The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 31

While Nina was a dark beauty, Shelby was all sunshine and windswept wheat fields. Nina’s most dominant feature was those astonishing eyes. With Shelby it was her smile—the kind of smile that could encourage even the most conservative of us to do no end of foolish things. God knows I had. I met her at a party in college about three minutes before Bobby bumped into her, spilling a drink on her dress. It had pretty much been widely accepted that if Bobby hadn’t married her, I would have. Bobby and I had never spoken of this, probably the only subject we hadn’t discussed at great length since meeting in kindergarten. On the other hand, he asked me to be best man at his wedding and godfather to his eldest daughter, tolerated it when I spoiled both Victoria and Katie with ridiculous gifts, and thanked me when I made them the sole heirs to my estate, such as it was. From that I gathered he wasn’t particularly anxious about my relationship with his wife, which, when you think about it, was kind of insulting.

“Have you ever seen Mission Impossible, the TV series, not the movie?” I asked. “You know that line they always say, ‘Should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions’? The letters are to make sure that doesn’t happen to me.”

“They won’t necessarily protect you,” Bobby told me. “I don’t care if Finnegan is an assistant U.S. attorney. No one can give you permission to break the law.”

“That’s what G. K. said. Really, though, is it any different than busting a dealer and then letting him work it off, wear a wire while he makes a couple of buys from suspects higher up on the food chain?”

“The dealer might not be arrested for those specific crimes, the ones he commits while he’s helping the cops, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to get a free pass for everything else he does. What I’m saying is, there are limits, McKenzie. If you cross too far over the line”—he waved the letter at me—“this isn’t going to be worth the paper it’s printed on.”

“Point taken.”

“Do you want my advice?”

“Always.”

“Grow up.”

“That’s a pretty tough thing to do, Bobby. It’s why so few people succeed at it.”

I moved to the railing and gazed out on Lake Carl. The setting sun made the calm water sparkle. It occurred to me that wetting a line wasn’t such a bad idea, but I ignored the thought and spun to face the six people on the deck. They were all staring at me—Jill included.

“We’ll look into the possibility,” I said. “I’m making no promises until we sort it out. No promises, all right? But we’ll take a look to see if there’s anything there, see what we have to work with. In the meantime, no more jobs. No more crimes. No guns. No fights. No heavy drinking. I want you all to become model citizens; go through your day as if nothing is happening. You’ll be given your assignments as we go.”

“What do we do first?” Jimmy asked.

“You mean besides getting a better grade of beer? We’re going to find an armored truck to rob.”

SIX

It was easy to justify my behavior to myself. I was getting the Iron Range Bandits off the street—no thefts, no guns, no danger to themselves or their potential victims. I would go through the motions of organizing a stickup until everyone was comfortable, I would convince Roy to lead me to his friendly neighborhood gunrunner, and then I would turn the lot of them over to the ATF, FBI, BCA, Silver Bay PD, county sheriff, and whoever else wanted a piece. In the meantime, I wouldn’t be compelled to participate in any criminal activities myself, which would please Bobby Dunston no end. The more I thought about it, the more clever I felt. Not to mention quick-witted, resourceful, and ingenious. I went to bed thinking I was smarter than Ernest Hamwi, the man who first thought to serve ice cream in rolled-up waffles. When I woke the next morning, I was just as impressed with myself.

This is good, my inner voice told me. You’re doing God’s work.

“You da man,” I said aloud as I did a little dance.

I thought I was alone in the cabin. Josie poked her head around the doorway that led to the bathroom and looked at me.

“Did you say something?” she asked.

“Hmm? Me? No.”

“Thought I heard something.”

She stepped into the living room. Gone were the boots, baggy coveralls, sweatshirt, and ball cap that she used to disguise herself the previous day. They were replaced by flip-flops; khaki shorts that revealed long, slender legs; and a light, pink sweater that Josie had buttoned from her waist to just below her chin. She had allowed her auburn hair to cascade around her shoulders.

“Dyson, what are we going to do first?” she asked.

“Get some breakfast,” I said.

Josie had grilled chicken on the deck the evening before, and I hadn’t eaten anything since, although I had consumed plenty of cheap beer. Afterward, everyone except Skarda and myself departed to their separate homes, taking their thin stacks of currency with them. Jill didn’t get a share, and I had asked Josie about that.

“It’s the way Roy wants it,” she told me. I took that to mean Roy was desperate to keep Jill under his thumb. Give her money and she might use it to leave him.