“For a while, Lieutenant. I have accumulated a lot of vacation time and was ordered to use it up.”
“Alright, Marshal Trent,” DeLaRue said, placing both hands on top of the driver's door. “But let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t want you actively involved in my investigation. And if you do happen to uncover any information whatsoever pertaining to any of these crimes . . .”
“Lieutenant,” Trent interrupted, “we’re on the same team. Of course I’ll bring anything I find to your immediate attention.”
“Thank you, Marshal. I would appreciate that.” DeLaRue reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his business card. “Here, you can reach me at either one of these numbers.” Trent took the card with a thank you. “Alright then,” DeLaRue said, rapping his knuckles on the top of the driver's door, “Have a nice day.” He turned away, stopped, and said, “Nice old car you have here, Marshal.”
“Well, thank you lieutenant,” Trent said with a smile. “We bought an old farm house in the country. Found this auto-mo-bile rusting away in the barn . . .”
“Right,” Dawson interrupted. “Have a nice day, Marshal.” He and Frank turned and started walking back to the crime scene. Dawson adjusted his hat as they walked into the cold breeze and said, “Great, just what we need. The damn Marshal Service!”
“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “It’s just as bad as having the FBI sniffing around.”
As Trent started the engine and pulled from the curb, he thought how rude it was for the lieutenant not to hear about how they came across the Thunderbird. “Miss Winkles, thank you! If it wasn’t for your quick thinking our mission here would have been in real jeopardy.”
“He’s right, Twink,” Genghis said. “It just never dawned on me that Jeff would need those kinds of items. But that new badge could be very beneficial to us.”
“Yes, Genghis, I think you're right,” Trent said. “That Marshal's badge could give us the access to crime scenes that before would have been completely shut off to us.”
“Marshal Trent?” Genghis said. “I think we owe Twinkie a cup of coffee.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Jeff and Jennifer were in the kitchen fixing dinner when Genghis called out from his computer. “Okay, Marshal! I’ve set up a complete cover story for you. So, if our Lieutenant DeLaRue decides to check on you, he’ll find that Deputy Marshal Jeff Trent has been an exemplary U.S. Marshal for the last fifteen years.”
“What about commendations? I think I’m more than just an exemplary Marshal. I think the word great comes to mind.”
Genghis walked into the kitchen, reared up, and placed his paws on the counter to see how dinner was coming. “Let’s not push it there, Jeff. We want to keep this low key.” Genghis made a series of deep sniffs. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Lasagna,” Jennifer said. She took a long piece of noodle and placed it next to the others in the casserole pan, then started spooning sauce on top of the noodles. “Hey, Genghis, could you get me the mozzarella cheese outta the frig?”
“Sure thing.” He hopped off the counter and opened the refrigerator, then asked, “You want me to turn the oven on?”
“NO!” Jennifer and Jeff both said together.
“Geez O’ Cow! A guy makes one wrong temperature adjustment on the oven and he never hears the end of it.”
“Well,” Jeff responded, “would you rather that or would you rather explain to Mrs. Remke why you burned down her apartment?”
Genghis shuddered at the thought. “Okay, I see your point. I’ll take the razzing.”
Bollar was in his apartment packing everything he had in a large suitcase that lay across his bed. His head pounded. He'd bought the case at a consignment shop and had thought about pulling his gun and cleaning out the register while he was there, but knew better. He knew nothing of the shop or of anyone working at that time. It just wasn’t something he ever did, arbitrarily picking a place and then robbing it without doing his research first. As he was leaving the consignment shop he saw a female walking down the sidewalk with an arm full of shopping bags and thought about stealing them just like a common thief. Again, why? He never took chances like that.
Damn, did his head hurt. Ever since that agent shot his ear off he hadn’t been thinking clearly, and the headaches wouldn’t stop. He went into the small bathroom and grabbed a couple of pills from the bottle that Bourbon gave him. He popped two into his mouth and tipped his head back and swallowed. Then popped one more. He looked at himself in the mirror.
The side of his head was badly scarred. If he'd thought about it earlier, he would have gotten the address of that IPF agent from Bourbon before he killed him. He would love to pay a visit to him one night. Sneak into his dwelling and slit his throat. A little payback for the disfigurement.
He threw the last of his things into the case, closed it, and snapped the locks. He placed the case by the door next to his A56 Auto Loaded. It was time to get the hell out of this town, away from the IPF, and as far away from Prodor Moffit as he could possibly get. Damn, his head hurt.
Dinner was finished and the dishes were churning with a rhythmic whooshing sound in the small dishwasher. Genghis sat on his haunches in front of his computer while Jennifer and Jeff tried to find something on TV to watch. A fresh pot of coffee sat on the coffee table next to a plate of Fig Newton cookies. The only other light in the apartment besides the television was their Christmas tree.
“Gee, there just isn’t anything on tonight,” Jennifer said, refilling all the coffee mugs.
“Yes, there really isn’t,” Jeff agreed. “Why don’t we put in that Christmas animation about the little bald kid that no one has any respect for?”
“Yeah,” Genghis said,
