Desperate people do desperate things. Now he had to deal with the fallout.
He looked back toward the house. He could see Jessie through the window, pouring a cup of coffee. He had mixed feelings about leaving Jessie in charge. Dennie he would have trusted, but Jessie? Not all that bright. To Dalton, the wrong guy got shot. Had it been Jessie things would have been much simpler. Put a bullet in his head and dump him in a ravine. Another done deal. But, Dennie? Dennie’s family.
He also had concerns about the doc: Was he lying about Dennie’s condition? Was he buying time? Did he suspect he wasn’t going to survive this? Probably. He knew their names, what they looked like. He was a smart kid. He’d have to know what was what. Which would make him desperate and maybe make him consider some unpredicted stuff. Like Tommy had done.
He sighed. He had no choice. He had to make these calls. Jessie couldn’t do that. Only he could. Which meant leaving Jessie in charge was the only option.
At least the place they had found was perfect. High up the slopes, deep into the forest, and several turns from any major road. The house was well hidden by a thick stand of pines and gums and other trees he had no name for. Plus, it sat at the end of a long gravel and dirt path that was so overgrown with weeds and Johnson’s grass that it looked more like an abandoned trail than the entrance to someone’s home. Obviously, the owners wanted privacy. So did Dalton.
He put the SUV in gear and headed down the drive. The central strip of ragged grass scraped against the undercarriage. Drizzle peppered the windshield. He flicked on the wipers.
Took two miles to find a signal that was usable. Three bars should be enough. He pulled off the road into a rectangular graveled area that served as an overlook for the deep forested valley. The area was small and ended at a grassy strip that sloped gently downward to where the terrain dropped precipitously. He tugged his cap down, and climbed out. He dialed the first number.
“Speak to me.”
Frankie Campanella was a man of few words. He also was not someone to fuck with. No hedging things. Straight up true story was the only thing that worked.
“We got problems,” Dalton said.
“Spell it out.”
Dalton paced, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes. “Things started out good at Finley’s place. All the targets eliminated. But then Dennie got shot.”
“How?”
“Tommy had a gun hidden in the sofa. He got off a single round. His last ever, but it caught Dennie in the gut.”
“He alive?”
“Yeah.” Dalton told him of kidnapping Dr. Buck, visiting the pharmacy, finding the secluded house, the surgery on Dennie.
“Pretty clever move.”
“It’s all we had.”
“Dennie going to make it?” Frankie asked.
“Looks like it.”
“The doc? He still with us?”
“He is. I think Dennie’ll need him another day or so.”
“I take it that means you aren’t rolling this way.”
“The doc says two more days. At least. But he might be gaming me. Hard to tell.”
“Maybe simply take him out and roll.”
Fuck you, Frankie. It ain’t your brother the doc is keeping alive. That’s what Dalton thought. What he said was, “Maybe. Not sure yet. Don’t want to jeopardize Dennie.”
“It’s your call.”
“Right now, I think we’re tucked in pretty good. Definitely off the radar. But I’ll talk to our guy over here. He’ll be in the loop and know what the story in town is.”
“Keep me posted.” Frankie disconnected the call.
Dalton tugged down his cap and zipped his jacket. He dialed the next number. The man answered on the third ring.
“It’s Dalton.”
“You responsible for this shit storm?”
“Unavoidable.”
“What the hell happened?”
Dalton went through the highlights.
“Jesus, the Finleys, Shaffer, a doctor kidnapped. You’re like a rolling plague.”
“Like I said, unavoidable,” Dalton said. “Shit happens. Now we have to get out of it.”
“Where are you?”
“In the hills holed up in a secluded cabin.”
“They’re looking everywhere for you.”
“What do they know?” Dalton asked.
“Let’s see. A big black SUV grabbed the doc. Two men. One with a ponytail. That enough for you?”
“A witness?”
“Yeah. A druggie named Marla Jackson. She was shooting up in the park across the street and saw the whole thing.”
“Shit.”
“Oh, at least that.”
A pair of crows dropped into a nearby pine tree and began fussing and cawing. Dalton glanced their way. “I was going to drive in for some supplies. I guess that’s off the table.”
“Don’t even be on the road. They’re literally searching the entire county.”
“Unfortunately, I’m sitting on the side of the road right now. I had to move down the hill to get cell service.”
“Crawl back underground. If you need supplies, I can get some to you.”
“We’re good,” Dalton said.
“What’s the plan?”
“Lay low a couple more days and then cut and run to Memphis.”
“If they don’t find you first.”
“The cops aren’t all that good, are they?” Dalton asked.
“Good enough. And a couple of P.I. types are snooping around, too.”
“Who?”
“Someone the doc’s father hired. Bobby Cain and Harper McCoy. Seem to have some sort of military background. Exactly what, I’m not sure.”
Dalton didn’t know what to make of that except that the posse was growing. Never a good thing.
“I’m starting to regret ever opening up a shop over here,” Dalton said.
“Except the money’s been good, hasn’t it?”
“Not this good.” Dalton sighed. “With Tommy gone, I guess it’s a moot point now.”
“What about his partner?”
“Jason Epps?”
“Yeah.”
“Never met him,” Dalton said. “Just know he exists. Don’t really know anything about him.”
“He’ll be okay. He’s more or less like Tommy, but less ambitious. I’ll talk with him. See where his head’s at.”
“Sit back for right now,” Dalton said. “I’ll have to talk to Memphis before
