Hopefully dumping the cop’s car and body into the ravine would buy the time he needed. Twenty-four hours was all he asked. That should be enough time to get Dennie on the road and clean up the loose ends.
Fortunately, he had rolled back down the hill, made the call, hooked up with the rest of his crew without incident. Not a cop in sight. Now, he turned back up the cabin’s drive, sliding past and into the trees as before. Mission accomplished.
His crew consisted of five men. Dennie and Jessie and the three that pulled up behind his SUV in a similar, but metallic gray, Navigator. He trusted the three men inside. Bud Myrick had been with him from the beginning, the two, plus Dennie, pulling odd jobs for a few years and then joining up with Frankie. A big jump in cash flow followed that move. They had gone from local, small-time, hand-to-hand dealers to a more regional distribution. They added Jessie almost immediately. Dennie had known him for years. Then came Dale Harris, a whiz with weapons of all types, and Chris Navarro, who had a couple of cousins hooked into the cartels. Cousins known well to Frankie.
The plan was simple. Jessie, Dennie, and the doc would head north in Dalton’s vehicle and loop back toward Memphis. The doc driving, Jessie holding the gun. The rain and the darkness would help. Dalton figured all they needed was twenty lucky miles to be out of the circle that the local PD was likely searching. Then, he and the others could take care of business. Clip all the now frayed edges of their Tanner’s Crossroads business.
Dalton stepped from his vehicle, the rain now light, tapping the overhead leaves. Above, it seemed that the clouds were beginning to break. The moon peeked through, slivering everything. Time to get Dennie loaded up and on the road.
As he rounded the SUV and stepped past the concealing tree, his senses ramped up. Something was off. What? It was a feeling more than anything. Then he saw it. The side garage door was open. He pulled his weapon as the other three clambered out of their vehicle followed by Harris’s pit bull Rocco.
Dalton raised a hand and waved his weapon toward the garage. They fell silent, and their weapons appeared. Harris snapped a finger and Rocco dropped to his belly, haunches flexed for action, ears up, on alert.
Dalton angled away from the open door, to the rear edge of the garage. The other three arrayed themselves where they possessed unobstructed shooting angles. Rocco moved to Harris’s side.
Dalton eased to the door. “Who’s in there?” he said. “Come out now.” Silence. “We have a dog. We’ll send him in and he will bite you.” Silence.
Dalton glanced at Harris and nodded.
Harris snapped his fingers again. “Find the man.”
Rocco lurched forward, flew by Dalton, and into the garage. Dalton could hear him grunting, rooting around, no barking. Harris had trained him well.
Rocco found no one; neither did Dalton when he circled the car inside the garage. Except for the two bodies he had left behind earlier. Otherwise, nothing looked out of place.
“Maybe it was the wind,” Navarro said. “That pushed the door open.”
“Maybe.” Dalton waved his weapon toward the house. “Better to assume we have visitors.”
Dalton now saw that the cabin’s rear door stood ajar. He shouldered it open and stepped inside. Harris and Rocco behind him, Navarro and Myrick lagging, providing cover from the doorway. Rocco charged ahead, veered right, let go a few yelps. Dalton followed.
Jessie. Sprawled on the floor, motionless, eyes half-open, glazed.
Dalton waved to Harris, pointed toward Jessie. Then he and Navarro cleared the two bedrooms. Dennie asleep, no sign of the doc.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Dalton said as he returned to the living area. Harris squatted next to Jessie.
“He ain’t dead,” Harris said. “But he ain’t responding either.”
Dalton knelt beside Jessie and checked his pulse. It seemed normal. He examined him for injuries, finding none. He stood and walked to the kitchen table. Two glasses, one half-full, one empty except for a couple of half-melted ice cubes. His teeth ground. “He drugged him.” Dalton spun back toward Jessie. “You stupid fuck,” he shouted at the unconscious man.
This had now become a true clusterfuck. First, Dennie getting shot by that little shit Tommy. The doc, the pharmacy, and holing up here when they should have been back in Memphis long ago. Free and clear. Now, a dead cop, Jessie out of commission, and the doc in the wind. What the hell else could go wrong?
Dalton looked toward the rear door. “He’s running.”
“He wasn’t on the road,” Navarro said. “He probably took to the woods.”
“We have to find him,” Dalton said. He looked at Myrick. “You stay here. Start getting ready to roll.”
“Roll?” Myrick asked.
“We’ll have to get my brother and Jessie out of here. After we take down the doc.”
Dalton, Harris, Navarro, and Rocco hit the door running. They flew past the garage and into the trees. They stopped and listened but heard nothing. No sound of someone crashing through the trees or stumbling over rocks. Dalton heard only the tapping of rain against the overhead leaves and his own breathing.
“If he’s smart, he’ll head downhill,” Dalton said. “And he’s smart.”
“No problem,” Harris said. “Rocco’ll find him.” He snapped his fingers. “Find the man.”
Rocco was off. They followed as best they could, pushing through the water-soaked trees, following the soft grunts and yelps from Rocco.
CHAPTER 49
Downhill. The only direction that made sense. Buck had no idea where he was but from the trip up, even though he was occupied with Dennie and it was dark and raining, he knew they went north, uphill from The Crossroads. If he made it down to the valley floor he would find help, but getting there was the trick.
Dalton would no doubt pursue him. He couldn’t allow Buck to survive. How much of a head start did he have? How
