Page 24 of Mercy (Buchanan-Renard 2)

  “I hear you,” Noah said. “Jim, I’m gonna have to shoot you if Happy doesn’t put that bat down real soon.”

  “Do it, Happy.”

  “But, Mr. Carson, you told me —”

  “Forget what I told you. Drop the bat.” He tried to back away from the gun, but Noah simply followed.

  “Please put that away. I don’t want you to accidentally shoot my brains out.”

  “That’s assuming you have a brain,” Noah said. “I’m not so sure about that. What were you thinking, coming in here with your hired hands? Are you so cocky you didn’t worry about witnesses? Or are you too stupid to care?”

  “I was mad . . . I wasn’t thinking . . . I just wanted . . .”

  He stopped stammering as soon as Noah removed the Glock. Then Jim, making up for lost time, began to blink furiously.

  “Is Harry dead?” Jim asked. “If you killed Harry . . . ”

  “He’s still breathing,” Noah said. “Don’t make me ask again, Happy. Get rid of the bat.”

  Happy looked decidedly unhappy as he threw the bat hard at the table next to him. Since he couldn’t break any legs, he decided he wanted to break some property. Then maybe Jim Carson would still pay him. The baseball bat struck the edge of the table, bounced back, and struck Happy’s foot. He let out a yelp and started hopping around as though he were playing a game of hopscotch.

  Theo handed Harry’s weapon to Noah and rubbed the sting out of his knuckles. “Put Jim in the chair,” he added before striding to the bar. He looked at Michelle now. “Michelle, what the hell are you doing with a sawed-off shotgun? Put that down before you hurt someone.” Then he got closer to her and noticed how modified the weapon was. “Where did you get this?”

  “It’s Daddy’s.”

  “Okay,” he said, holding his patience. “Where did Daddy get it?”

  He was suddenly acting like a Justice attorney and making her feel as if she were the criminal.

  “Daddy’s never fired the thing. He will occasionally wave it around when he thinks there might be a bar fight.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “John Paul gave it to Daddy for protection. He taught both of us how to use it.”

  “You can’t have this. It’s illegal.”

  “I’ll put it away.”

  “No, you’ll give it to Noah and let him get rid of it for you.” He took the weapon from her. “This sucker could take down a rhino at a hundred yards.”

  “Or an alligator,” she remarked.

  “Oh? Have there been many alligators fighting in the bar lately?”

  “No, of course not, but —”

  “You know how many years your dad could get for this?”

  She folded her arms across her waist. “We do things different in Bowen.”

  “Last I heard, Bowen was part of the United States, and that means you follow the same rules. Where did your brother get hold of something like this?”

  “Don’t you dare think about giving my brother trouble, Theo. He’s a kind, gentle, sensitive man, and I won’t let you —”

  He wasn’t in the mood to hear a glowing testament. “Answer my question.”

  “I don’t know where he got it. For all I know, he made the thing, and if you take this one away, John Paul will only give Daddy another one just like it.”

  Theo’s eyelid twitched. She knew she was upsetting him, but at the moment she didn’t particularly care. What was Daddy supposed to do when things got out of hand in The Swan? Wring his hands while they tore his bar apart? Besides, her father would never shoot anyone, but the sound of the shotgun being pumped was always enough to discourage hotheads.

  “That’s just the way things are around here.”

  “Your father and your brother are breaking the law.”

  “The shotgun’s mine,” she announced then. “I made it, and I put it under the counter. Daddy doesn’t even know it’s there. So go ahead. Turn me in.”

  “It’s not nice to lie to an employee of the Justice Department, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And just where would your brother learn about weapons like this?”

  “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but he once told Daddy he was part of a specialized team in the marines.”

  “Specialized? No kidding.”

  “Now isn’t the time to discuss my family, and it’s really none of your business anyway.”

  “Oh, yes, it is.”

  “Why?”

  He moved closer, pinning her against the counter. He leaned down until he was just an inch above her and whispered, “Don’t push me.”

  It took him all of five seconds to realize he wasn’t going to win. She couldn’t be intimidated, at least by him. She stood her ground and looked him right in the eyes. As galling as it was to admit, he knew he was going to have to be the one to back down. It was a first for him, and it wasn’t pleasant.

  “Do you want me to call the police?” she asked.

  “I’m not going to have you arrested.”

  Exasperated, she said, “I wasn’t talking about me. I thought you might want the police to come and get the Three Stooges over there.”

  “What? Oh . . . yeah, call them, but wait a couple of minutes. I want to do some negotiating first.”

  Noah had put his gun away and was standing over Jim. Theo grabbed a chair, turned it to face him, and sat down.

  “Have you got your phone with you?”

  “What if I do?” Jim asked, antagonistic once again.

  “Call your brother and tell him to get over here.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Yes, I can,” Theo said. “You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble. You threatened an FBI agent and that means jail time.”

  “Tell it to my lawyers,” Jim blustered, though his face had lost some of its color. “They’ll fix it so I don’t do a day behind bars.”

  “I don’t know too many attorneys who will work pro bono. I doubt they’ll do anything to help you once they hear you don’t have any money to pay them.”

  Jim pulled out his cell phone and punched in his brother’s number. “He won’t come,” he told Theo. “Gary doesn’t like anything unpleasant.”

  “Tough. You tell Gary he has ten minutes to get here, or I’ll have the police pick him up at home and take him with you to jail. You boys are either going to negotiate now or sit in a cell and think about it for a couple of months. And trust me, Jim. I’ve got the clout to keep you there.”

  Gary apparently answered his phone. Jim’s voice shook when he said, “You’ve got to get over to The Swan right away. Don’t argue. Just do it. I’ll explain when you get here.”

  He listened for a few seconds, then said, “Hell, no, it didn’t go as planned. Buchanan and another fella are FBI, and they’re threatening to lock both of us up.” He listened for another minute, then shouted, “A bit of bad luck? You call the FBI a bit of bad luck? Stop yapping and get on over here.” He slapped the phone closed and glared at Theo. “He’s on his way.”

  Noah spotted the police car pulling into the parking lot. “Cops are here,” he told Theo.

  Michelle grabbed the shotgun and put it back under the counter on the bracket. “I didn’t call Ben yet,” she said.

  Harry was still unconscious, but he was breathing. Happy was hunched over one of the tables in the corner, his head in his hands.

  Noah went outside. He came in a couple of minutes later with Ben Nelson. He had obviously filled the policeman in on the particulars, because Ben barely spared Harry a glance. His gaze and his smile were on Michelle.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his concern apparent.

  “I’m fine, Ben. Who called you?” she asked. “Was it Paulie?”

  “No one called me. I just came by to see you.”

  Theo didn’t like hearing that. Ben was on his way to the bar, but Theo stood, effectively blocking his path. Michelle made the introductions, though it wa

sn’t necessary. Theo already knew who Ben was. He was the man who wanted Michelle.

  Theo had never paid much attention to another man’s appearance, and he really didn’t know if women would consider Ben handsome or not. He had an easy smile and all of his teeth, and that was about as far as Theo went sizing him up. Ben seemed like a nice guy too. That didn’t matter, though. Theo noticed the way he smiled at Michelle and took an instant dislike to him. He had to force himself not to be hostile as he shook his hand and let him know who was in charge.

  Noah watched the two men with a good deal of amusement. They were posturing like roosters getting ready for a fight. It didn’t take Noah any time at all to figure out why.

  “I understand you’re staying at Michelle’s house.” Ben wasn’t smiling now.

  “That’s right. I am.”

  “How long do you plan to be in town, Mr. Buchanan?”

  “I’m not sure how long. Why do you want to know, Chief Nelson?”

  “We’ve got several nice motels over in St. Claire.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Theo’s leaving Monday,” Michelle announced. “Aren’t you?” she added, a challenging note in her voice.

  “Maybe.”

  The noncommittal response irritated her. “He’s giving a speech in Biloxi.” She didn’t know why she felt compelled to share that information. “So he will be leaving Monday morning.”

  “Maybe,” Theo repeated.

  The word had the same effect as the sound of a dentist’s drill. She wanted to cringe. Worried she would say something she would regret if Theo uttered that word one more time, she made a hasty retreat. Grabbing the empty iced tea pitcher, she excused herself and went into the kitchen.

  While Theo explained to Ben who Harry and Happy were, Noah read the thugs their rights and then used Ben’s handcuffs to secure them.

  “What about Jim Carson?” Ben asked. “Are you going to be pressing charges against him?”

  Theo knew Jim was listening. “I sure am,” he said. “But I want him to stay here until his brother arrives. I want to talk to both of them. If they don’t cooperate . . .” He deliberately left the sentence hanging.

  “I’m going to cooperate,” Jim cried out.

  Ben was a better man than Theo. He shook his hand before he left. Theo decided then that he’d acted like a jealous lover and needed to shape up.

  “Thanks for your help,” he called out as Ben followed Happy out the door. Noah had already shaken Harry awake and had half dragged him to the police car.

  Theo glanced toward the kitchen, saw Michelle working at the sink, and then pulled out a chair and straddled it while he waited for the other Carson brother to arrive.

  Michelle had decided she needed to get busy so she could take her mind off of Theo. She filled the stainless steel sink with hot water and soap, put on rubber gloves, and started scrubbing. Her father had already cleaned the kitchen, but she went over every surface again.

  When she was removing her gloves, she noticed a spot of grease up on the copper overhead exhaust. She spent the next half hour taking the unit apart and cleaning every nook and cranny. Getting it back together took twice as long because she had to keep stopping to check the bar in case a customer wanted something.

  On one of her trips, she saw Gary Carson come in, flanked by his attorneys.

  She returned to the kitchen and scrubbed some more. Then she washed her rubber gloves — how compulsive was that? she wondered, and realized she was more revved up now than weary. What she needed, she decided, was a good, long surgery. When she was cutting, nothing got in her way. She could block the conversation swirling around her, the lame jokes, the laughter — everything but Willie Nelson because he soothed her — and she and Willie stayed in that isolated cocoon until she’d put in the last stitch. Only then did she let the world intrude.

  “Get a grip,” she muttered.

  “Did you say something?”

  Noah was standing in the doorway. He went to the sink and put three glasses on the counter.

  “No, nothing,” she said. “What time is it?”

  “A little after one. You look tired.”

  She blew a strand of hair out of her eye as she dried her hands on a towel. “I’m not tired. How much longer do you think Theo will be?”

  “Not long,” he said. “You want me to take you home? Theo can close up.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll wait.”

  Noah started to leave, then turned. “Michelle?”

  “Yes?”

  “Monday’s a lifetime away.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  As soon as Monk was back in his motel room, he called New Orleans.

  Waking from a deep sleep, Dallas answered the phone, “What?”

  “The surprises just keep on coming,” Monk said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s an FBI agent here with Buchanan.”

  “Oh my God. Give me the name.”

  “I don’t have it yet. I heard some guys talking about him when they came out of the bar.”

  “So do you know what he’s doing there?”

  “Not yet, but it looks like they were talking about fishing.”

  Apprehensive, Dallas said, “Just hang tight, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Oh, by the way,” Monk said, “I have some other information that may come in handy.”

  “It better be good,” Dallas answered.

  Monk gave an account of the Carson brothers and the two bone breakers who had gone into the bar.

  “I heard one of the men tell the policeman that he wasn’t going to kill Buchanan. He just wanted to hurt him. With a little planning, we might be able to use the Carsons as a scapegoat if necessary.”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” he answered sarcastically.

  Monk hung up the phone, set his alarm clock, and then closed his eyes. He fell asleep thinking about the money.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  For the first time in her life, Michelle couldn’t sleep, and it was all Theo Buchanan’s fault. Everything, including the national debt, was his fault when it was the middle of the night and she was sleep-deprived because she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  She tossed and turned, beat her pillows, then tossed and turned some more. Her bed looked as though a cyclone had hit. To take her mind off her lustful thoughts, she changed the sheets, then took a long, hot shower. Neither chore made her sleepy. She went downstairs then and drank warm milk — she could barely get the vile stuff down and wondered how anyone could drink milk warm when it tasted so much better cold.

  Theo hadn’t made a sound since he’d closed his bedroom door. He was probably sound asleep and dreaming the dreams of the innocent. The big jerk.

  Michelle crept back upstairs so she wouldn’t disturb him, brushed her teeth again, then opened one of her bedroom windows so she could hear the sounds of the approaching thunderstorm.

  She put on a pink silk nightgown — the green cotton one felt scratchy against her shoulders — then slipped between the sheets and vowed she wasn’t going to get up again. Her nightgown was bunched up around her hips. She smoothed it down, adjusted the spaghetti straps so they wouldn’t droop down over her arms. There, everything was perfect. Folding her hands together over her stomach, she closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths. She stopped when she got dizzy.

  She felt a wrinkle in the bottom sheet under her ankle. Don’t think about it, she told herself. It’s time to sleep. Relax, damn it.

  Another fifteen minutes passed and she was still wide awake. Her skin was hot, the sheets felt damp from the humidity, and she was so tired she wanted to cry.

  Desperate, she started counting sheep but stopped that game as soon as she realized she was racing to get them all accounted for. Counting sheep was like chewing gum. She never chewed gum because, in a subconscious attempt to get finished, she would chew faster and faster, which of course defeate

d the whole notion of chewing gum in the first place.

  Lord, the things a person will think about when that person is losing her ever-loving mind. She should have specialized in psychiatry, she decided. Then maybe she could figure out why she was turning looney tunes.

  Television. That was it. She’d watch television. There was never anything good on TV in the middle of the night. Surely someone was selling something on one of the channels. An infomercial was just what she needed. It was better than a sleeping pill.

  She threw the sheet off, grabbed the afghan from the bottom of her bed, and dragged it across the room. The door squeaked when she opened it. Why hadn’t she noticed that noise before? she wondered. Tossing the afghan onto the chair, she went out into the hallway, got down on her knees, and slowly pulled the door closed. She thought the bottom hinge was making the groaning sound and leaned close to listen as she moved the door back and forth.

  That was the one, all right. She decided then to check the top hinge. She stood, grabbed the doorknob again, and moved the door back and forth while leaning in on tiptoes to listen. Sure enough, it was making a little squeaking sound too. Now where had she put that can of WD-40? She could fix this problem right this minute if she could just remember where she’d last seen that can. Wait a minute . . . the garage. That’s where it was. She’d put it up on the shelf in the garage.

  “Having trouble sleeping?”

  He nearly scared her to death. She jumped, inadvertently pulled the door, and hit her head against it. “Ouch,” she whispered as she let go of the handle and reached up to feel if her scalp was bleeding.

  Then she turned around. She couldn’t have gotten another word out if her life had depended on it. Theo stood in his doorway, casually leaning against the frame with his arms folded across his bare chest and one bare foot crossed over the other. His hair was tousled, his face needed a shave, and he looked as though he’d just been awakened from a deep sleep. He had pulled on a pair of Levi’s, but hadn’t bothered to zip them.