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Tripp lays his hand on his wallet. The guy cants his head. Tripp gets his wallet out of his pocket and removes a c-note. Slides it across the bar.
The bartender’s eyes fix on me. He recognizes me. I see it in his eyes.
He claims the bill and jams it in his apron pocket. “Blaisdell. Scotty Blaisdell.”
Yes!The more information the better.
Wait…
Blaisdell?
I’m late making the connection, but Tripp is on it, picking up on radar what my dulled senses initially missed. It could be a coincidence, a concept to which most in our business don’t subscribe. I never have, but I also know I’m grasping right now, so I pray it’s anything but.
Literally. I pray.
Tripp meets my eyes. Robby Blaisdell is in prison, but could there be…therehasto be a connection.
“He left a message for you.”
Both Tripp and I freeze to the spot. “Come again?”
How could Dell—Blaisdell—know Tripp and I would be here?
Reading our questions, the old geezer shrugs. “He mentioned a couple of cops might come looking for him.”
“And the message?”
A gleam flashes in his dark eyes. “Blaisdells never forget.”
∞∞∞
The truck idles in the parking lot of a church, an old one with stained glass and a towering cross. My eyes focus on the crucifix while my heart utters indistinct prayers. Tripp is burning up the cellular networks, trying to confirm a link between Scotty “Dell” Blaisdell and Robby Blaisdell, the aspiring drug lord we busted in the spring. Deep down, neither one of us needs confirmation. We know.
For the first time in days, I’m allowing myself to entertain the possibility of vindication. Of a real future that won’t have to take a decade or two to begin.
If Anderson was linked to Robby Blaisdell and Blaisdell is out for revenge, then I know—know—I wasn’t wrong about the kid being a threat, coming to my home with malicious intent. No way I dreamed the gun, and definitely not hearing my name. I’m sane as any man out there, even if, yeah, I was fatigued. And I’ll admit it, afraid.
Tripp lays the phone on the console and switches to hands-free so he can drive and talk when his call is returned, the call with information that will clinch my freedom. I pray.
Wow. This is getting to be a habit.
Face etched with a level of fear that’s hard to see on a man like my friend, Tripp looks over. “I’ve got to get back to Avery. If Blaisdell is looking to settle a score with me…”
Picking up what he’s putting down, I nod sharply. “Let’s go.”
His eyes narrow toward the clock. “It’s nearly five.”
Inconvenient, but nothing I can afford to worry about. With Blaisdell out for revenge, Avery isn’t safe. The scum almost got to her once before, so she’s definitely on his short list of ways to exact revenge on the man who betrayed him and locked him up. Apparently, for my supporting role in his demise, I’m also up for a prize.
On the other hand, if Avery were on the agenda, she’s been in plain sight for months. Tripp would have been a little harder to find, although with as much time as they’re together, tracking him wouldn’t have been that difficult. Why the delay?
Which also gives me pause. Why was I top of the list? I was nothing more than the cleanup crew in the mess this spring.
My gut starts to simmer. I dig out my phone and place a call to Adolfo. I doubt my New Mexico family is in imminent danger, but who knows.
When I hang up, Tripp ends a call simultaneously, though it hadn’t registered with me that he was even on the phone. His face is taut. “She’s not answering.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. Just stepped away from the phone.”
