Bone Dry

Garza wasn’t so sure.

“For all we know, Corey might have been holding a gun to Wylie’s head this time,” Garza had said. “So that recording he made doesn’t prove anything.”

Also, as Marlin had expected, Garza didn’t say much about the new evidence from Gammel’s deer feeder. “Helluva job, John,” Garza said. “Let’s just wait and see if it tells us anything.”

Driving in the dark now, Marlin continued west on Highway 290 and turned right on 281. Six miles to the north, he approached the edges of Johnson City, where a sign proudly proclaimed: HOME TOWN OF LYNDON B. JOHNSON.

A few hundred yards past the sign he passed a convenience store, where he saw a rusty yellow Volvo with its hood up. With all the hectic events in the past twenty-four hours, Marlin had nearly forgotten about Inga Mueller. He pulled in next to her car and saw Inga elbow-deep in the engine compartment. She was wearing snug blue jeans and a clingy green blouse. Marlin was surprised half the male population of Blanco County hadn’t already arrived to offer assistance.

Marlin stuck his head out the window. “You need any help?”

She looked his way and grinned. There was a streak of oil across her forehead. “Can I borrow your gun? I want to put this damn thing out of its misery.”

Marlin hopped out of the truck and walked to the front of her car. He couldn’t remember ever seeing an engine actually appear tired, but this one was pulling it off. “I’m not sure we should waste a perfectly good bullet,” he replied.

“Think they’d be mad if I just left it here? Maybe as a little gift from me to the county?”

“Cops might write you up for littering.”

Inga shook her head in frustration. “One minute it runs just fine, then it won’t start at all. Won’t even turn over.”

“Let me hear it.”

Inga climbed into the vehicle and turned the key. Marlin didn’t even hear a click from the starter. “You’re not getting any juice at all from the battery,” Marlin said. The symptoms reminded him of the problem he’d had with his truck the previous spring. He jiggled the Volvo’s battery cables and, sure enough, found one of the clamps to be loose. “Hold on a second.” Marlin retrieved a wrench from his truck and tightened the nuts on both clamps. “Try it now.”

She turned the key and the car sputtered to life. “Wow,” she said over the engine noise. “You’re good.”

“Lucky guess,” Marlin said. “You just want to keep an eye on those nuts and don’t let them get loose like that.”

Inga killed the engine and stepped out of the car, wiping her hands on a rag. “Speaking of loose nuts, I want you to know that I’m really sorry about what Tommy did last night at my assembly. Getting in that fight… and then biting you like that…”

“And then escaping from custody,” Marlin reminded her.

“Yeah, that too. It’s just Tommy, you know? He gets all worked up about things and does some stupid stuff sometimes. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

Marlin tried to hold his tongue, but couldn’t. “Inga, I’m not gonna sit here and debate his good and bad points with you, but when it comes down to it, he’s a criminal. In a way, he’s even worse, because he breaks the law and pretends it’s okay since it’s all for a worthwhile cause. He hides behind this false nobility, and I think that’s total bullshit. He may have some sort of philosophical message he wants to deliver to the world, but he’s going about it the wrong way. Tommy’s taking the coward’s way out. Anyone can vandalize a bunch of tractors or drive spikes into trees that are marked for logging. But it takes someone with real dedication to try and change things through the proper channels.”

When Marlin was done, Inga stared at him but didn’t reply.

He eyed the sparse traffic passing on the highway and leaned against the fender of his truck. After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have unloaded that on you. It’s Tommy that needs a lecture, not you.”

“No, you’re right,” she said. “Tommy takes things a little too far. And the thing is, it can be contagious. Like me shooting Rodney Bauer’s truck. A few years ago, I never would have behaved that way. But Tommy has this way of getting me all worked up, of making me indignant about all the crappy ways people are mistreating our environment. But the other thing is, it’s gotten where I’m not sure Tommy even does all these things for”-she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers-“‘the cause.’ I think he does them at least partly because he thinks it’ll impress me. That makes me feel somewhat responsible for the things he’s done.” She reached out and caressed his bandaged forearm. “And I wanted to apologize for that.”

Marlin nodded, feeling like he may have come down on her a little harshly. He also felt somewhat guilty for enjoying the touch of her hand on his arm. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen him?” he asked.

“No, and I’m getting a little worried. After I heard the news about him escaping, I went straight to the motel and waited for him to show up. He never did.” She tilted her head to catch Marlin’s eye. “I was going to call the police if he showed up, you know.”

Marlin held her gaze a moment longer than he meant to. “Maybe we can reform you yet.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Red woke with a start, and it took a moment for him to remember where he was: in the darkened cab of his truck, parked on an isolated county road fifty yards down from the Mamelis’ driveway. Next to him in the moonlight, Billy Don was snoring like a bloodhound with a sinus condition.

So far, the plan wasn’t working. Here it was nearly two A.M. and there had been no activity whatsoever at the Mameli house. Nobody had come, nobody had gone. Maybe Red’s phone call hadn’t rattled Mameli as much as it had seemed. Or maybe Red’s theory was all wrong and Sal Mameli had nothing to hide. Shit. Depressing thought.

The only strange thing Red had noticed was a gray sedan sitting on the gravel shoulder across from the Mamelis’ mailbox. Maybe they had house guests. Odd, though, because behind the trees that lined the street, it looked like the Mamelis owned four or five acres. Plenty of room for guests to park. The next driveway was another hundred yards beyond where Red was parked, so Red doubted the sedan belonged to neighbors.

Red amused himself for a few minutes by toying with his Colt Anaconda. It was a huge handgun…forty-five caliber. Would stop everything but a crazed elephant in its tracks. He popped the cylinder open and gave it a spin. Fully loaded with hollow-point bullets. He shuddered to think what a round like that could do to a human being.

After a while, though, he got bored. So he reached over and jostled Billy Don. “Wake up, goddammit.”

A snore caught in Billy Don’s throat and he produced a couple of phlegmy coughs. “What the hell? Time to eat?” he muttered, half asleep. A string of drool hung from his lips to the front of his shirt.

“You’re nappin’ on the job again,” Red snapped. “You ’spect me to stay up all night while you get your beauty sleep? Though I won’t say you don’t need it.”

Billy Don stretched his thick arms and yawned. “Anything?” he asked.

“Couple of trucks come by earlier. Probably poachers.”

“Hell, that’s what we should be doin’, Red. Not wastin’ our time on this wild-goose chase. Besides, I’ve gotta take a big dump.”

Red sighed, trying to remain patient. Billy Don was always so shortsighted. That’s the difference, Red thought. Why I’m vice president material, whereas guys like Billy Don end up digging ditches for a living. Red thought maybe Billy Don could learn something from this experience.

“You ever hear of a guy named Garwin?” Red asked.

“Steve Garwin? First baseman for the Dodgers back in the seventies?”

Red shook his head. “Naw, Charles Garwin. The guy what come up with the theory of revolution. See, his theory was pretty simple. Say you got two caveman hunters livin’ on the savannas of Asia. One of ’em can run real