Bone Dry

“Well, then….” The lawyer gestured toward Vinnie, who looked as if he was about to vomit.

“I saw the news this morning,” Vinnie said. “I saw T.J.’s car gettin’ pulled outta the lake and everything. And, uh, the thing is…I kinda think T.J. killed that old man.”

Red was sitting on the couch, keeping an eye on Smedley, flipping through a copy of Juggs magazine, when he heard Billy Don come roaring up to the trailer. A few seconds later, he felt the entire structure shake as Billy Don thundered up the steps and came bustling through the front door.

“Red!” he said. “Turn on the news! They found Emmett Slaton!”

Garza sat quietly for a couple of beats, his eyes boring into Vinnie’s. “And why do you think that?”

Vinnie leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. Then he changed his mind and removed them. “See, me and T.J. was out four-wheeling once, and we kinda wandered onto Slaton’s place. We wasn’t doing nothin’, just riding through a coupla his pastures. But he came ridin’ up in his truck and started screamin’ at us, tellin’ us we was trespassin’. Guy was pissed off, too. I thought he was gonna drop dead right then from a heart attack, he was so worked up.”

Vinnie went on to say that Slaton and T.J. had been enemies ever since. Anytime they saw each other, they would exchange harsh words.

Garza asked when and where the incidents had taken place, and he took notes as Vinnie answered. Most of them, Vinnie said, had happened outside of various businesses in Johnson City. Apparently, T.J. and Vinnie had nothing better to do than park along Main Street and “just hang out.”

“Did anyone else ever see these arguments?” Garza asked.

Vinnie glanced at the lawyer, who nodded. Vinnie continued:

“Well, they wasn’t really arguments, more like the two of them just cussing each other. T.J. would make engine sounds, you know, like four-wheeling noises, when Slaton would walk by. Slaton would glare at us and tell us to stay the hell off his land.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Garza said quietly. “Were there any other witnesses to these exchanges?”

Vinnie scratched his head. “None that I can remember.”

The room was silent as Garza wrote something on the pad. “So,” the sheriff said, “if you think T.J. killed Slaton because of this bad blood, do you have any idea how T.J. ended up dead himself?”

Vinnie lowered his eyes to the table. “Yeah, I heard about that this afternoon. I got no idea how that happened. Musta drowned somehow. He was always out on the lake, just fuckin’ around.”

Garza nodded abruptly, and it was obvious to Marlin that the sheriff thought everything Vinnie had just told him was worthless. “Anything else?”

The lawyer glanced at Sal, who finally spoke up. “Yeah, dere is one other thing. I think the kid was stealing from us.”

“T.J.?”

“Yeah, T.J. We had a coupla things go missing after the kid had been at our house. My wristwatch, some cash on the kitchen counter, some of my wife’s diamond earrings.” Marlin could tell from Sal’s facial expression that he hoped Garza would find that information very interesting.

Garza didn’t. “Did you report it?” he asked.

“Naw. Didn’t figger it was wort’ the hassle.” Sal laughed. “Figgered youse guys was busy enough already.”

Garza slid his chair back. “All right, then. Thanks for coming in.”

The deputies filed into the interview room, Marlin bringing up the rear. Garza had sat back down again, drumming his pencil on the table.

“What do you think?” Tatum asked.

“Total bullshit,” Garza said.

Out in the parking lot, Sal rested on his crutches and shook hands with Eugene Kramer. He gave Vinnie a big smile. These small-town cops were so much easier than the Feds. And he had played them just right. Now they had a good reason to look at T.J. for the death of Slaton. And if they ever managed to trace Sal’s.35-caliber back to him, he could simply say that T.J. must have stolen it. Why didn’t you mention the handgun in the interview? they would ask. I hadn’t noticed it was missing yet, Sal would say. It was perfect. He felt much better now, not so angry at Vinnie. “Well, dat went pretty well,” Sal said.

Smedley liked the big guy, Billy Don, much more than Red. Billy Don was nicer, doing things like turning down the headphones and cutting Smedley loose to go to the bathroom when he needed to. But now, if Smedley could have freed himself from the chair, he would have jumped up and kissed Billy Don. Because he had just said the magical words: They found Emmett Slaton!

It was all over now. Red would have no reason to hold him anymore.

He listened as Billy Don told Red a story about being at a convenience store. Billy Don had overheard a cop talking to a reporter about Slaton’s body. Oh, thank God there were still a few loose-lipped officers around!

Red turned off the DVD and switched the TV over to KHIL. Sure enough, there was Kitty Katz, giving a live report. She was saying that a reliable source had confirmed that the body found in the car pulled from Pedernales Reservoir was Emmett Slaton, as rumored. She went on to say that the police had also found two handguns in the car-a.45-caliber and a.35-caliber.

Smedley wondered: Did she just say.35-caliber? Smedley was putting it all together, thinking that Sal Mameli was the only person he knew who owned a.35, when-

WOOOOM!

The trailer was rocked by the most enormous explosion Smedley had ever felt. It was followed by another. And another. And another-until Smedley thought the assault would never end. Finally, the explosions did stop, and now all three men were lying on the floor of the trailer, in a stupor, like G.I.s after a mortar attack. The interior of the trailer was bathed in an eerie orange glow.

“What in the fuck was that?” Red said, as he struggled to his feet.

Smedley began to grunt urgently, the tape still over his mouth, trying to capture the men’s attention. Surely they would have the good sense to turn him loose before something worse happened.

Red swung the front door open and Smedley could feel the heat from the fires burning outside.

“Oh, Jesus,” Red said, staring out the door as if aliens had just landed. “Billy Don, come take a look at this.”

But Billy Don wasn’t listening. Smedley was elated and grateful and relieved to see Billy Don coming toward him with a pair of scissors.

Red simply could not believe what he was seeing. The BrushBusters were on fire. All of them. With flames shooting thirty feet high, big goddamn clouds of black smoke rolling into the sky.

Then he saw that he was mistaken. There was one solitary BrushBuster that wasn’t on fire. And there was a man sitting in the driver’s seat. Red couldn’t be sure, because the fires were roaring pretty loud-but he thought he heard the BrushBuster’s engine running.

Just then, their prisoner, Smedley, went pushing past Red into the night. Red didn’t even try to stop him. He had much larger problems on his hands now.

Billy Don came up behind him and they stepped out onto the front porch. They watched as the man tried to operate the BrushBuster, first going forward, then putting it into reverse, backing away from the flames.

“Grab my forty-five,” Red said. “On the kitchen counter.”

“But Red-”

“Do it!”

Billy Don turned and went into the trailer. The BrushBuster made a left turn and seemed to be heading away from the trailer. He’s stealing my last goddamn machine, Red thought. That lousy sumbitch. Then the man slowly swung around and came to a halt, eighty yards away.

Billy Don returned and handed the gun to Red.

“What the hell’s he doing?” Billy Don asked.

Red shook his head, thoroughly confused.

The man seemed to be staring right at them, just watching them.