. “No, you’re not. You’re going to do what I tell you. You’re going to go in the dressing room and not make a sound.”
He ignored her, moving toward the door, reaching to unlock it.
“Walk out of this room, I’ll tase you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said with his back to her.
Kate slid the Taser out of a vest pocket and aimed it at him, thinking she should have done it earlier. He opened the door. “Ever been tased, Judge? It hurts like hell, knocks you down and takes your breath away.” Kate had experienced it at the academy with the other recruits.
Judge Steve turned, now glaring at her. “McGraw, I’m going to report you for this.”
“The skinheads are coming for you. You want to live? Listen to me.”
He finally seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation. He went into the dressing room and closed the door.
Kate stood at the bedroom window, looking down at the street, studying the scene and thought she saw something. It took a couple seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A figure was moving along the line of parked cars in front of the house. She took out her phone and punched in Cornbread’s number. “Coming up behind you.”
“Got him,” Cornbread said. “Got a surprise for him.”
•••
Charlie Luna was in the bushes behind the garage relieving himself after five hours when he saw a man with a shotgun moving across the backyard toward the house. He gripped his primary and slid it out of the holster. The man with the shotgun stopped at Charlie’s G-ride, shielding his eyes from the flood lights on the back of the house, trying to see in the SUV.
Thirty feet from the man, now in a shooting stance, Charlie said, “US Marshal, drop your weapon.” But the man had another idea and started to pivot with the shotgun. Charlie shot him twice. Going down, the man squeezed the trigger. The shotgun roared and blew a hole through the garage door. Charlie cuffed him and heard gunfire in front of the house. He got in the SUV, grabbed the radio, and said, “Unit 125, emergency situation at 2365 Seminole Street. Need immediate support.”
“10-4 125.”
•••
Toad heard the hard blasts of shotguns sounding like bird season and telling him Emmett and Bud had hit their targets. He knocked out a glass pane with his elbow, reached in, and unlocked the door. He moved through the house checking rooms. No one around. Looked out the kitchen window, saw Bud laid out on the grass and knew he’d better get to it, find the judge and get her done.
When Toad got to the top of the stairs, he saw the girl marshal in the hall coming out of a bedroom, closing the door. She was in a vest, pistol in hand. They made split-second eye contact, Toad surprised by her presence, and by the look of things, she by his. He hesitated for an instant before squeezing the trigger, the high-caliber pistol exploding and kicking, making a racket in the narrow confines of the hallway, his ears ringing. Did the girl really think she was gonna take him?
The foxy marshal had disappeared, dove to the right into a room. Toad went after her, crouching low in the doorway, lights from the hall illuminating part of the floor. He moved through the room into the adjoining bathroom that led to another bedroom, and now he had a pretty good idea what she was up to.
•••
Why didn’t she shoot the skinhead when she had the chance? You didn’t hesitate in a situation like that. But he did too or she wouldn’t be standing there. Kate remembered the photos of him, his bug eyes and white body covered with tats, but couldn’t think of his name. She crept back to Judge Steve’s bedroom and went in. The skinhead was behind His Honor, holding a knife to his throat.
“US Marshal, drop your weapon.”
“Drop yours or I promise you I’ll gut this Jew-boy.”
“Do what he says,” Judge Steve said.
Kate heard sirens and saw flashing emergency lights blinking off the front windows. “You hear what’s going on out there? It’s all over.”
“It ain’t over while I got this,” he said, indicating the knife.
Judge Steve was a different person now, scared to death—not a hint arrogance or self-importance. The skinhead noticed it too. “What happened to the hard-ass, loud mouth? Big man in the courtroom surrounded by police. Aren’t you gonna threaten to put me in prison, I don’t leave your house?” The skinhead grinned, seemed to think he was in control.
Kate could see a wet spot appear in the crotch of Judge Steve’s faded Levi’s, widening, moving down one leg, and running out on the carpeted floor.
“Will you look at that. He ain’t even house-broke.”
Kate took a breath trying to calm herself. It was a tense situation. The judge’s life was in her hands, the outcome her responsibility. “Why are you doing this? ’Cause Vernon Meeks told you to?”
“It’s the natural order of things,” the bug-eyed skin said, “survival of the fittest.”
He pressed his knife against Judge Steve’s neck.
“Drop it,” Kate said. “Or I’ll drop you.”
“You got pluck; I’ll give you that.”
The skinhead was about the judge’s height and was directly behind him. Her only target was the man’s black boot angled just past Judge Steve’s bare foot. Kate took a breath and—fighting her own resistance—raised the Glock and squeezed the trigger. First there was an explosion, then the skinhead dropped the knife and fell back on the floor, holding his damaged foot, face twisted in pain. Kate cuffed him and escorted Judge Gant out of the room.
“McGraw, I owe you an apology.”
You owe me a helluva lot more than that, Kate was thinking.
•••
There were two dead: Bud Teague and Emmett Parnell. Gary Grabowski was in stable condition and on his way to the Detroit Medical Center with a gunshot wound in his right foot.
Kate stood on the judge’s driveway with Charlie, watching the medical examiner leaning over the body of Bud Teague laid out on the lawn.
Charlie said, “You okay?”
“Still wound up.”
“You did a helluva job. I don’t think you could’ve handled the situation any better. Judge Gant owes you big time.”
“I was nervous.”
“Of course you were. Who wouldn’t be?”
On the way home at 1:30 a.m., she checked her messages. There was one from Frank saying he had been arrested by the Birmingham police for drunk driving. Kate couldn’t imagine how the night could get any worse, but there it was—dear old Dad screwing up again.
She called the PD, identified herself, and was told that Frank Galvin had been taken to the Oakland County Jail and wouldn’t be released till the next morning.
Kate got in bed but couldn’t sleep, her mind racing. She kept picturing the scenes in the judge’s house, hesitating when she saw the skinhead in the hall, which was more surprise than fear, and the tense standoff in the bedroom. But she felt better after talking to Charlie. She’d handled a difficult situation and saved the judge’s life.
Seventeen
Frank was waiting in front of the jail when Kate pulled up a little after eight a.m. He saw her, moved to the car, and got in without expression or emotion, looking like a bum in his disheveled condition.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
“You look like hell and smell like a brewery.”
Frank ignored her looking out the side window at the courthouse complex.
Pulling out of the parking lot she said, “I get the impression you like it in there. No responsibilities. You don’t have to worry about anything. They give you a bunk and a hot meal. You felt right at home, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I tried to get arrested ’cause it’s so relaxing and the food’s so good.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes, passing strip malls on Telegraph. “Last night you said you had something important to tell me.”
“I think Ray Skinner and his Japanese girlfriend live in Windsor.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw him at the racetrack, and Thompson and I followed him.”
She couldn’t believe it. “Are you out of your mind? What if he recognized you?”
“I thought you’d be grateful. This is probably the first solid lead and you’re giving me a hard time.”
“What was he driving?” Kate was thinking about the cars illegally parked in front of the Bank of America on Griswold.
“A Cadillac with an Ontario plate.”
“Did you get the tag?”
“BPTA 362.”
“You’re sure it was Ontario?”
“Positive. Remember I mentioned that Skinner played the horses? Well, I figured if he was still around there was a good possibility he’d be at the track. I stopped by a couple times looking for him. Ray always went during the day when I knew him twenty years ago, so he could keep his evenings free to have a nice dinner and stop at a few bars. I remember him talking about betting on the thoroughbreds, the excitement of seeing the horses run and the crowd getting into it. And I remember him saying every summer he talked to the jockeys, paid them for the names of the fastest horses.” Frank said, “I went to the stables and showed Skinner’s photo to the jockeys and a few of them recognized him.” Frank looked out the window and back at Kate. “Yesterday afternoon I asked Thompson if he wanted to go to the track.”
“Why involve him?”
“I needed a ride. Maybe you forgot, I don’t own a car.”
Frank sounded like he was feeling sorry for himself.
“We walked around for a while and then went out to the grandstand and watched a race. It was a petite Japanese girl that first caught my eye. I could only see her in profile as she turned her head to watch the horses. I didn’t get a good look at the man she was with until after the race. I followed them to the cashier window, and I saw Ray Skinner, no mistake about it. We followed him on the freeway to Detroit, and through the tunnel to Windsor. But nobody told me you gotta have a passport to get into Canada. We were detained by Canadian Customs, sat in a room for a couple hours while they did background checks on us and saw that we’re ex-cons, and sent us home.” Frank took a beat. “Ray and the girl rob banks and disappear. Where do you think they go?”
“I’ll call the Windsor PD, ask them to run the plate and see what turns up.”
Kate merged onto the freeway during morning rush hour, tired and stressed, and now she had Frank to deal with. “Listen, I found out that Thompson’s car is in an impound lot in Birmingham. You’ll have to pay one hundred and seventy-five dollars to get it out.”
“What the hell for?”
“Towing and the impound cost.”
“Jesus,” Frank said, “I don’t have that kind of money on me.”
“I’m going to loan it to you. But you’re going to need more.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Drunk driving has gotten serious. Your fine will be about fifteen hundred dollars. And a lawyer could run you a couple grand. I know an attorney who might do it for less. But even with a lawyer you’ll do time in county. You’ll be on probation for a year, and you’ll have to attend AA meetings three or four nights a week.”
“Last time I was overserved and stopped, the cop gave me a ride home.”
“They don’t do that anymore,” Kate said. “There’s a federal judge that owes me a favor. Whether or not he’ll help, I can’t say. But I’ll try.”
“I’ll take off before I do time again.”
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?”
“I’m not going back.”
There was a small brick building and behind it was a dusty lot filled with cars. It was surrounded by chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Kate gave him the money. Frank opened the door and started to get out.
She said, “Why don’t you come for dinner tonight? Do you like meatloaf?”
“I love it, but I doubt Thompson will let me use his car again.”
The last thing Kate wanted to do was have company for dinner, but she was concerned Frank might do something crazy and wanted to keep an eye on him. She waited till he came out of the building, held up the car keys, and headed into the lot.
•••
Kate pulled into Thompson’s driveway a little after six. Frank shuffled out of the house and got in the car. They didn’t talk on the way to her apartment until Frank said, “Still pissed off at me or is there something else bothering you?”
“I’m just tired.” She was still stressed from what had happened at the judge’s house but didn’t want to talk about it.
Frank perked up when they walked in the kitchen and Kate asked if he wanted something to drink.
“I’ll have a cold one.”
“You sure?” Kate said. “After the way you felt this morning?”
“Hair of the dog.”
She grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, popped the top, and handed it to him. Frank took a big drink and glanced at her. “This morning you said I was trying to get arrested for free room and board.”
“I was kidding.”
He made a face. “Ever eat jail food?”
“No, but I’ve seen what they serve the prisoners waiting to go to court and it looks disgusting.” Kate pictured a slice of baloney on a single piece of white bread with a pat of margarine on it. “What were your favorites at Victorville?”
Now Frank smiled. “That’s a tough one. Hmmm…let me think. Salisbury Steak with brown gravy was a real crowd pleaser. There was roast turkey and stuffing smothered in poultry gravy. We had chicken six ways from Sunday. Chicken and dumplings, chicken a la king, chicken fajitas, chicken fried rice. And everything tasted the same. It was all terrible. Even the Jell-O was bad. How do you screw that up?”
“What was the worst thing you ate?”
“Nutraloaf. Do something wrong—say you get in a fight or mouth off to a guard—they put you in seg. It’s solitary confinement, and that’s all they feed you.”
“What’s in it?”
“Lot of stuff: carrots, beans, cabbage, corn, tomato paste, garlic powder, applesauce. They throw everything in a blender and then bake the contents. Prison system says it has all the nutrition a prisoner needs to stay healthy.”
