Joe Dillard: Reasonable Fear Part 20

"You know something, Leon?"

"What's that?"

"You're about to find out just how crazy I can be."

Chapter Thirty-Five.

My next call was to Erlene Barlowe's cell. I asked her to wait for me after her club closed. If I pushed it, I could be there by three in the morning.

I crossed the Tennessee border a little after midnight and rolled into the back parking lot at the Mouse's Tail around 3:00 a.m. I'd called Erlene again ten minutes earlier and she said she'd be waiting. I'd never been inside the Mouse's Tail but I had fond memories of that back parking lot. It was there that Erlene had handed me a quarter of a million dollars in a gym bag several years ago my fee for defending a young friend of hers who had been accused of murder back before I became a prosecutor. I pulled up to the back door and waited less than a minute before I saw her walking out, dressed in a tight, sequined red top with a red boa around her neck, black spandex pants and spiked heels. She walked up to the driver's side window.

"Are you okay, sugar?" Erlene said. "Last time I saw you were face down in the courtroom."

"I'm fine. Can you go for a ride?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

She walked around, climbed in, and I pulled back onto the road.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Erlene said. "What are you doing out at this time of the night?"

"Sit back. It's a long story."

I recounted the story of Pinzon's visit to the hospital, the surveillance at my house, the threats, the Colombian killers who were supposed to be on their way to kill my family, and the trip to Michigan. I also told her everything Pinzon had said about Lips...o...b..

"So he killed them," she said. "You're sure of it."

"Afraid so, and it looks like he's going to get away with it. I'll never get him to trial, Erlene, and even if I do, I'll never convict him. He's already killed three girls, two witnesses and his brother. He's going to try to kill me, and there's a chance he might come after you. I know you didn't see him that night, but you and your bouncer can link Nelson to the girls, and if John thinks it might still get back to him somehow. . . I'm not trying to scare you, but it's something you should think about."

"Don't worry about scaring me, sugar. The man I'm afraid of hasn't been born yet."

"Pinzon said the only way to stop Lips...o...b..is to get rid of him. I don't think I can do it. At least I don't think I could do it and get away with it."

"I don't reckon you could."

"How do you feel about revenge, Erlene?"

She contemplated the question for a few seconds.

"You know, my granddaddy, G.o.d rest his soul, used to have these sayings about revenge. He'd say, 'Child, the best revenge is to live well,' or, 'Revenge is a dish best served cold.' But you know something? My granddaddy always reminded me of a cow standing in a field chewing her cud. My granny walked all over him and so did anybody else that took a notion. I never put much stock in the things he said."

"I know what you mean. I've never been one to let people trample on me."

"Me either."

"There's one more thing. It looks like Sheriff Bates has bailed on me. He said he thinks I'm crazy."

She let out a little whistle. "I swan," she said. "I knew that man was more politician than lawman. I reckon I'll have a little surprise for him next time he comes sniffing around here. Maybe a hidden camera."

"Bates? Bates comes out here?"

"You didn't hear that from me, sugar."

"I guess everybody has their secrets."

"What are you planning to do, sweetie?" Erlene said. "I mean, you said your family's all tucked away safe and sound, but you're back here. You're up to something."

Erlene put on the air of a southern belle even if the belle was a little on the sleazy side but I knew what was underneath the facade. She was a tough, intelligent woman who existed on the fringe of lawlessness. During the time leading up to the trial of the friend of hers I defended, a key prosecution witness wound up dead of an apparent drug overdose, but I always suspected Erlene was behind it.

"I'm going to take care of the Colombians myself, but that still leaves Lips...o...b.. What are the chances of you helping me out with him?"

"You know something? I think somebody John Lips...o...b..has wronged may just decide to take matters into her own hands. Somebody who knows how to get things done."

"I hope whoever it is acts fast."

She reached across, put her hand on my arm, and squeezed.

"Have faith, baby doll," she said. "It's a powerful thing."

PART III.

Chapter Thirty-Six.

A half-hour later, I parked the van in a stand of trees a half-mile from the house, got out, and walked around to the back. I opened the crate Bo had given me and pulled out a set of camouflage fatigues, a pair of jungle boots, a black stocking cap, a pair of gloves, a flashlight, and some web gear. I reached back into the crate and grabbed an M-16 a.s.sault rifle that was equipped with a thermal imaging sight, four thirty-round clips of ammo, and a sheathed, Yarborough knife. I used electrical tape from the crate to tape the Yarborough to the web gear and clipped the flashlight on. I stuck three of the clips into an ammo pouch, slapped the other one into the receiver, pulled back the charging handle to load a round into the chamber, made sure the safety was engaged, and started walking cross-country through the woods.

It was chilly and there was a stiff breeze. My earlobes began to tingle so I pulled the stocking cap down farther on my head. It was terrain I'd walked many times, a large tract owned by the Tennessee Valley Authority that was adjacent to my property. I made my way slowly through the darkness, fallen leaves dry and crackling beneath my feet, until I came to the trail that I ran on several times a week. I followed the trail along the bluff above the lake and knelt at the edge of the woods about a hundred yards from the house. I stayed there without moving, listening to every sound, until around 5:00 a.m. The house, with the exception of a couple of lights Caroline and I had left on, was dark and still. Nothing stirred no insects, no animals, no birds, nothing. It was as though I was the only living creature on earth.

I took the pre-paid cell out of my pocket and dialed Mack McCoy's phone number.

"I figured you for an early riser," I said when he answered.

"Where are you?"

"In the woods outside my house. Any chance you and Bernie Cole can come out?"

"Be there in an hour."

As the gray light of dawn began to emerge, I started scouring the area around the house, looking for signs that someone had been there: cigarette b.u.t.ts, wrappers, cans, bottles, any type of trash that might indicate surveillance. I looked for depressions in the gra.s.s and weeds, especially on the higher ground, but found nothing that alarmed me. It appeared that the sicarios hadn't arrived yet. I wondered about what Bates had said to me on the phone. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe Pinzon was the killer and had hatched an extravagant plot to extricate himself from the murders. Maybe there weren't any sicarios. Maybe no one was coming. Maybe Pinzon had tried to force me into hiding to buy himself some time.

I heard vehicles approaching on the road and looked down the hill. Mack McCoy's car was in the lead, followed by the van Bernie Cole had driven the other day. I took the web gear off, set it down next to a tree stump, and laid the M16 beside it. I came out of the woods just as Mack and Leah were getting out of the car at the top of the driveway. Both of them reached for their weapons. I held my hands up.

"It's me! It's Dillard!"

"d.a.m.n, son, have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?" Mack said as I approached. "You look rough."

I hadn't bathed or shaved in two days.

"Did you get everybody squared away?" Mack said.

"Yeah, they're safe. They're with an old friend on a farm in the middle of nowhere in Michigan."

"What are you doing dressed up like GI Joe?" he said.

"I spent the last few hours out here watching the house. I was afraid someone might be in there, but nothing's moved so far. I've been walking the property since dawn looking to see if anybody's been around, but I didn't find a thing." I looked at Bernie Cole, who had gotten out of the van and walked up next to Mack. "I need to know exactly what's in the house, and I need to know if there's a way to disable it."

"Disable it?" Bernie said.

"Shut it off completely."

"That's easy. They're using your power supply. All you have to do is flip the main circuit breaker and cut the power to the house. Everything but the phone tap goes dead."

"You've missed quite a circus around here the past couple of days," Mack said. "The media's on a feeding frenzy. You should see the story in the paper this morning, what the sheriff is saying. He's telling everybody you've come unhinged."

"I know. I talked to him yesterday. What do you think? You think I'm a nut case?"

"I might if it wasn't for Leah. She's said a lot of good things about you. If I wasn't so secure in my masculinity, I might be jealous."

I looked at Leah, who was still standing on the pa.s.senger side of the car. She winked at me and shrugged her shoulders.

"I was with Pinzon for more than an hour at the hospital," I said to Mack. "I saw how he acted. I've misread people before, but I don't think he was lying. Lips...o...b..is responsible for the murders of the girls, he's behind the murders of Zack Woods and Hector Mejia. I think he had his brother killed too."

"You're probably right," Mack said. "I've checked into some of the things you told me before you left. The girl in Boston, Mallory Vines, checks out. She was reported missing and was never seen again. And the other guy, Tex. His name was probably William Rogan, reported missing from Grand Prairie, Texas. His parents had been killed in an automobile accident, he was a student at SMU, and he went by the nickname of Tex. Never a sign of him after he got on a flight to Boston."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I guess that's good."

"There's more," he said. "You want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Guess I could use a little good news about now."

"We got a hit on the El Maligno nickname you gave me. He's worked for Eduardo Pinzon for twenty years. Eduardo Pinzon just happens to be Andres Pinzon's uncle."

"Right. That's what he said. 'Uncle Eduardo.'"

"First name is Santiago. Last name is Guzman. Has a nasty scar on his left cheek just like you said."

"So you can track him?"

"That's the bad news. I called an old buddy in Colombia and asked him if they could get eyes on this guy. They know him well. They know where he lives, where he hangs out. They should have been able to find him, but they couldn't."

"Which means?"

"It could mean he took a vacation to Guadalajara or Rio de Janeiro or someplace."

"Or it could mean-"

"Right. He's on his way up here, but that isn't the worst of it. My Colombian buddy told me that El Maligno is responsible, directly or indirectly, for at least a hundred and fifty murders. He and his boys blew up a plane in Colombia with over a hundred people on it back in ninety-eight. They were trying to kill a Colombian presidential candidate, but the guy got cold feet and didn't take the flight. This El Maligno tracked him down and shot him in his car two days later. Killed his wife and daughter, too. He's a bad, bad hombre."

We stood outside the house for more than an hour. Bernie showed me a rough diagram he'd drawn of the devices that were in the house and explained what areas they covered while Leah and Mack milled around impatiently. The video cameras were everywhere, even in the garage, and the microphones, at least theoretically, would pick up every word uttered even whispers from anywhere inside.

"There's nothing outside?" I asked Bernie. "Did you check the workshop out back?"

"I checked everywhere," he said. "Didn't find a thing."

"Just what are you planning?" Mack said. He'd walked up behind Bernie and was hovering over his shoulder. Leah stayed a good distance away. She was looking out over the lake, acting like she was interested in what she was seeing. I remembered Leah as a strong, independent, sometimes domineering woman, but she'd obviously met her match in Mack.

"I have something in mind," I said.

"What can we do to help?"

"I don't think you should be here."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have a lot of choices."

"Meaning?"

"Look, I've only known you for a few of days. You weren't in on the beginning of this, and I don't think you want to be around for the end. If this El Maligno comes, someone is going to die here. If the media and the government and Bates and everybody else think I'm crazy now, what's it going to look like if there's a gun battle on my property? Even if I make it out alive, there are going to be some serious repercussions."

"Yeah, well, chances are you won't make it out alive if you try to do this alone," Mack said.

"This case this situation has been like a hurricane. It started small and now it's grown into something uncontrollable, something deadly. You and Leah just transferred here. You need to think about your own careers, about your reputations. If they come, I'll be lucky to live, and if I do live, I'll be lucky to stay out of jail. There are people on both sides of this that would like to see me dangling from the end of a rope. So you guys need to distance yourself from me. What do the politicians call it? Plausible deniability?"

Mack put his hands on his hips and took a couple of steps in my direction. I'm not a small man, but he dwarfed me. Being in his presence was like standing in front of Zeus.

"I think maybe I like you, Dillard," he said. "You know why? Because I'm not some run-of-the-mill, dipstick FBI agent, and you're not some run-of-the-mill, dipstick prosecutor. I wish you were in the U.S. Attorney's office. You and I could get some things done."

I smiled for the first time in days.

"Tell you what," I said, "I'll make a deal with you. You have other work to do, right? Go do it. My plan, if you can call it that, is to go inside and let them see me on the video equipment so they know I'm here. After that, I'm planning to sit out in the woods, watching, until they come, if they come. So here's the deal. If you'll agree not to tell anyone I'm here, if you'll just let me handle this my way, I'll agree to call you the second I see something that looks like it might be bad. And if I call you, I'll expect you to come running."

He regarded me intently with those brilliant blue eyes for a few seconds. He was trying to read my mind, to decide whether or not I was lying.

"Deal," he said, "but I want to know what kind of weapons you have."

"A shotgun and a pistol. They're both in the house. I think I have three double-ought buckshot sh.e.l.ls for the shotgun and some bird shot. I have maybe fifteen rounds for the pistol. I'm not prepared to fight a war with anyone."