snipped the linked chain between the two handcuffs. “Thank you. You are quite kind,” Peabody said. Regardless of the circumstances, it was only proper to extend his courtesies.
After Peabody reminded Bubba that Frank was still within earshot, the woman climbed back down the ladder. Peabody followed.
Just as his feet touched the ground, there was a loud
Sally Ann grabbed the nightshirt out of Peabody’s hand and pulled it over her head. Bubba peeked out the door. “Oh, shit! Frank’s headed this way! He’s got a shotgun!”
Peabody had not counted on this development, and was struck with panic. There was only the one door, and Frank was rapidly approaching it. Certain death was closing in, but for some inane reason, Peabody had only one thought:
Peabody raced over to it, hopped on, and spotted a set of keys dangling in the ignition. Bubba and Sally Ann retreated to the rear of the stable.
The door of the stable swung open, and there stood a mountain of a man. The shotgun in his hand looked like a child’s toy. Small mammals could have gotten lost in his beard. With his brow furrowed, Frank surveyed the stable. When he saw Sally Ann, his eyes seemed to glow with fire. “Sally Ann? Bubba? Either of you care to tell me what the hell’s going on out here?” He glared at Peabody. “Who the hell is this guy?”
Before the two dimwits could respond, Peabody said, “I’m Jay Gatsby, with the Agriculture Department, here to inspect your barn.”
Frank appeared momentarily perplexed. But suspicion quickly clouded his face once again. “And what exactly are you doing in my stable with my wife?”
“I’m sorry, that’s out of my jurisdiction,” Peabody responded. “However, I will need to take this vehicle for a test drive.” With that, he turned the key. Amazingly, the vehicle jumped to life.
“Now hold it right there!” Frank shouted over the engine noise. “You ain’t going nowhere!”
Peabody spoke loudly. “Just a quick trip around the property, sir. Bear with me. You
“I… I don’t… what the hell are you talkin’ about?” Frank frowned and took a step forward. Peabody noticed that the man’s finger was tightening around the trigger of the shotgun.
“Don’t thank me, sir,” Peabody yelled back. “Just your tax dollars at work!” Peabody started pulling on various levers, stomping on various pedals…and the vehicle shot forward-directly at the wall of the stable.
With Frank shouting angrily, Peabody braced for the impact, then busted cleanly through dry cedar siding, and ducked low as the shotgun roared behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“How far back you wanna go?” Jose Sanchez asked over his shoulder. Sanchez was the branch manager of First County Bank in Johnson City. Marlin was standing behind Sanchez’s chair, both men eyeing the computer on the manager’s desk.
“I’m not sure,” Marlin said. “How about a year?”
“No problem. Why don’t we go back two, just to be sure?”
Marlin nodded. He had spent half an hour on the phone this morning, calling employees of various banks in Blanco County. It appeared that Bert Gammel did all of his banking at First County. It wasn’t much, though-only a single checking account. No savings account or CDs or any other type of deposit account.
The banker brought up Gammel’s most recent bank statement. There was remarkably little activity, mostly small checks written to pay utilities, plus a small mortgage note written to a bank in Austin. There were only two deposits, identical amounts transferred electronically from a county account.
“That’s his paycheck,” Sanchez said, anticipating Marlin’s question. “Direct deposit, twice a month.”
“Not much of a balance, really.”
The banker quickly navigated through several months of statements, none showing anything out of the ordinary.
“Can you tell me specifically what you’re looking for?” Sanchez asked.
“Just any large deposit, probably in cash, in the last year or so.” Marlin thought about the Ford Explorer Gammel had purchased with cash. A call to Kyle Parker, the owner of the car lot, had revealed that Gammel had purchased the car nine months ago. “Especially in the springtime,” Marlin added.
But the statements showed nothing. According to the paper trail, nothing unusual had happened to Gammel’s financial condition in the past two years. Just the same deposits made by the county like clockwork, the same checks written monthly to the same creditors.
Marlin was disappointed, but not really surprised, since Gammel seemed to have an affinity for carrying cash. He thanked Sanchez for his time and went outside to his truck. Next stop: a meeting with Maynard Clements, the county employee who worked most closely with Bert Gammel.
Red figured he could get used to this vice president stuff real quick. Here it was ten o’clock-a time when he’d normally be working his ass off in the brush-but instead, he was back at the Dairy Queen enjoying a couple of breakfast tacos.
He’d already spoken to most of the men on the work crews and told them what’s what: that Slaton was gone and Red was ramrodding this operation now. Most of them hadn’t even batted an eye. Of course, the majority of them were illegals and couldn’t speak good English, so Red wasn’t sure they had understood. But the important thing was, they were off doing the work while Red and Billy Don were sitting in air-conditioned comfort.
Last night, Red had told Billy Don everything the Austin lawyer had said. But he hadn’t sprung the Big Idea on Billy Don yet-the major brainstorm that Red had had while lying in bed. With Billy Don, you had to take things kind of slow or the big man would flip out. He wasn’t a big-picture kind of guy like Red was. You had to work up to important stuff one step at a time. Hell, half the battle was just getting the man’s attention, getting him to focus for even just a few minutes. It was like he had that attention-defecate disorder or something.
“I used to work here, ya know,” Red said. “Back when I was a kid.”
Billy Don nodded, unhearing, as he peeled back the foil from his fourth taco. The man could demolish a taco in two bites.
“I was the cook,” Red continued. “Man, I only earned a couple bucks an hour, but I bet I ate twenty bucks’ worth of food during every shift.”
That caught Billy Don’s attention, pulling his eyes from his taco for a second. “What, you just grabbed whatever you wanted?”
“Hell, yeah. A burger or two, a big order of onion rings, maybe a couple of corny dogs. And that was just the appetizer.”
Billy Don searched Red’s face for a lie. “Shee-yit.”
“The God’s truth. Hell, the owner was never around. He always left his twin daughters in charge.” Red let out a whistle. “Good-lookin’, too. I wonder whatever happened to those two. I used to call one Beltbuster and the other Hungerbuster.” Red chuckled. Yep, those were the times.
Billy Don didn’t respond.
“Don’t you get it?” Red said. “That’s what the hamburgers are called.”
Billy Don glanced at the menu above the serving counter. “What’d they call you? DQ Dude?” Billy Don grinned, chunks of sausage caught between his teeth.
“Har-de-har-har,” Red said. He watched an elderly couple trudge out the door to a waiting RV. Snowbirds, probably-Yankees carrying their tired asses down to the warm Rio Grande Valley for the winter.
Red waited until Billy Don had a mouthful of taco before he said, “Listen, we need to talk a little more ’bout
