“Of course, but later.”
His slippered feet slapped away. I struggled upright, put weight on my leg. It answered with searing pain. Something had given way, a bone or ligament.
Feet returned to the elevator doors.
“You know that man, Carson? The one that was mean to Puppy?”
“Yes.”
“He’s outside with another man. He’s coming in, I think.”
I wanted to throw back my head and scream. Crandell would have keys to everything. All he had to do was open the elevator, pull once or twice on the trigger. My final hope was exploding outward on my one good leg, hoping Crandell would be directly outside the door. I might get my hands to his face, rip my nails across his eyes, blind the bastard…
Footsteps approached, slow and measured. I held my breath, ready to dive through if he could open the door.
What if he just fired through the door?
Footsteps, footsteps…I held my breath.
Bang! A hand smacked hard against the door. Again.
“Carson? He didn’t come inside. They drove away.”
I leaned against the door. My head swam. Each of my heartbeats sounded like a kettledrum.
“Are you sure, Freddy? Crandell’s really gone?”
“He drove away in that special truck, Carson.”
“What special truck, Freddy?”
“The one Uncle Buck uses to carry his cars around. Uncle Buck has lots of cars.”
CHAPTER 48
Trees whipped by the sides of Nautilus’s cruiser, the country lane tight. The meeting spot was one Nautilus was familiar with, an old strip center serving what had once been a rural community, now just a couple miles from the edge of the growing city. Nautilus figured Crandell lived nearby, the site like he and Carson had figured, out of the city, but still allowing fast access anywhere in Mobile.
The meeting location was a pizzeria in the center, A-Roma Pizza. The closer he came, the more he became convinced he should let the county cops in on his plan. This was Mobile County, and he knew several guys on the force, not a Cade Barlow in the bunch. Nautilus waited to pass a slow-moving trailer on the road ahead. He was about to accelerate when the trailer swerved erratically, slid from the road, ground to a hard stop.
Nautilus had dropped back a hundred yards, thinking the trailer or the truck pulling it had blown a tire. He passed the stopped rig slowly, checking. It was an extended-cab truck with a vehicle hauler behind it. The hauler was empty.
The cab of the pickup exploded open and a man dropped halfway to the ground, clawing at his chest, the seat belt trapping his body. Nautilus braked hard and stared in horror, his headlights framing the grisly scene.
Don’t get out of the car, a voice said from the back of his head. Call it in, but don’t get out. His hand reached for the radio, was stopped by the flashing red light in his rearview: a vehicle with an emergency flasher stuck atop the roof, volunteer fireman. Hopefully the guy had some medical training.
“I’m an EMT,” called a voice from the vehicle behind as the door opened, feet started his way. “What happened?”
“Looks like a heart attack,” Nautilus yelled back. “I’m a cop. I’ll call it in. You got a defibrillator?”
“No. But I have one of these.”
Nautilus felt something hard press his ear. Caught the smell of gun oil. The voice at his shoulder said, “How’s about you keep your hands off that mike and right up there where I can see them.”
The man hanging from the truck suddenly slipped to the ground, somersaulted to standing, brushed himself off. Nautilus saw a patch on the guy’s shoulder: PRIVATE SECURITY. He was a tall, raw-boned guy with tight eyes. He grinned at the Crown Vic, then ignited two road flares. He tossed one behind the Crown Vic, another in front. Anyone passing would think car trouble.
“All right, Rafe,” said the voice at Nautilus’s shoulder. “You earned yourself a double bonus tonight. Drop the ramps and let’s get this circus to another town.”
Nautilus said, “Crandell, right?”
“Stay relaxed and we’ll all go home tonight.”
Like hell, Nautilus thought.
Headlights filled the scene as another vehicle slowed, a couple teen guys in an old Camaro with a bad muffler.
“Sssssh,” Crandell said to Nautilus, leaning to hide the gun. “One word and the kiddies don’t get any older.”
“Y’all need some help?” the passenger in the Camaro said.
Private Security smiled, shook his head at the Crown Vic. “Thanks, man, but we got her. Tranny stripped out in second gear. We’ll get ’er up on the trailer, haul it to the garage. Hey, you guys want a beer?”
The guy in the Camaro waved it off. “Thanks, bud, but we’re set.” He held up a six-pack of Schlitz Malt Liquor, grinned stupidly, and the pair roared away.
Private Security hustled to the back of the hauler, dropped the ramp to the road. That was all the time it took for Crandell to have Harry Nautilus on the rear floor of the cruiser, handcuffed to a steel D-ring.
“And before I forget…” Crandell slipped his hand into Nautilus’s jacket and snatched out his Glock.
“And a shotgun, too?” Crandell said, pulling the weapon from the seat rack. “My, we did come prepared, didn’t we?”
Private Security jumped in the door, backed up the Crown Vic, angled it, then ran the Crown Vic onto the hauler. He slipped a chrome. 44 revolver from his belt, set it in his lap.
“What next?” he asked Crandell.
“Stay in there and keep an eye on our company. You’ll have to lay across the seats, stay below the windows.”
“No problem.” Private Security nodded at Nautilus. “What do I do if he acts up?”
Crandell thought a moment, said, “Put one in his knee.”
Lightning flashed on the horizon. Nautilus felt the wind shift direction. It suddenly smelled of rain. Private Security lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I hate cops and I hate niggers. I do believe you’re gonna act up once we get under way.”
Nautilus felt a cold squirming in the pit of his stomach. Crandell leaned in the open passenger window.
“You’re going to behave, right, Detective?”
“I doubt it’ll mean much,” Nautilus said.
“You’ll be good to our guest, Rafe?”
Private Security chuckled. “Unless he acts up, like you said.”
“Detective Nautilus, I want you to turn to Rafe and promise you’ll be a good boy.” The jab with the barrel again.
Nautilus craned his head upward to the leering face of Private Security. Lightning exploded and a small dark dot appeared in Private Security’s forehead. He frowned, waved at something in front of his face, like he was troubled by a fly, then slumped sideways in the seat.
Nautilus looked to the window. He smelled burned gunpowder and saw a smile on Crandell’s face. Crandell reached in with the gun.
Lightning exploded inside Harry Nautilus’s head.
Climbing through the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator was easier than I expected, relying on arm and shoulder strength rather than my ankle. I was hobbling around atop the box. The ceilings in the house were fourteen feet high, the elevator eight. Combined with the space between floors, it put the second floor a foot above
