“You shot him,” Tom mumbled, getting unsteadily to his feet. “You shot him?”
“He meant to kill you,” Walt said, kicking the semiautomatic pistol from the fallen cop’s hand. The leather string that always held Walt’s derringer around his neck hung from his right hand. While Tom stared at the dead trooper, Walt hung the derringer back around his neck.
When Tom reached toward his friend, a searing pain shot down his left arm. Oh, no, he thought, wavering on his feet. Another heart attack. “I need a nitro, Walt. Fast.”
“Whoa, buddy,” Walt said, his eyes showing too much white. “You need more than a nitro. That bastard winged you. Left arm.”
Tom looked down and saw blood on his left shoulder. The unexpected sight made him sway on his feet. Walt lunged forward and caught him.
Once Tom had regained his balance, Walt unbuttoned his shirt and checked the wound. “Christ, I thought my combat medic days were over. Straight through. Thank the Lord he was using ball ammo.”
“It doesn’t feel like he hit an artery.”
“No, I think we’re good. But it was damned close. Bullet might have nicked the humeral circumflex. I’d feel better if a real doctor checked it out.”
Tom swallowed hard and looked at the dead man on the ground. “You just shot a cop, Walt. We need to get out of here.”
“You ain’t ever lied, brother. We’re truly fucked now. Both of us. Let’s get you into the van, and I’ll clean this scene up double quick.”
Tom allowed himself to be led into the van, where Walt retrieved his medical bag from its hiding place. After swallowing one nitro pill and a Lorcet Plus, Tom stuck another nitro tablet and a Valium under his tongue for good measure.
“You’d better come back out with me,” Walt said. “I need to be able to see you if you pass out.”
Half in a trance, Tom followed his friend back outside. As he leaned against the van, Walt walked over to the state police car, switched off its light bar, took the keys from the ignition, and opened the trunk.
“What are you doing?” Tom called.
Walking back to the driver’s door, Walt leaned through it, then straightened up with a shotgun in his hands.
“What the hell are you doing with that?”
Without a word, Walt walked back to the trunk and fired four deafening shots into it. The cruiser rocked on its oversized shocks as it absorbed the impact of the rounds. Walt ducked into the trunk and began fiddling with something. After about thirty seconds, he stood up, triumphantly holding a paper bag in his hand. He carried the bag to Tom and opened it, revealing fragments of metal and plastic.
“What’s all that?” Tom asked.
“What’s left of a hard drive. The camera in that cruiser filmed everything that just happened. We’re taking this with us so no genius from the NSA can put the drive back together.”
Tom felt as though he might collapse. “Walt, this is bad. We can’t run from this.”
The Ranger grabbed his good shoulder and squeezed hard. “Forget the badge, Tom. From the moment he saw Sonny, that guy meant to kill us. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. Fifty years of experience told me. State cops don’t patrol dirt roads in the back of beyond at night. He came here to find us. You and me.”
“But how could he? We switched off our phones, like you said.”
Knowledge dawned in Walt’s eyes. “It wasn’t our phones. I left Sonny’s cell phone on so I could monitor his texts and hear his voice mails. Stupid! That trooper was looking for Thornfield, not us. He must have been on the Eagles’ payroll.”
“A state cop?”
Walt shrugged. “I don’t understand it, but now’s not the time to figure it out.” He looked back at the dead trooper. “I won’t lie to you, buddy. Even if he was dirty, it won’t make a bit of difference to any cop in this state if they figure out who killed him.”
Stinging sweat dripped into Tom’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
Walt’s smile had an ironic curve. “A little late for apologies.”
A loud cry of pain came from the van.
Walt ran to the Roadtrek, motioning for Tom to follow him into the van. Inside, they found Thornfield lying faceup in the aisle, clenching his left arm, his skin deathly gray.
“He’s having a heart attack,” Tom said, kneeling.
“Let him,” Walt said, trying to pull Tom up without hurting him. “There’s nothing we can do.”
Tom shook himself from Walt’s grasp and checked Thornfield’s pulse at the neck. It was thready, and the skin above the artery felt cool. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
“A hospital?” Walt gawked at Tom. “We can’t even take you to a hospital. You think we’re gonna take this piece of shit, after what we just did?”
Tom had already taken a vial of epinephrine from his bag and loaded a syringe. “He’s not going to tell anybody about that. Snake would kill Sonny if he knew we’d questioned him. Come on, Walt. Get us back to Ferriday!”
Walt didn’t move as Tom injected the epinephrine into Thornfield’s vein. “You realize he may have seen everything. Outside.”
Tom thought about it. “I don’t think he did.”
“But you can’t be sure. Even seeing the body would be enough to put us in the death house at Angola.”
Walt was right, and this knowledge chilled Tom. “What do you want to do?”
“Leave him here,” Walt said flatly. “I can stage this thing where it looks like they shot each other, and the cops’ll find the syringe and vials besides. We’ll be clear of this thing, and you’ll be clear of Viola. It’s the only answer, Tom.”
Sonny groaned and clenched his left arm with his right fist.
Tom turned and looked up into Walt’s hardened eyes. “You’re talking about shooting him.”
“He’s dying anyway.”
Walt was still carrying the trooper’s shotgun, and it lent him a frighteningly lethal aspect. “We can’t,” Tom said. “I can’t.”