Black Oil, Red Blood

Chapter 32



Cameron, unperturbed as usual and confident that Dick would be back shortly, unplugged everything and packed it up, except for one computer and its wireless connection equipment. Lucy bucked up and down happily, thinking that all the packing meant she might get to go for another ride in the car.

“How long do you think we have?” I asked Nash.

“Well, it’s a small police force, so manpower is limited. Probably what will happen is that Chief Scott will go knocking on doors, the telephone grapevine will get going, and before you know it, the whole town will be up in arms and out looking for us.”

“Great,” I said. “So that gives us what. . . like thirty minutes?”

Cameron planted himself back down in front of his computer screen.

“What’s happening?” Miles asked.

“Hold on,” Cameron said. “There’s so much happening so fast, it’s hard to keep up.”

He scanned the screen. Miles and I joined him and hunched over his shoulder, reading. Words sped across the screen faster than I could follow.

“Uh oh,” Cameron said, bringing the scrolling screen to a stop. “Look at this. They’re on to Dick.”

Sure enough, Fitz had texted Chief Scott to be on the lookout for Dick. “Quick,” I told Cameron. “Gimme your cell phone. We have to warn him.” Cameron was the only one of the four of us who had a phone left.

Cameron tossed me the phone, and I dialed.

Dick didn’t pick up.

“He probably isn’t picking up because he doesn’t recognize the number,” Miles said. “He hates it when he doesn’t recognize the number.”

“Who doesn’t?” Cameron said.

“If he gets picked up, do you trust him not to give away our position?” Nash asked.

“I don’t,” Miles said.

“But he’s the inside guy,” I countered.

“Yeah, but he loves money. If the price were right, he might say anything.” Miles folded his arms and stared at me. “And you know PetroPlex can hit the right price. Who’s to say he wouldn’t go triple agent on us?”

Nash blew out a sigh. “We have to go after him.”

“What are you gonna do?” I asked. “Hijack his car?”

“If I have to,” Nash said.

Wow. His “by the book” attitude sure had done a one-eighty over the last couple of days.

“What about transportation?” I asked.

“I think I saw Derrick’s old motorcycle upstairs,” Nash said. “I can hotwire it.”

“You can?” I asked, astonished.

“Can’t catch the bad guys if you don’t know their tricks,” Nash said.

“Wait! Cameron said. “Take my cell phone. I’ll risk calling you from Gracie’s landline if I learn anything new.”

“No,” Nash said. “You keep it. I might need to contact you. And if I get in a tight spot, I’d rather not risk a cell phone ringer giving away my position.”

He disappeared upstairs. After a few minutes, I heard the roar of a motorcycle engine growl to life and then fade away into the distance.

We waited, all but biting our nails and watching the computer screen for any kind of news. I felt naked and exposed with the line of contact between us and Nash severed. What if he got into trouble? What if something happened to him?

I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself I was still mad at him. But the fact is, I cared. In fact, I was only mad at him because I cared about him. I wouldn’t have been half as angry if I felt nothing for him and he’d kissed and run.

And what about Dick? If something happened to Dick, I might not shed a lot of tears on his behalf. I still didn’t like him, inside guy or not. But if anything happened to him, I was out of a job. I couldn’t afford to bankroll my cases myself—that would take hundreds of thousands of dollars I just didn’t have. And it’s not like other jobs abounded, especially for lawyers who’d been on a losing streak like me. My career would be over. Nobody would believe me if I told them all my recent losses weren’t my fault.

Ten minutes went by. Then twenty. Then thirty.

“This town is not that big,” I said. “Something must have happened.”

“I don’t see anything on the network,” Cameron said.

I stared at Cameron’s cell phone. It refused to ring.

“Wait,” Cameron said. He had pulled up the PetroPlex security camera feed.

“OMG,” Miles said. “There’s Dick, walking in, plain as day.”

“Did you just say ‘OMG?’” I said. “Tell me you didn’t just say OMG. What are you—twelve?”

Miles ignored me. “Check Fitz’s phone records,” Miles told Cameron. “See if there were any calls between Dick and Fitz.”

Cameron did so. “Yep,” he said. “Right there. Ten minutes ago. The call lasted eight and a half minutes.”

“What on earth?” I said. “You think they got to him, or do you think he’s trying to pull off some crazy hero stunt?”

“Like what?” Miles asked. “You think he believes he could really go in there and talk Fitz off a ledge?”

Cameron’s phone rang, and I jumped.

Cameron connected the call and put it on speaker.

“I can’t find him,” Nash said. “He’s not at the bank.”

“He’s at PetroPlex!” I said. “We just caught him on the security camera walking through the doors.”

“With an escort?” Nash asked.

“Nope. All alone,” I said. “Where are you calling from?”

“Gas station pay phone,” Nash said. “Dick’s gotta be headed straight for Fitz’s office. I’m going in after him.”

“Nash, no!” I said. “It’s too dangerous!”

The line disconnected.

“Arrrrgghhh!” I slammed the phone down. “He is going to get himself killed!”

“I thought you were mad at him,” Miles said. “I thought he was giving you the slient treatment.”

“I am, and he was, but--“

“Now you’re a thing and you care,” Miles finished.

“We are not a thing, but I still care,” I said. “That’s the problem.”

Miles nodded knowingly.

Cameron clicked through the security feed images one by one, trying to keep a trace on Dick. Sure enough, he walked deep into the heart of corporate headquarters, and no one stopped him.

It’s amazing what you can get away with if you walk into a building looking like you know where you’re going, and Dick could pull off that trick like nobody else. If you project the right attitude, no one questions you. And Dick was projecting the right attitude. He strolled right into Fitz’s office unchallenged.

“You got sound on this?” I asked.

“Nope,” Cameron said. “Image only.”

We watched as the two men talked. The conversation started out pretty tame, but got heated quickly. Dick was gesturing wildly and waving his finger around in Fitz’s face.

Fitz stayed calm for awhile, but even on the poor resolution of the security feed, I could see that his face was getting flushed. His gestures became more rapid, more frequent, a staccato complement to Dick’s histrionic overtones.

We watched as Fitz opened his desk drawer, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at Dick.

Dick raised his hands and froze.

At that moment, Nash limped into the frame, gun drawn, aimed at Fitz.

“And he thinks I’m out of my mind,” I said. “This cannot end well.”

Fitz said something to his desk phone, and in seconds, PetroPlex security, all clothed in black, swarmed Nash and took him down easily, thanks to his bad foot. But they couldn’t get to Dick in time.

Dick rushed Fitz.

Fitz pulled his trigger, and Dick crumpled to the ground.

The pit of my stomach sank. Bodies were piling up around me left and right, and I was helpless to do anything about it! I could not stand the thought of one more person dying today—especially if that person were Nash.

PetroPlex security seemed oblivious to the obvious murder. I peered more closely at the camera footage. I thought I saw a familiar face in the sea of all that black.

Sure enough, I recognized black-suit man from Cameron’s car garage. Well, that explained a lot.

“Are you recording this?” I asked Cameron.

“Yep. I’ve got every frame.”

That was good. If we got out of this mess alive, the footage might come in handy later.

Fitz put the gun away and sat back down at his desk, calmly picking up his phone.