Natalie blew out a breath, relief trickling through her limbs. If Tank lived, maybe he could help them with identifying the killer before he struck again. “What happened?”
Kate turned down the heat, directing the vents toward the back seat. “When Ronnie called this morning, I was still half asleep, but I’ll tell you what I can remember. Keep in mind that Ronnie rattled off the quick and dirty version, hurrying because Grady wanted her to hang up so he could take her somewhere safe where she could sleep while he continued his investigation.”
It was times like this that having a law dog for a boyfriend paid off. Would it be the same for Natalie with Coop?
“Grady Harrison is the sheriff of the county,” Chester explained to Harvey in the back. “He’s also mattress dancing with Ronnie, Kate’s sister.”
“The tango or foxtrot?” Harvey shot back.
“That probably depends if Ronnie remembers to wear underwear or not,” Chester said, snorting with laughter.
“Chester,” Natalie scolded.
“What? Everyone knows she’s allergic to underwear.”
Harvey snickered. “I’d like to meet Ronnie. How old is this cousin?” he asked Natalie.
“Too young for you, horny toad.” She looked back at Kate. “Did Ronnie tell you anything else about Tank and how the attack happened?”
She nodded. “Tank was working late last night, wrapping up some paperwork since New Year’s Eve tends to be one of his busiest nights of the year. He told the officers who were the first to show up on scene that he heard something crash out behind where he stores towed vehicles. Said it sounded like someone broke a windshield. When he went out back to investigate, someone shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart. He pulled it out, but before he could get back to the safety of the office, he passed out.”
“That’d be like taking down a rhino,” Chester said.
“How do you know Tank?” Natalie asked Chester.
“He’s a card-carrying member at Dirty Gerties. Cherry introduced us a couple of years ago. I took my old Ford pickup to him once when she was belching smoke. He fixed her up real quick and only charged me half price because I’m Cherry’s friend.”
“When Tank woke up,” Kate continued, “he’d been tied to the lifting thingamajig in his garage.”
“The hydraulic hoist?” Natalie asked.
“Does that lift up the cars?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, yes, that thing. The killer had tied Tank’s wrists far apart and raised the lift high, so that Tank’s toes were barely touching the floor.”
“Smart move,” Harvey said. “Hard to get any leverage when yer spread out like that, even for a big fella.”
“Then what?” Natalie pressed Kate.
Kate sniffed, swiping at her nose. “The killer started hitting Tank with a hose. Grady told Ronnie it had been filled with sand. The killer asked where the diamonds were, but Tank had no idea, of course. The poor guy was caught in the middle of this mess, like all of the other victims before him.” A muscle in Kate’s jaw twitched. “Tank had no idea how many hits he took from the bastard, but Ronnie said she heard the ER doctor tell Grady that Tank’s back looked like a Jackson Pollock abstract painting.”
Natalie sucked in air between her teeth. “Christ.”
“How did Tank get away?” Chester asked. “The bastard hasn’t let anyone else live.”
“He underestimated Tank,” Kate said. “Grady told Ronnie that the hoist thingie had been leaking hydraulic fluid off and on for a while out of a lift hose.”
She slowed as they neared the Yuccaville city limits.
“In the midst of torturing Tank, the killer’s phone rang. When he stepped outside to take the call, Tank wiggled the leaky hose so that hydraulic fluid ran down the rope tying his wrist, making his skin slippery. By the time the killer returned, Tank had both hands free and was in the process of untying his ankles.”
“Then what?” Natalie asked.
“The killer pulled out a gun and shot at Tank as he turned to run.”
“Holy shit.”
“Just shot at Tank?” Harvey asked. “Or actually put a bullet in him?”
“He shot Tank in the back.”
“Damn. Beaten and shot.”
“But that didn’t stop Tank.”
“I have a feelin’ he was given that name fer good reason,” Harvey said.
“They should have called him Sherman,” Chester said.
“Tank grabbed some tool and threw it at the killer,” Kate continued.
“A hammer?” Natalie asked.
“More likely to have been a wrench in a garage like his,” Chester said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kate said in a growly voice. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”
Natalie crossed her arms. “Go on.”
“Tank threw an unspecified tool and knocked the gun out of the killer’s hand. It landed under a worktable. The killer bent over, trying to grab the gun. At that moment, Tank got up and charged, slamming him into the workbench covered with tools.” She shot Natalie a frown. “All sorts of tools that will not be named.”
Natalie scoffed and then waved for Kate to keep going.
“Tank tried to reach the gun, but the killer pulled a knife and stabbed Tank in the back of the leg.”
Son of a bitch! Poor Tank—beaten, shot, and stabbed.
“By the time Tank recovered and got the gun, the killer had run off into the darkness. Tank shot off a few rounds, but he doesn’t know if he hit the guy at all.”
Harvey grunted. “It’s hard to hit a runnin’ target under the noonday sun, let alone with a bullet in yer back and a knife wound in yer leg.”
“Unless you have a shotgun full of buckshot,” Chester said.
“Someone down the street heard the gunshots and called the cops,” Kate said. “When the Yuccaville police showed up, they found Tank slouched in his office chair. He’d dragged himself inside and locked the door, intending to call the police only to find out that his phone lines had been sliced.”
The killer was very thorough—except for realizing the hoist had a hydraulic fluid leak.
“Ronnie said she heard Tank had bled out quite a bit and was going in and out of consciousness when
