Chapter 1 #3
Today, as they entered the building, their pasts were just shady enough that even entering a prison made their skin crawl. But when they were escorted into the hospital infirmary and saw what was left of their father, Everett cursed beneath his breath, and Freddie stumbled.
Pete had lost his hair and most of his teeth and was down to skin and bones. They wouldn’t have recognized him on the street. The prison doctor approached, quietly gave them the lowdown on Pete’s condition, then pointed out the other patients nearby, and asked them to keep their voices down.
“Is he even conscious?” Freddie asked.
The doctor nodded. “He’s not comatose. He’s just heavily drugged because of the pain, but he’s still cognizant.
I’m afraid you’ll have to keep your visit short though.
Twenty minutes, tops, boys,” the doctor said, then pointed to the guards inside the ward.
“When you’re ready to leave, let them know.
One of them will escort you out, so say what you want to say today. ”
They nodded, and then moved to Pete’s bedside as the doctor walked away. Everett, the oldest and a redhead, was a taller, skinnier version of his mother. Freddie, the youngest, was Pete’s mini-me, right down to the broad shoulders and blond hair, and the first one to speak.
He leaned over and patted Pete’s shoulder. “Hey, Pop. It’s me, Freddie.”
Everett followed suit and took hold of his dad’s hand. “Pop, it’s me, Everett. I’m here, too.”
Pete’s eyes opened, blinking a few times as if trying to focus, and then grinned, revealing the tooth loss from all the cancer treatments.
“Hey, boys… Come to get your old Pops a send-off, have you?”
“Are you in pain?” Everett asked.
“Not much,” Pete said. “Good drugs here. I’m glad you came. You need to know that Brenda has the money.”
They both looked at each other, thinking it was the drugs and disease already eating up his brain.
“Uh… Dad… Brenda’s been dead for twenty-one years.”
Pete shook his head as he inhaled, trying to catch his breath enough to speak.
They could hear the death rattle in his chest.
“Hell, I know that, boy. I had nothing else to think about since the day they locked me up. I knew what she thought of her boys. She likely couldn’t face the shame. I might as well have put a gun to her head myself.”
“You weren’t mad at her, then?” Freddie asked.
“For what? She did exactly what I asked her to do. I got her high and talked her into it. She wasn’t anywhere near the robbery, but I put the money in the back of her car at the airport and told her to take it home and hide it.
I don’t know what she did with it, but they came and got her the same day they arrested us, and she killed herself on the way to jail. The location died with her.”
“Then what are you saying?” Everett asked.
“That she wouldn’t have had much time to hide it, and I told the cops I’m the one who hid it, and that the location would die with me. Only I’m dying now, and I don’t know where it is. They said on the news at the time, it was more than a million-dollar heist, and part of it was bearer bonds.”
Everett frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything. We didn’t know her. We don’t know where she lived.”
Pete moaned and took another rattly breath.
“Her old man owned the Tumbleweed Bar in Crossroads. It’s south of Amarillo on Highway 86.
Their house was attached to the back of the bar.
He still owns and works the bar, and still lives there.
He didn’t know shit about what was going on, and I know she would have hid the fact that she’d had the money from him, so no one would have ever thought to search there, because I said I hid the money, remember? ”
Their eyes widened as the truth sank in. “You mean all that money is likely somewhere in the bar or in their house?”
Pete blinked. “Likely.”
“But how would we get Kingston out of there long enough to search?” Freddie asked.
“That’s for you to figure out,” Pete said. “Consider it your inheritance from me.” He took another breath, and was slower in talking. “Is your mama doin’ okay?”
“She died four years ago, Pop.”
Pete frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We were doin’ time,” Freddie said. “We didn’t make it to the funeral, either.”
“Then I reckon I’ll be seeing her again before you do,” Pete said, and closed his eyes. “I’m tired talking. Y’all go on now.”
Thrown off by his instant dismissal, neither of them bothered to even tell him goodbye. Their heads were full of dreams of getting rich, the same way their dad kept trying to get rich. By stealing what didn’t belong to them.
They talked about it all the way back home to Amarillo, but before they could act on their plan, Pete Brandt died.
They didn’t have the money to bury him, and there was no one else left to claim the body.
That left Captain Joe Byrd Cemetery, the largest prison graveyard in the United States, as his final resting place.
* * *
Pete Brandt’s death regained media attention, and as they reported the story, they also resurrected the old crime on the air and in the papers, including the names of the guilty parties and victims with it, and ending their piece with mention of the unrecovered money from the robbery.
Jacob Kingston heard the news live from the television above his head at the bar.
He was drawing a beer when he heard the words Pete Brandt and armored car robbery.
Shocked, he turned his back to the customer and upped the volume, and when he did, the whole bar went silent.
There wasn’t a man among them who didn’t know the history, and when it was over, Jacob lowered the volume and turned back to the customers.
“Took a long time for that son-of-a-bitch to die,” he muttered.
Joe Dunn, one of his regulars, tapped his empty shot glass on the counter to break the tension.
“One more for me, Jacob, and then I’d better get home before the phone starts ringing and you have to lie and tell Polly I’m not here again.”
Jacob grinned and poured another shot of rye whiskey in Joe’s glass while the other men laughed, and the moment passed.
But Jacob wasn’t the only one yanked back into the past.
* * *
Thirty-two-year-old Asher Kingston heard it through the grapevine at his work as an investigator for the state attorney general’s office in Austin, and the first thought he had was for his dad.
Twenty-seven-year-old Gunner Kingston was a homicide detective with the Dallas Police Department. His lieutenant called him into the office to give him a heads-up, and his first thought was for his dad.
Twenty-nine-year-old Dylan Kingston, who owned and operated a general contracting business in Austin, was at work when his fiancée, Angie Trent, who was also his secretary and company accountant, called his cell. When he saw her name pop up on Caller ID, he quickly answered.
“Hey, pretty girl. What’s up?” he asked.
“I didn’t want you to hear this on the news, but that whole thing about the old, armored car robbery and your mother’s part in it is all over the news.”
Dylan’s gut knotted. “What the hell? Why?”
“Pete Brandt, the leader of the gang who participated in the robbery, just died in prison and the missing money never being found. It stirred everything up, I guess. You know how the media is these days. All about sensationalism. I’m sorry, honey. I just didn’t want you to be blindsided at work.”
He sighed. “Angie, my love, thank you a thousand times. I’m sure my brothers know, but I’ll text them anyway. See you at home.”
“Absolutely,” Angie said. “T-bones on the grill?”
“Perfect,” he said, and hung up.
Within the hour, the brothers were on a three-way conference call, worrying about their dad, but it was Dylan who suggested their older brother be the one to make contact.
“Asher, you be the one to call and check on Dad tonight, okay? If we all do it, it might freak him out and make him think he has something to worry about,” Dylan said.
Gunner frowned. “Maybe he does…have something to worry about, I mean. The media now, compared to the media back then, has turned into a Medusa. They’ll likely come looking for a scandal to create.”
“And Dad will tell them which jackass to ride off on,” Asher said. “But I will definitely call him anyway. Are either of you bothered? If this had brought up any bad shit, spit it out now. We don’t keep secrets from each other, remember?”
Gunner heard the worry in Asher’s voice. “We’re good, Ash. I promise. Dylan has Angie to kiss his boo-boos now, and I have so many calluses on my heart from that time, that I have yet to meet a woman I trust. I doubt I’ll ever get married. Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m fine. I chose a long time ago, not to carry the years of resentment with me. It lessens as time passes. You’ll figure that out one day on your own.”
“Whatever,” Gunner said. “Thanks for the call. You and Dylan aren’t just my brothers. You’re my best friends.” And then he disconnected.
Dylan sighed. “He doesn’t do emotion, does he?”
“Not very well,” Asher said. “I’m gonna call Dad now before it gets too late. Talk to you soon.” And then the conference call ended.
But Asher wasn’t as casual about ignoring Gunner’s reaction as he let on.
He ached for the little boy Gunner had been when it happened.
He was barely past being a baby. He lost his first tooth and his mother all on the same day, and took her suicide as a sign that she didn’t love them enough to stay.
And no number of explanations from Asher or Jacob had ever changed that.
Their baby brother had grown up into a full-grown hard-ass, and one of the best homicide detectives in the Dallas PD.