“You better believe it,” I tell her, my eyes stinging.
“I thought so. That was old school, man.” Tee flinches from the paramedic’s gloved hand. “Is he gone?”
“Yep.”
She shakes her head.
“You were pretty old school yourself back there,” I tell her.
“No more than Mia. She grabbed hold of Annie like a mama tiger.”
This time Mia blushes full red. “I had to do something.”
“And you did,” Tee says. “I’ll hang with you anytime, girl.”
I give Mia’s shoulder a squeeze, then ask Serenity, “Why the hell did you run after the van instead of chasing it with the Yukon?”
“Our driver had already taken out the keys. My choice was to hunt for them or start running. I figured here in town, the van might have to stop pretty quick. So I hoofed it.”
“We need to get going,” says the paramedic.
I raise my hand and salute Tee in my clumsy civilian fashion. “We’ll see you at the hospital.”
“Bring me a shot of vodka. Good vodka. Make that a bottle.”
The paramedic laughs out loud, but Tee only glares at him. “I’m serious as a ruptured hemorrhoid, mister.”
The paramedic blinks in surprise. “I believe you.”
Before we walk away, I hear the hum and chatter of voices in the street. The neighbors have come out to see what all the noise was about.
“Do you have an extra sheet in that ambulance?” I ask.
The paramedic nods.
Trudging over to the open door, I rip a white sheet off a collapsed gurney and carry it to where Walt’s body lies on the sidewalk. A few residents have edged up to within twenty feet of him. Whipping the sheet open with a loud pop, I drape it gently over Walt’s upper body and head. To my surprise, Mia catches the other end and pulls it over his legs and feet.
“Thanks,” I tell her, looking back for Annie.
She’s standing beside Serenity, her eyes filled with awe. Mia starts to say something, but the screech of rubber drowns her voice. Two dark sedans have stopped twenty yards away, and the first man out of the lead car is John Kaiser. He runs toward us with his pistol out, and behind him come four more FBI agents, two brandishing what look like MP5 submachine guns.
“Who’s under the sheet?” he asks.
“Walt Garrity. The VK just tried to snatch Annie outside my house. It was an ambush. They took out our bodyguards. Walt stopped them.”
“They shot him?”
“No. Their van ran him over.”
Kaiser grimaces. “Christ. He was a rough old cob. This is going to be tough on your father.”
The words hit me like a hammer.
“John, can you watch the girls?”
“Sure, but—”
“I can’t let my dad hear this from somebody else.” I break into a run, heading down Washington Street. The jail is probably four hundred yards away, close enough for Dad to have heard the gunfight from his cell.
“Penn, let me drive you!” Kaiser shouts, but I can’t stop. The last thing I hear is the FBI man yelling, “Go after him! Keep him covered!”
Chapter 60
When I reach the jail, I find Quentin facing Dad through the scarred wire mesh of the visiting cubicle. I squeeze in behind Quentin’s wheelchair and brace my hands on its seat back, my right shoulder blade pounding with pain.
“What’s happened?” Dad asks, his face partly obscured by the wire. “We heard shooting from the cellblock. Then some kind of alert. Don’t tell me it’s Annie.”
He’s leaning forward in anticipation of terrible news, the fingers of one hand threaded into the mesh. If I had to tell him Annie had been kidnapped, I don’t think he could survive it. Walt’s death will be bad enough— “It almost was Annie,” I say. “They tried to kidnap her, Dad. The VK guys, I think. The bikers.”
“Oh, no. Oh . . . Lord.”
“They didn’t get her. Walt stopped them.”
Dad’s eyes widen. “Walt?”
“They knocked down our bodyguards with gunfire, and they got Annie partway into a van. Mia jumped in and fought them, but they were getting away. Then Walt stepped out of nowhere and shot the driver.”
Dad hasn’t blinked. “And?”
“Walt stopped the van. But . . . not before it ran him over.”
My father looks down and swallows. “How bad?”
I hesitate, as we always do in these situations, but waiting only prolongs the torture. “He’s gone, Dad. His injuries were catastrophic.”
At first he does not react, unless perhaps his eyes squint a little more tightly. But then he leans forward until the crown of his head touches the screen, and a moan escapes his lips.
“Dad . . . are you okay?”
Reaching out, I touch my fingers to his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to hear it from somebody else.”
Dad keeps his head down.
“Who else was hurt?” Quentin asks from below me.
“Tim Weathers was hit; I don’t know his condition. I’m pretty sure our driver was killed. Serenity and I were hit with some kind of nonlethal rounds, and then she had acid thrown on her—”
“Nonlethal rounds?” Quentin interrupts.
I nod, realizing that my right shoulder blade and arm are still mostly numb. “Most of the attackers used some kind of nonlethal round.”
“They must have been trying to avoid murder charges.”
“I guess so. But I’m pretty sure our driver was hit with a lead bullet.”
“What about the attackers?” Dad asks.
“I think two VK were killed. One by Walt, the other by Serenity.”
“This is out of control,” Quentin mutters. “Why would they do that? Why go after your daughter?”
“Leverage,” Dad says, looking up at last. “Snake’s a survivor. He’s always going to try to neutralize the greatest threat to him. This morning that was Will Devine. Who is it now?”
“You?” Quentin suggests, nodding at Dad.
“Maybe,” he allows. “But having Annie also gives them leverage over Penn.” Dad’s eyes delve into mine. “Do you have it in your power right now to hurt Snake, or to remove some urgent threat against him?”
I shake my head, but my mind is churning through scenarios.
“Who’s in a position to send him to jail?” Dad presses.
“Dolores St. Denis,” I say softly.
“Who’s that?”
“The woman you told me about whose husband got killed in the Lusahatcha Swamp back in the sixties. Her name was Booker then. Dolores Booker. She was raped, and her husband killed. She can testify against Snake over those crimes.”
Dad blinks in confusion. “But . . . I thought she killed herself.”
“Her family told that story to make the Double Eagles forget about her.”
Quentin says, “Where is she now?”
“She was living in New Orleans. I found her and brought her up here. But she’s under FBI protection now. I don’t know where she is.”
“Snake thinks you do,” Dad says. “He needs to silence that woman—to kill her—and he doesn’t know where to find her. He figures you can find out for him. And threatening Annie is the only conceivable way he could make you do that.”
This explanation closes a circuit in my brain, and I collapse against the wall of the cubicle, one hand on the left handle of Quentin’s wheelchair.