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“So that’s why we are going to do this just exactly the way Sergeant Ferro said, by the numbers and very tight, like professional law enforcement officers. No John Wayne shit. If that is Ruger’s car back there, and if he’s there, we are going to handle him as if he is armed, dangerous, and every bit as crazy as they say he is. ”
“Jeez,” she said softly.
Head thought, If it is Ruger and he so much as farts too loud I’m going to send his evil ass home to Jesus quick as think about it.
The second unit pulled up to a fast stop as both doors popped open at the same time and two officers stepped out. Jimmy Castle, tall and slim, with straw-?colored hair and smiling eyes, stepped out from behind the wheel, and from the shotgun sidestepped Coralita Toombes. She was a stocky black woman with a face as harsh and unsmiling as Jimmy’s was lighthearted. She wore a Philadelphia P. D. uniform and had a Glock in her strong right fist, barrel pointed to the sky.
“Where do we stand, Jerry?” she asked as the four officers drew together in a huddle by flashlight.
Head filled them in and together the four officers moved to the shoulder. “Toombes, you and me’ll take point. One of you two can watch our asses. ”
Toombes said, “Jimmy here used to be on the job in Pittsburgh. ”
“Street or clerical?”
“Street,” said Castle. “Four years. Then my wife’s company transferred out here, so—”
Head cut him off. “Cool. Okay, let’s do it this way. Rhoda, you stay back here by the unit. I want you actually holding the mike the whole time. Give Sergeant Ferro regular reports, even if it’s to say that there’s nothing to report. Okay with you?”
“Fine with me,” she said meaningfully.
“Keep that shotgun handy,” he said, then added, “But be careful where you point it. ” He turned to Castle. “You have a vest?”
“Yeah. First time I’ve worn it since Pittsburgh, though. ” He rapped his knuckles on his chest.
“Let’s do it like a dark-?house search,” murmured Toombes. “Check, call, and clear. ”
Head nodded. “Everyone cool with that?”
“Cool as a Popsicle,” said Castle, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. His usual open and ingenuous face had taken on that hard cop look as he drew his Glock and slowly worked the slide.
Toombes also drew her weapon. “Let’s do it. ”
They did it.
Chapter 13
1
It didn’t take long for Ruger to get things rolling. He had Val tie Mark and Connie up, overlapping the multiple turns of rope with strips of duct tape to keep them from wriggling the knots loose, and Ruger checked the knots to make damned sure she hadn’t pulled any fast ones. The two of them sat side by side on the couch, glaring fear and impotent hatred at Ruger. Meanwhile he had ordered Guthrie to knock the pins out of the hinges on the kitchen door and drag it into the living room. It was a lightweight panel, but sturdy and would serve well enough as a stretcher. Throughout this phase Val made occasional eye contact with her father, trying to see if he was planning something, but the elder Guthrie’s face was careworn with concern for his children and when he finally caught Val’s look, and her cocked eyebrow, he gave a single terse shake of h
is head.
Twice since Ruger had arrived she felt her cell phone—always set to vibrate—start shivering in her jeans pocket, but as before she couldn’t do anything about it. It had to be Crow calling to say he was on his way, and she prayed that he would hurry.
“Okay, kids,” Ruger said as Val and her father stood with him by the front door, “now here’s the way it’s going to go. First we’re going to fetch a wheelbarrow, and then you two are going to come with me and help me fetch my friend and some of our gear from the field, and bring him back here. Then I’ll watch as Val ties you up, Mr. Guthrie. Once that’s done, you, my little broken-?nose chickie, will do your Florence Nightingale on my buddy. Then I’ll tie you up and me and my buddy will be out of your lives. Except for fixing your front door and filing an insurance claim for your Bronco, you won’t be much worse for wear. How’s that sound? Fair enough? This is a simple one-?two-?three sort of thing. Anyone gets creative and everyone comes out losers. Everyone but me, that is. ” He looked at them each in turn. Val nodded first, then her father. Mark and Connie, bound and gagged, could only stare. “Cool. Then let’s go. I’m getting a little tired of this Early American decor anyway. Christ. ”
Guthrie bent and picked up one end of the door, and Val the other, and together they hefted it. Ruger carried his pistol in one hand and a heavy flashlight in the other, with the length of the clothesline slung over his shoulder. They left the house and descended the porch steps.
“Okay, set it down,” Ruger said and they laid the door on the ground. “You,” he said to Val, “go get the wheelbarrow. ” Val felt her pulse jump when she thought of all the bladed tools in the barn—and the phone—but Ruger placed the barrel of his pistol against the back of her father’s skull. “Just the wheelbarrow, sweet cheeks. You read me?”
“Yes,” she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper but well below freezing.
“Okay. Down on your knees, Pops, until our gal Val gets back. ” Guthrie slowly lowered himself to his knees, and at Ruger’s direction, laced his fingers together on top of his head. Ruger closed his strong white hand over Guthrie’s gnarled sun-?browned fingers and squeezed mildly, but even so the grinding of his fingers made Guthrie wince. Val saw the flicker of pain on her father’s face, as Ruger had intended. “Yes, indeed, it hurts,” said Ruger. “It’ll keep hurting until you get your ass back here with the wheelbarrow. C’mon, bitch, time is money. ”
Val turned and ran for the utility shed. True to his word, Ruger kept the painful pressure up until Val came running back behind a bright red wheelbarrow that was spattered with mud. Her father’s face was pinched and his lips drawn thin and tight against his teeth.
Nodding with appreciation, Ruger released Guthrie’s hands and stepped back.
