“But that's what they are,” I said to Sampson. Army assassins who look like the nicest guys in the bar, maybe in all of North Carolina.'
We watched the three of them for the rest of the night -just watched the trio of hit men.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Eighty
Sampson and I were staying out at a Holiday Inn near the Interstate. We were up the next morning by six.
We had a potentially heart-stopping, but rather tasty breakfast at a nearby Benny's (omelets and 'home fries covered and smothered'). Then we planned out our big day. We'd learned the night before that Heckler and Koch had a big family-style picnic going that afternoon. We were planning to crash it. Cause a little trouble if we could.
After breakfast we took a spin past the houses of the three murder suspects. A slick DC group we liked called Maze was playing from the CD. Nice contrast to the folksiness of Rocky Mount. City meets country.
The killers' houses were in upscale developments called Knob Hill, Falling River Walk, and Greystone. It looked as if a lot of young professionals with families lived there. The new South. Quiet, tasteful, civilized as hell.
“They know how to blend in,”Sampson said as we drove by Warren Griffin's two-and-a-half story Colonial. “Our three killer boys.”
“Good at what they do,” I said. “Never been caught. I really want to have a chat with them.”
Around eight, we went back to the Holiday Inn to get ready for the picnic and whatever else might happen today. It was hard to believe that the three killers fit so well into Rocky Mount. It made me wonder about pretty, innocent-looking small towns and what might be lurking behind their facades. Maybe nothing, maybe a whole lot of everything.
Sampson and I were originally from North Carolina, but we hadn't spent that much time here as adults, and unfortunately, most of it had been working on a couple of celebrated murder cases. The gun-company picnic was scheduled to start at eleven, and we figured we would show up at around one when the crowds were large. We knew from the night before that just about everybody from H and K, from the mailroom to stockroom to the corporate suite, would be on hand for the big day.
That included Starkey, Harris, Griffin and their families.
And of course, Sampson and I. It was time for a little payback.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Eighty-One
It was a hot, humid day and even the cooks at the company picnic were checking the grill infrequently. They much preferred to stay in the shade and sip cold Dr. Pepper soft drinks in their 'BBQ from Heaven' aprons. Everybody seemed to be taking it easy, having a good time on a pretty Saturday. Another cat's-eye marble bites the dust.
Sampson and I sat under an ancient, leafy oak tree and listened to the symphony of local birds. We drank iced tea from Lucite cups that looked like real glass. We wore H and K Rules tee-shirts and looked as if we belonged, and always had.
The smell of ribs was strong in the air. Actually, the smoke from the grills was probably keeping the bugs from becoming an immediate problem.
“They sure know how to cook those ribs,” Sampson said.
They did, and so did I. Ribs, to cook properly, need indirect heat, and the fires had been built with two piles of charcoal one in front, one in the back, but none in the middle where the racks with the ribs had been placed. I
had learned about ribs, and all kinds of cooking, from Nana. She'd wanted me to be as good in the kitchen as she was. That wasn't going to happen real soon, but I was decent, at least. I could fill in when needed.
I even knew that there was a standing argument in the grilling world about the relative merits of the 'dry rub' versus the 'wet mop'. The dry rub was a mixture of salt, pepper, paprika and brown sugar, which was said to have both the heat and the sweetness to bring out the true flavor of the meat. The wet-mop mix had a base of apple cider, with added shallots, jalapeno peppers, ketchup, brown sugar and tomato paste. I liked the mop and the rub just fine so long as the meat was cooked until it just about fell off the bone.
“Everybody is having such a good, all-American time,” Sampson said as we sat and watched the world go by. “Remind me to tell you about Billie in Jersey.”
“Billie?”I asked. Who's Billie?'
Tell you later, partner. We're working now. On the trail of three stone-cold killers.'
That we were. We were busy watching the families of Starkey, Harris and Griffin from a safe distance. I noticed that Thomas Starkey looked our way once or twice. Had he spotted us? If he had, he didn't seem overly concerned.
“You think they're the ones who killed Colonel Handler? Think they know who we are, sugar?”Sampson asked.
“If they don't, they probably will soon.”
Sampson didn't seem to mind. “That's your big plan? Get us killed down here in Rocky Mount?”
