Kate.
“You hear this thug gangsta bitch?” he said to Mullet.
“You got the twelve-gauge,” the girl said, “you do it, then. Why we putting up with this?”
The black guy said, “Everybody be cool. We gonna make the transaction. Ain’t nobody gonna shoot nobody. We like family now.”
Kate said, “If you shoot me, how you going to find the money?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” the black guy said to Kate. “Let’s quit flambosting, chill this motherfucker. Give peace a chance.”
Mullet pressed the barrel of his gun, a big chrome-plated automatic, against Luke’s temple. He looked at Kate and said, “You got ten seconds-one… two…”
“Don’t worry,” the black guy said, “doubt he can count that high.”
“Mom,” Luke said, “just do what they want, will you?”
Mullet stopped counting.
Everyone turned and looked at him.
Kate dropped the Beretta.
The girl said, “Kick that little weenie gun over here.”
“Little man like Talleyrand,” the black guy said.
“What you talking about?” Mullet said, “Running your mouth, you never stop.”
“Talleyrand, Charles Maurice, motherfucker-French diplomat, homie a Napoleon.”
Teddy said, “Who?”
The black guy shook his head. “Man doesn’t know who Napoleon is.”
Kate knew, of all of them, he was the one to keep an eye on. Don’t be fooled by the street rap, the hip-hop cool, the fractured syntax-he was the smartest one by far, including Jack, who, instead of taking charge, waited to be told what to do like he was the hired help. What happened to him?
Mullet unlocked the handcuffs now and Luke ran to her and put his arms around her and held on tight and she could feel him tremble in her embrace.
The black guy grinned at her and said, “Now we making progress. Got the little man back, take me to the mon-ey.”
When Bill Wink heard the eyewitness account, he couldn’t help but think it was Kate. Joe Lamborne said she looked rich and then described her in perfect detail: a real knockout, five seven, a hundred and fifteen, blond hair, nice rack, looked about thirty-five.
If it wasn’t Kate McCall, she had a twin. The car she was driving sounded familiar too. Wasn’t her friend cruising around in a green Lexus? Sure, the one with the busted taillight. Bill remembered it parked in front of the market in Omena.
He didn’t say anything to Joe, who’d been suspended without pay, pending an investigation-or to his sergeant. The way he viewed it, Kate was in trouble and this was the perfect opportunity to help her and be a hero.
Of course, his first question was, why was she driving a stolen car? Bill’s mind wrestled with that one until he got a call from Johnny Crow, Johnny saying he saw the rich lady-you know, the one from the woods-she was picking up money, a lot of money, from the bank in Traverse.
Bill called the bank manager, Mr. Ken Calvert, who’d said Mrs. McCall had withdrawn a substantial amount of cash but bank-customer confidentiality prevented him from giving Bill any more information-even in his law enforcement capacity. Although Calvert said he could tell the deputy that he understood it was being used to consummate a real estate deal.
As far as Bill was concerned, it all pointed back to the kidnapping theory. He believed Luke was being held hostage somewhere, and Kate, he believed, was in trouble-needed his help, but was too afraid to contact him. He was pumped thinking about it, standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom getting dressed, looking at himself, his face with the confident grin. He was wearing his uniform pants and a white T-shirt. He turned sideways and flexed his right arm, the biceps rolling up, making a muscle. He looked strong. He was strong. He could bench-press 325 pounds. Do it five times.
He slipped on a Point Blank Pro Plus vest. It was their top-of-the-line body armor, designed to stop a. 357 Magnum 158-grain round, a 240-grain. 44 Magnum, and even a 148-grain. 762 Nato round fired by an M16. Only thing it couldn’t handle was a 30.06. If one of the kidnappers had a big bore rifle he was out of luck, but he seriously doubted that would be the case.
He put his uniform shirt on over the vest, buttoned it and tucked it in his pants. He strapped his black leather Safariland duty belt around his waist. Fully loaded it weighed fourteen pounds and had everything he needed: his ASP tactical baton, two sets of handcuffs, two extra magazines for his Glock, flashlight, key keeper and pepper spay. The pepper spray had an aerosol projector for long-range deployments, which meant he could blind a perp from fifteen feet or more. He unhooked his holster and drew his Glock 21, pointed it at the mirror image of himself.
He’d cleaned the gun the night before, dipped a patch in solvent and passed a jag through the bore to loosen the fouling. The barrel was still dirty, so he did it again. Then he’d dipped a phosphor brush in solvent and scrubbed the forcing cones, ejectors and slides where a lot of powder residue had built up, working it until everything was nice and clean. He’d popped in the magazine, pulled back the slide and loaded a hollow point in the throat.
He looked at himself in the mirror again, nodded his approval and walked out of his trailer where the mud- splattered cruiser was parked. He made a mental note to get it washed. He was a Leelanau County sheriff ’s deputy, and as such, he had to portray a positive image.
He opened the trunk, took out his Hi-Standard Flite King twelve-gauge and loaded it with five Hevi-Shot Nitro Magnum shells. He closed the trunk, got in the car, put the shotgun on the floor-barrel pointing down. He forgot his hat and went inside to get it.
His stomach was nervous when he got back in the car. The full import of what he was about to do weighing on him now. Should he call for backup? He couldn’t say with absolute certainty that something was actually going to happen. It was all a hunch and if he was wrong, he’d look like a fool. But if he was right, then what?
TWENTY — FIVE
Teddy said, “I never seen so much money in one place in all my days. I’m going to buy me a Ford F250 4? 4 with the extended cab and a set of twenty-inch rims. That is one sweet truck.”
He reminded Kate of a kid on Christmas.
Celeste knelt across from Teddy. She put her pistol on the rug, picking up crisp, just-off-the-press packets of money. The white bands that went around the bills had “$10,000” stamped on them.
“What’re you going to get yourself?” Teddy said.
“Anything I please,” Celeste said.
“That’s the way,” Teddy said. He was eating potato chips out of the bag, drinking a can of Bud. He said, “Hey, know what the best beer in the world is?”
Celeste didn’t acknowledge him, her attention fixed on the money.
“Free beer,” Teddy said.
“What if you don’t like it-it isn’t your brand?” Celeste said.
“Who cares?” Teddy said. “If it’s free, it’s good.”
Kate watched them from the breakfast room while she set the table. Like the two million in front of you, she was thinking. She didn’t care about the money, just wanted them to leave.
Teddy was on his knees on the floor, picking up handfuls of it. He glanced at Kate and said, “Well, I sure am grateful to you for this. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Now, where’s my supper at?”
“It’s cooking,” Kate said.
“Well, hurry it up,” Teddy said. “I’m so hungry, I could eat the ass out of a wild boar.”
Celeste got up and sat on one of the leather couches, feeding Leon a pretzel. She said, “Does him yike that?
