“Just a guess.”
“Kevin Barnes works for the national labs?” No one spoke. Shanks closed his laptop and stowed it in his briefcase. “I’m going down to the station house to make some phone calls.”
“Who are you going to call?”
“There are just a handful of people you know who could give you that information, Vicks. Specifically people who work for the lab.”
“If you’re thinking about George Tafoya, don’t call him. His lines are bugged.”
“What?”
“Honest to goodness. When we talk, we talk in my car.”
Shanks just shook his head. “What is he doing for you? Specifically?”
“He said he’d poke around quietly. He told me to stop doing anything I’m doing. And now I’ve told you everything I know. Can I come back to the station house with you?”
“Absolutely not.” He stood up. “This guy . . . whoever he is . . . you think you know something about him. But after tonight, I suspect he knows even more about you.” His eyes turned to Ro. “And you.” Back to Ben. “I know you can shoot. You might want to go down to the range.”
“I was thinking about doing that tomorrow . . . if I get a car.”
“What about you?” Shanks was addressing Ro. “Will you be joining him?”
“I don’t know how to shoot,” Ro told him. “I don’t believe in guns.”
Shanks licked his lips. “Young lady, maybe it’s time to change your religion.”
Chapter 9
It was an idiotic thing to do, so unlike him. He was, above all, methodical and calculating and conservative in thought as well as action. He planned meticulously. Something that impulsive was way beyond his understanding of himself.
Why did he do it? He obsessed about his actions as he drove through the darkness, through fog and shadows, until the wee hours of the morning were upon him. Why had he done something so moronic when he knew the kid was onto something? As soon as the girl took the job . . . something was up. He could tell.
Maybe he did it to scare the little shit, let him know that his actions were not without consequences. He knew the kid wouldn’t give up—after going in and out of the police station for years—but sometimes you had to show someone who was boss.
He drove on and on, through miles and miles of darkness: north through New Mexico, passing near Farmington and the Four Corners until he slid over the border into Colorado. As soon as he got to Denver, he’d camp out for the night. He had driven by mountains and flatlands and areas that were remote and perfect for his passion except they were far away. The next day he’d pass the Great Salt Lake and drive on until he reached Idaho.
It was two days of driving, but none of that bothered him much. He loved to drive as much as he loved to hunt. Not that he expected to find anyone on this lonesome highway and at this time of night. He didn’t even want to find anyone because then the temptation would be just too much.
Once every nine months: his season, his quota, his passion, his obsession. Any more than that, he’d be making a spectacle of himself.
Ben aimed and peeled off six shots in rapid succession. He pushed the button and the paper felon came forward, pierced like a sieve: two between the eyes, two elsewhere in the face, and two in the top half of his head.
JD studied his handiwork. “You’ve been practicing?”
“Here and there.”
“Remind me not to piss you off.”
“Too late for that.” They both laughed. Ro was not amused with ther camaraderie. Nor was she happy to be at a shooting range. She fiddled with her earmuffs. She examined her nails. She alternated between being bored and being sulky, talking in monosyllabic grunts.
JD put his paper felon on the line and pushed the button. Mr. Criminal was about thirty yards away. He loaded his pistol and took aim, sighting down to the target. His nose was just about healed, but there was a slight tilt as well as a chink in the bridge. He’d been playing contact sports since he was five, but it took a girl to screw up his perfect Roman slope. JD claimed he liked the result, that the asymmetry made him look tougher.
Ro said, “When is this going to be over?”
JD put the pistol down. “What’s your problem?”
“The problem is I’m bored. Let’s just leave.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks,” Ben said. “We’re doing this for your protection.”
JD said, “You could act a little grateful. I spent a fortune on a tux, a corsage, a limo, a room, and a great bottle of champagne, and you crapped out on me last night.”
“I’d much rather have been with you than where I was.” She glared at him. “And may I add for the record that you looked very happy to be with Lisa.”
“I didn’t screw her.” JD looked at Ben. “Can’t say the same for him.”
“I didn’t screw her either,” Ben said. “Don’t get me involved in your spat.” He turned to Ro. “You didn’t have to come here.”
“You insisted I come.”
That was true. “I thought you might want to learn something.”
“I hate guns!”
“Your loss,” JD said.
Ro knew she was acting bratty, but it was a cover-up. Secretly, she was fascinated that the two guys in her life were doing something she absolutely abhorred, and doing it for her.
JD sighted down to his target and emptied the chamber. When he was done, he’d hit two in the face, two in the body, and missed two altogether. “He’d still be dead. That’s all that matters.”
Ben said, “Give it a go, girl, even if it’s just this once.”
“A gun in my hand is a weapon for someone else. I could never shoot it. I’d freeze.”
“Which is exactly why you should learn to shoot a gun,” JD said. “So you won’t freeze.”
Ro didn’t say anything. Instead she gave both of them the full force of her steely eyes. It was weird. When she first started at Remez High, all she wanted was to rule the student body, be adored, and as an afterthought, she hoped that JD and Vicks would get along because she really did like them both. Now that they were friends again, it irritated her. Sometimes it seemed that they enjoyed each other’s company more than hers.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll try it.”
JD put another paper felon on the line. He started at ten yards. He gave her his gun and stood behind her. He showed her how to hold the weapon, how to brace it with both hands to avoid kickback as much as possible. He said, “See that little thing sticking out? That’s the sight. Line it up with where you want to shoot.”
“This thing is heavy.”
“Only because you’ve been holding up your arms so long.” His body was close to hers. “Okay, aim for the chest. That’s a much bigger target than the head.”
“I can hit the head.”
“Give it a whirl, then.”
She took a shot. The kickback brought her hands up and she didn’t even hit the target. She was pissed. “What the hell happened?”