Bone Dry

wrong?”

“Trust me,” Vinnie replied, trying to sound confident. “I’ve done this a coupla times. Works like a fuckin’ charm. All you gotta do is call it in stolen, then get ready to pick out your new wheels.” He passed T.J. a lighter. “Smoke up, dude.”

T.J.’s face was briefly illuminated as he took a long hit.

“You don’t want to keep driving that dog, do ya?” Vinnie asked. “Thing’s a piece of crap, like ya said.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Won’t run for shit.”

“Then relax and leave it to ol’ Vinnie.”

Five minutes later, Vinnie punched in the security code at the gate and pulled into the marina. He drove down by the dock and let T.J. out. “Now, remember, we gotta use the strongest ski-rope ya got,” Vinnie said.

T.J. giggled, thoroughly stoned by now. “No prob. I’ll meet you in ten.” He reached in through the window. “Pass me that joint, man. I wanna get the full effect when that turd goes bye-bye.”

“That Sue Ellen is one fine piece of tail,” Billy Don stated, wallowing on Red’s sofa, his feet propped on the cable-spool coffee table. He and Red were watching a rerun of Dallas on cable. “If I had as much money as J.R., I’d be launching my love rocket with women like that all the time.”

Red wasn’t paying much attention. His mind was on the deerskin coat he was wearing, a fine piece of craftsmanship he had finished making for himself a few weeks earlier.

Damn thing was making him itchy.

He had read an article about tanning hides. Now Red was wondering whether he had made a mistake by skipping the step that had to do with exterminating parasites. Seemed like a lot of trouble to soak the hide in alum, whatever the hell that was. He slipped the coat off and tossed it over the back of a chair.

Billy Don said, “Which would you rather bang, Red-Sue Ellen or Miss Ellie?”

Now, that caught Red’s attention. “You moron, Miss Ellie is the old one, J.R.’s mama. You must mean one of the younger ones, one of the babes.”

“Hell if I do,” Billy Don said, his eyes locked on the screen.

Red shivered at the thought of Billy Don groping the matriarch of the Ewing clan. He rose to grab a fresh beer from the fridge.

He popped the top and walked over to the TV set, an old wood-laden console he had picked up for fifty bucks at the pawn shop. “Billy Don, you ever think it should be me and you riding around in Cadillacs, drinking champagne, and all that high-society shit?”

Billy Don nodded eagerly, as Ellie Ewing brushed her gray hair while seated in front of a vanity. “Hell yes.”

Red took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’ve been thinking about something. Sure, we’ve had a few minor setbacks working for Mr. Slaton. But overall, I’d say we’re doing pretty damn good. Wouldn’t you?”

Billy Don didn’t respond. Jock Ewing had come up behind his wife and was caressing her neck.

“I mean, hell, who’s clearing more land than me and you?” Red continued. “We’re working harder and longer than anybody else out there. I like Mr. Slaton and all-he’s giving us a fair shake and everything-but I’d say we deserve a raise. I think we oughta stop by tomorrow and discuss it with him.”

Red glanced down at the set, and now ol’ Jock was nibbling Ellie’s ear. Really putting the moves on her. Red looked over at Billy Don, who was off in his own little world now, rubbing a pillow against his crotch in a very unappealing manner.

“Aw, man.” Red shook his head. “Guess I’ll leave you three alone.”

By the time Vinnie got back to Pedernales Reservoir, he could already see T.J. idling out on the water.

Vinnie parked next to the Porsche, a good hundred yards from shore, and quickly transferred the tarp- wrapped corpse to the Porsche’s passenger seat. It was good and dark now, and there wasn’t anyone around anyway. Then Vinnie used a boxcutter to slice through the tarp and remove it from around Slaton’s body. The corpse would decompose more quickly that way.

When he was done, Vinnie hopped into the Porsche, fired the engine, and followed the dirt road down to the boat ramp. The park featured a gentle, grassy slope down to the reservoir, making it easy to navigate even the low-slung Porsche over the terrain.

Here at the park, just a quarter of a mile from the dam, Vinnie knew the water would be plenty deep, especially out in the middle.

Vinnie stopped ten yards shy of the water and T.J. idled the boat close to shore.

“You ready?” Vinnie hissed, standing at the water’s edge.

He could hear T.J. giggling in reply. Then he saw the end of the joint glow red as T.J. took another hit.

“Throw the rope!”

T.J. tossed the coiled line and Vinnie snagged it in midair.

Vinnie lay down and shimmied underneath the front end of the car. He found a good, solid piece of the framework-maybe the axle, he couldn’t see very well-and looped the rope through it. He couldn’t tie the rope to the car, because he had to be able to pull it loose later. He’d need both ends in the boat.

He got onto his feet and tossed the end of the rope back to T.J. Vinnie whispered, “Remember, not too fast! Just good and firm. You don’t want to break the rope. Take me all the way out to the middle if you can.”

He could see T.J. nodding in the moonlight. “Let’s do it!”

Vinnie folded himself into the small interior of the Porsche, and gunned the engine. A moment later, he felt a small bump as T.J. pulled the rope taut.

The whine of the boat’s engine began to climb as T.J. increased the throttle, pulling harder and harder, just waiting for Vinnie.

Vinnie raced the car’s engine, released the brake, and shot down the ramp into the water.

It worked like a charm.

The small car began to float immediately, and T.J. quickly towed it away from the bank.

Slowly the water was climbing higher on the body of the car. Vinnie could feel his feet getting wet now.

But they were fifty yards from shore now. Then seventy-five…and one hundred.

Finally, about a hundred and fifty yards out, the resistance was too much and the car could go no farther. Vinnie eased himself out of the driver’s window just seconds before the water came rushing in.

Vinnie swam quickly through the cool water to the boat, the engine quiet now.

Laughing hysterically, T.J. pulled Vinnie onboard. “Man, did you see that fucker sink? That was great!”

Vinnie smiled, wishing his dad could be here to praise his creativity. “Always glad to help my friends out of a jam,” he said. “I’m freezing my balls off. Pull that rope into the boat and let’s get the hell out of here.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

At eleven o’clock on Wednesday morning, John Marlin stripped off his warden’s uniform, pulled on some work clothes, and rolled a large toolbox out of the shed in his backyard. He stood in the sunlight and surveyed the framework of the room he was adding on to his house.

Last night, after writing his report on the death of Bert Gammel, he had gone on patrol until three in the morning. Chased down a couple of idiots spotlighting deer, but he couldn’t find a rifle in their truck. The men were out-of-towners, so Marlin had sent them on their way with a stern warning to watch their asses in Blanco County. Other than that, it had been pretty quiet. After a few hours of sleep, he had hit the roads again this morning, but it was a typically slow weekday. Most of the hunting camps were empty, except for a few retirees or serious hunters who had taken off work for the first week of the season.

Also, as Marlin had expected, Wylie Smith had not contacted him. It was likely Wylie was in the process of interviewing the other hunters on the Hawley Ranch, but Marlin hadn’t heard a word from the deputy. Fine, Marlin thought. Let him wade through that mess himself.

Now, in the midday lull, he could afford a little time to himself, a chance to indulge in the primitive therapy