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I raise my eyebrows to him.
“He said, ‘After tomorrow, you’ll never hear about me or the XYZ Bandits ever again.’”
“So?” I say.
“So,” he says, “why did he say ‘after tomorrow’? Why not just say ‘you’ll never hear from us again’?”
I stare at him, trying to figure out what he’s getting at.
“They haven’t fled Texas yet,” he says. “They’ve got unfinished business. I think they’re going to pull one more job.”
CHAPTER 46
CARLOS AND I split up. He drives to Josie’s mom’s house to see if by chance the Longbaughs are there. I start searching the house, looking for any clue to suggest what one last job for the XYZ Bandits might be.
The place is in complete disarray, and I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
I first occupy myself in Parker’s study, but I can’t find anything—no notes about the previous jobs and certainly none about one left unfinished.
Carlos returns, equally empty-handed, and he powers up a desktop computer. A search of its browsing history reveals homeschooling activities and Pinterest ideas for kids’ crafts. This must have been Josie’s computer, and if Parker had one, he took it with him.
It’s almost dawn when we head down in the basement, feeling defeated. Carlos begins digging through the boxes, but he only finds toys and pieces of train set landscapes. I tell him it’s pointless.
“It’s time to call this in,” I say. “We’ve got two dead bodies up there. If they smell bad now, they’re only going to get worse once the sun starts beating down on them.”
“I’m not ready to give up,” he says, digging through a box of baby clothes the kids would have long since outgrown.
“Look around,” I say. “There’s nothing here. Parker thought of everything.”
He ignores me and opens up another box. It’s full of diorama sections from a previous incarnation of Parker’s train set. He sets it aside and opens a new box.
“Carlos,” I say. “Goddamnit, listen to me.”
He keeps searching.
In frustration, I kick the box of diorama parts and the pieces go flying across the concrete floor. Carlos spins around.
“I’m not giving up, Rory!”
But I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at the landscape sections on the floor. They don’t have any train tracks on them, just pieces of what look like a stream or a river, with numerous small buildings. One piece contains a model of a recognizable Spanish-style mission.
The Alamo.
I fall to my knees and start grabbing the chunks, trying to put them together like a puzzle.
“What the hell are you doing?” Carlos says.
Now it’s my turn to ignore him. I move the pieces around, fitting them together. It might take longer but some of this I can do from memory. I was just there the other day.
I finish what I’m doing and stand up.
At my feet is a large-scale model of the San Antonio River Walk and the surrounding streets—the last place the XYZ Bandits robbed.
“I’ll be damned,” Carlos says.
Another box is open nearby, full of diorama pieces, and I tip it over and all the sections spill out, chunks of roadway and sections of a river. One glance and I have an idea of what it is—the Brazos River where the armored truck was robbed.
“These were never for the kids,” I say, feeling my breath caught in my throat. “These were part of their robbery plans.”
