Chapter 7 #2
It slowed the horse down long enough for two of the cowboys to get lassos over his head. The stallion snorted and tossed his head in disgust, but he was well and truly caught, and he knew it.
Garrett was out of breath when he got to the horse, but he was grinning at Gunner.
“You sure can run, boy. Thanks for the help. If he’d cleared the cattle guard, he’d be gone.”
“Beautiful stallion,” Gunner said, eyeing the big gray.
“I bought him from Sonny Bluejacket a couple of years back. He’s a beauty, but he has an attitude, for sure.”
“I guess he needed to kick up his heels a little,” Gunner said.
Garrett shook his head. “No, there’s a mare in heat in a nearby pasture, and he had love on his mind.”
Gunner laughed. “Ah, something we can all understand. I came to pay my respects to you and your family and was visiting with Holly when we saw the runaway. I am so sorry, Garrett…for everything.”
Garrett’s shoulders slumped. “Thanks, Gunner. It has been a shock for all of us. Will we see you at the services?”
“Yes, sir. Dad, Pearl, and I will be there. I have very fond memories of Mrs. Dillon when I was in school. The women of Crossroads all helped raise me and my brothers after everything fell apart, me especially because I was so young. I owe all of them a huge debt of gratitude.”
Garrett waved at Holly, who was standing on the porch.
“I won’t keep you any longer, and I’m glad you came.
Holly is struggling. She and Helen were very close.
” Then he waved at his men. “Get that big fool back in the stables, and this time, don’t turn your back for a second,” he said, then followed behind them as they led the big gray away.
Gunner started walking back to the house, but his gaze was fixed on the woman waiting. The walls he’d lived behind were cracking from within.
Holly smiled as he came up the steps. “Way to go, Roadrunner. You’ve still got it.”
Gunner hadn’t heard his old high school nickname in years. “When the need arises,” he said, then reached out and cupped the side of her cheek. “You need to rest. Thank you for the invitation. I’ll see you at the funeral, okay?”
The urge to lay her head in the palm of his hand was so strong it made her ache. “Yes.”
“I’ll just get my hat,” he said and followed her back into the house, then settled it on his head. Holly’s hand was on his shoulder, but he still saw tears in her eyes.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said. “Talking to you was a good reset. And getting to see that famous Kingston sprint wasn’t bad, either. I’ll walk you out.”
The last look Gunner had of her was in the rearview mirror. She was still on the porch, watching him driving away.
* * *
Gunner’s partner, Cliff Beale, was on his way home from work when he got a phone call.
The name that came up on Caller ID made him sweat, but he wasn’t answering.
Last night he and his wife had the worst fight of their fifteen years of marriage.
She found out he’d been gambling again, and worse yet, discovered how much money he’d lost doing it.
It was only after he got down on his knees, begging, and sobbing, and swearing on the lives of his children that he would never gamble again, that she finally gave in.
“One more time, and we’re gone. Do you understand me, Clifford Beale?”
It was still an echo in his ears. His family was his world.
Gunner had warned him time and time again it was going to get him in trouble, with either his job or his wife.
Gunner was right, but now he was gone. Cliff didn’t have anyone to talk to, and if he started going to some program for gambling addicts, Internal Affairs would find out.
If they didn’t fire him, he would at least be put on suspension.
He was as desperate as a man could be, and not answering that phone call from the bookie he owed was about to make everything worse.
* * *
It was a casual conversation between a cop and his uncle in the FBI that led to the special agents in charge of the Dixon case finding out about the deaths of Garza and Letourneau.
They already had dossiers on both men from the evidence they had on Burgess Dixon and knew those men were part of his syndicate.
After viewing records of the case, they couldn’t fault the conclusion of the crime scene, but from what they knew of Dixon, they also doubted the men had killed each other.
It was more likely they’d done something that displeased Dixon, like dumping the body of the witness in that old warehouse instead of hiding it, and this was the end result. It wasn’t anything they could prove, but it was info to add to the case against Dixon they still had on the back burner.
* * *
To Burgess Dixon’s knowledge, there was only one hit man who had yet to confirm he knew the bounty had been pulled, and Dixon was furious with the contractor who’d sent them out. The warning he unloaded on the contractor was quiet and deadly.
“I don’t care if you don’t know where he lived. You had contact numbers, damn it! So, leave messages, and you will keep calling until he verifies the message that it’s off, or I will make sure you never see the light of day again! Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir, I—”
Dixon ended the call in the middle of the man’s response, then threw the burner phone across the room and pounded his desk with both fists in frustration.
In that moment, Whistler was wishing he was anywhere but in Dallas with this man. He was going to get both of them killed or sent to prison. And yet he stayed—a silent witness to the threat. He didn’t have to comment. He’d seen and heard it all before.
* * *
Asher Kingston was steadily working through the list of names Gunner gave him, running background checks and accessing phone records and financial information.
A dirty cop was probably using burner phones, but he had to check off all the boxes.
Unless there was an offshore account somewhere, it would be financial records that gave it away.
So far, he knew Cliff Beale, Gunner’s partner, was a gambler and up to his eyeballs in debt. A man desperate for money could become suspect for selling information.
The female detective in the division was clean as a whistle with finances, but she was barely making it from month to month. She had a brother with priors, but he lived in Mississippi, so that pretty much ruled her out.
He kept going down the list while waiting for various background checks to show up, hoping the notifications about the hit being canceled had reached all the killers they’d set on Gunner’s trail.
The sites where Asher was not allowed to breach, like digging for offshore accounts, he’d given to his wife. Due to Nora’s line of work—finding online hackers and fraud within worldwide corporations—her security clearance was about as high as it got.
The moment Asher told her what Gunner was dealing with, she dropped everything she was doing and began devoting her attention to searching for secrets within the list.
* * *
Finally, it was the day of Helen Dillon’s funeral.
Business in Crossroads was about to come to a screeching halt. It was just after 9:00 a.m. when the black wreaths and black ribbons went up on the door fronts of businesses. Some stores were leaving skeleton crews to stay open, but the Tumbleweed Bar, among others, was temporarily closed.
The Yellow Rose Café was open with Davey the fry cook and Cheryl the waitress staying behind to keep it open.
Their menu was, for the time Pearl was gone, a small buffet with two meats and three sides and salad. All Cheryl and Davey had to do was keep the trays full. Pearl had already cooked what was meant to be served until she got back.
Belker’s Grocery was at half staff.
The bank had a black wreath on the door, but it was open for business.
Even though Lee Peters’s funeral service would not be held in Crossroads, school was still out for the day. He would have graduated high school in May.
The whole student body was in shock. People their age didn’t die. Or weren’t supposed to. It was their first experience of losing one of their own. Even if people weren’t planning to attend the services, they cared enough about the grieving families to honor their passing.
Sheriff Reddick had sent a uniformed officer to Crossroads for traffic control.
Gunner was ready and waiting in their living room when his dad and Pearl finally appeared.
“Mama Pearl, you sure look pretty,” Gunner said.
Pearl patted his arm. “Thank you, baby. It’s a shame someone had to die for me to bother about what to wear or how to look.”
Jacob kissed her cheek. “You are always beautiful in my eyes. Let’s get going. I expect parking will be a mess.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to let you both out at the front of the church. I’ll find a place to park and meet up with you inside,” Gunner said, and he did.
As soon as he parked on a side street a block away, he hurried back to the church, then took a seat beside Pearl, leaving her sandwiched between them.
People were still arriving. There were pockets of people quietly visiting with each other, but the unusual silence was as noticeable as the single casket covered in a blanket of pink roses at the altar, and the two cowboys in starched Wranglers and pearl-snap white western shirts, standing like soldiers on guard at either end of the casket.
Finally, the music sounded, and with it came the family being ushered into the church and the long walk they had to make down the aisle to the pews reserved for them.
As he was watching it all happen, Gunner realized this had not happened for his mother and supposed she’d lost her right to be honored. He had no memory of ever seeing her grave and no idea where she was buried, or if her ashes had been cast in the wind.