Fuck me, that looks like a steel gate!
He’d planned to take the route that had become familiar to him, one he’d driven a few times over the last several weeks—the one he’d taken that first time, when he’d first seen his target and put that tracker on the Lincoln.
Today, he was in a different car from that first time. He’d bought this Chevy for five hundred cash from a farmer about an hour’s drive away. He’d had to throw in an extra Benjamin to keep the plates, but that was okay. He’d stolen the first car he was driving when he’d been made on the night that he’d followed those three to that roadhouse.
He still couldn’t figure out how they had known he was there, watching them. He’d been careful. But he’d realized, as he’d watched their movements as they entered the roadhouse that night, that somehow they’d known he was there. When those two other cops had come out after the three that he’d been following had gone inside and then had begun scoping the area? He didn’t think they’d seen him. He was too smart for that. But they’d likely seen the car he’d been driving and maybe even the plate.
He'd had no choice but to torch the car, the way he’d instinctively known to do to get rid of the evidence. That fucker had burned hot enough so he wouldn’t have been surprised if all that was left of it was a heap of molten metal.
He was not quite ready to make his move, to get his revenge. Not yet. He’d known he needed wheels so he could shadow them and, yes, gather whatever he was going to need to execute his plan. He still had his rental tucked away, the one he’d gotten at the airport in Dallas. There was no way he could use that for what he planned. That was his get-out-of-town-free card. He was paying to have it garaged, and that was where it would stay until his revenge had been executed and it was time to go.
A conversation with a guy one night in one of the many bars he frequented in Waco had led him to the farmer and this old, shit-brown-colored Chevy. Hell, buddy from the bar had even been good enough to take him there so he could do the deal.
He’d been living on his wits in a place he didn’t know since he’d flown in, and it occurred to him he’d been doing a damn fine job of things, too. They’d all called him a loser, maybe not in words but definitely in their expressions. Only he was a lot smarter than they were. He was here, and they had no idea where he was or what he planned.
He’d been sitting on this little rise too long. If he could see that work crew, they could see him. He set down the binoculars on the seat beside him and turned the car around and headed back the way he’d come. He’d made himself familiar with the area over the last few weeks and had, at one point, driven through that little town, traveling south and had made his way back to the state highway. He’d just go there now and enter town from the other end.
He headed back toward Waco. After a few miles, he took a right turn and negotiated the winding roads, which finally took him to the road that intersected the other end of the one he’d wanted.
He didn’t turn down that road. The land here was flat and even at this distance, he could see similar activity taking place here on the south end of the road as he’d witnessed at the north end of it. He pulled over and reached for his binoculars once more.
There, right there, just on the same road as on the other side of the town, another three-man crew and another construction project was underway, identical to what he’d seen moments ago.
It didn’t take him long to realize they were getting ready to lock down the town. He lowered the binoculars. Can they even do that? Something was definitely up. Oh, fuck. Clearly, their inability to find him had frustrated them all to hell and they were closing off the town because of him.
He caught sight of the black and white vehicle in his rearview mirror and quickly pulled his cell phone up to his ear. The cop car with a brown map image of the state of Texas on its door passed him then took the next right, heading toward those men and that construction.
The cop pulled his cruiser over onto the side of the road and got out and approached the work crew.
“Maybe I’m going to get to see some fireworks.” He used his binoculars to get a better look at the scene as it was about to unfold before him. Too bad there’s no popcorn and beer.
The cop started out by shaking hands with one of the men, the one who appeared to be supervising the other two.
But instead of the cop reading the riot act to the group for mucking about on a public road, he seemed to inspect the work and chat with all of the men. He focused on the cop’s face and read only approval there. He realized the cop knew these men, knew them and liked them. Friends? Damned if they weren’t, and that didn’t make any sense, either.
After a few minutes, the cop got back into his car and continued north, past the construction, and headed toward the town.
He set his binoculars down and pulled back onto the road. He continued east, past the road that would take him into Lusty. The cop had gotten through, but he didn’t want to try it himself—at least not with
