The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 59

“The point is, we end up wasting all those man-hours in the office when we could be out here chasing real criminals,” James said.

“Like the father of the honey you got in the car,” Williams said. “Have you done her yet, Dyson?”

I ignored the question. “Is there an alternative?” I said.

“Funny you should ask,” James said. “Don’t you think it’s funny?”

“Hysterical,” Williams said.

James gave my shoulder another squeeze, and I fought back a groan. “What we’re thinking, Dyson, is instead of paying your debt to society to, well, society, you should pay it to us,” he said.

“That way you’re punished for your grievous crimes…” Williams began.

“Grievous,” said James.

“Society is spared the bother and expense of supporting yet another freeloader through the prison system.”

“And we avoid all that typing.”

“We don’t like typing.”

“I gathered that,” I said. “How exactly would this work? I mean, what would be the amount of my fine?”

“We’re not greedy,” James said.

“Oh, no,” said Williams. “We want a lot less than the courts would take.”

“How much?” I asked.

“Half.”

“Half of what?”

Williams punched me yet again. I doubled over and fell like a small tree toppled by straight-line winds, landing first on my knees and then sprawling forward on my shoulder. I gripped my solar plexus. This time I thought he might have done some real damage.

James squatted next to me. “We know all about your plans to rob an armored truck,” he said. “One belonging to Mesabi Security.”

“Geez,” I moaned. Not because of what Deputy James said, but because of the pain. Williams saw it as a form of capitulation, though.

“See, us country boys, we know a thing or two,” he said.

“I won’t ask how you know,” I said.

“He won’t ask how we know,” Williams said.

“Told you he was a criminal mastermind,” James said.

“When are you going to make your move?” Williams asked.

“Haven’t decided,” I told him.

Williams brought his foot back and up like he was preparing to stomp me.

“No kidding. We’re still working out the details.”

Williams set his foot back on the pavement.

“Don’t wait too long,” James said.

“We’re not patient types,” Williams said.

“How would I get ahold of you once I decide?”

“Oh, we’ll be around—partner,” James said.

“I don’t suppose you’d recommend which armored truck to take,” I said.

“Us?” Williams said.

“Us?” James repeated. “You’re not asking us for help, are you, Dyson?”

“Oh, no, we can’t help you,” Williams added. “That would be illegal.”

“I thought we were partners now,” I said.

“Think of us as silent partners,” James said.

A few moments later, the deputies were back in their cruiser and heading down Highway 1. I sat behind the Ford Taurus and nursed my stomach. Several vehicles passed while I did. The drivers and passengers all stared at me intently, yet did not stop. Josie knelt at my side.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’ve been better.”

“Can you stand?”

“Yes,” I said and then I proved it, although without her assistance I would have toppled over into the roadside ditch.

“You drive,” I said.

Josie helped me to the passenger seat, circled the car, and slid in behind the steering wheel. She started the Taurus, yet did not put it into gear. Her eyes were moist and her voice was hoarse as if she were fighting back a good cry.

“Bastard put his hands on me,” she said. “He, he—he put his hands on me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“That’s easy for you to say. All he did was hit you. What he did to me—I hate him so much. I want to get him, Dyson.”

While she spoke I opened the glove compartment and removed the SIG Sauer.

“That’s the part I don’t want you to worry about,” I said.

The only vehicle parked near the cabin on Lake Carl when we returned was my Jeep Cherokee. I thought the place was deserted until Josie helped me through the cabin door.

“What happened to you?” the old man asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table and nursing a beer. He stood while I shuffled to the sofa across from Jimmy’s map and sat down, still clutching my stomach.

“Occupational hazard,” I said. “Where’s Roy?”

“Lying in a coffin filled with his native earth. Or is that too much to hope for?”

“Dissension in the ranks? We haven’t even started yet.”