Chapter 13 #4
“Franklin had a tattoo of a star on his left shoulder! He got it when he was only 18! Our mother was so fucking pissed about it,” Beckett said, pointing at the clear patch of skin as definitive proof that this guy wasn’t Franklin.
“Are you sure he didn’t get it removed? Maybe it’s on the other shoulder.” Hayes didn’t want to doubt Beckett’s story, but this all sounded a bit farfetched.
Beckett shrugged and proceeded to rip off the fabric covering the right shoulder. With a dramatic wave of both hands, he gestured towards the unmarked shoulder he’d just exposed.
“He did not get that damned tattoo removed. He took a trip to Mexico last fall, and he still had it then because you can see it in lots of his Facebook pictures!” Beckett stared challengingly at Hayes.
His eyes pleaded, Believe me! Hayes wanted to, he really did but—
“Then who is this? And why would Franklin fake his own death?” Hayes was stymied, trying to come up with the reasons behind this stranger being buried in Franklin’s stead. Where the hell was Franklin then?
Beckett took a moment to look down at the corpse once more before looking back at Hayes.
He needed to come up with a plausible explanation—although it would most likely sound as farfetched as everything else he’d said so far that night.
But he froze when he heard the distinctive, familiar click of a safety on a handgun being released.
“You boys should have minded your own business,” a deep voice chastised from above them.
Beckett and Hayes looked up to see a man standing in the shadows aiming a pistol in their direction.
“Gotta say—murdering people when they’re already standing in a grave does make for easy clean up—I should have thought of that,” Beckett said in his usual dry tone.
The newcomer snorted, but, surprisingly enough, put the safety back on and lowered his weapon.
“I’m guessing you want to see your brother now. If you promise not to whack me in the head with that crowbar, I’ll take you to him.”
“My mommy told me never to get into a car with a stranger,” Beckett fired back.
Hayes exerted no small amount of effort fighting the urge to laugh at Beckett’s irreverent response.
After a few moments of cursing, a flashlight was turned on, illuminating the distinctive silver star in a circular ring that was attached to a chain the guy wore around his neck.
“Deputy Kolinsky, United States Marshals Service. Mind getting out of that grave?” Kolinsky requested, sounding both amused and annoyed.
“Well, okay, since you asked so nicely,” Beckett replied with a cocky grin. “Mind lowering a ladder? We dug pretty deep.”
“How were you planning on getting out?” Kolinsky asked curiously.
“No clue, really. Figured I’d climb on Haysie’s shoulders and use his head as a step stool.” Beckett had to laugh at himself for coming up with this ridiculous plan, especially since he had at least 50 pounds on Hayes.
“And you followed him into the hole without a plan?” Kolinsky asked Hayes in patent disbelief.
“Done dumber things,” he declared, shrugging casually.
“Right. Well, guess I don’t even have to check your IDs. You must be Agents Monroe and Thérault.” He turned around and someone behind him handed over a short ladder. He lowered it into the hole and stepped back a few feet.
“How’d you figure that?”
“Franklin told me his idiot brother and his equally crazy partner would come looking for him—you sound like the right nut jobs.”
“Well, what do you know? My asshole brother really does care!” Beckett stepped onto the ladder and began climbing.
Watching his ascent, Hayes couldn’t help but wonder just how in the hell he’d ended up here—standing next to a coffin that he’d just opened illegally, after having dug up a stranger based solely on one of Beckett’s wild-assed hunches.
Pausing for a moment before beginning his own ascent, he listened to the love of his life bantering with a US Marshal in the middle of the goddamned night in the middle of a goddamned cemetery.
This might be the craziest thing yet that he’d gotten sucked into.
He sighed heavily, confident that hanging around Beckett guaranteed there would be many more hijinks in his future.
“You coming, Nancy? Or do you want to cozy up to John Doe for the rest of the night?” Beckett asked as he stood at the edge of the hole looking down at Hayes.
“Don’t be jealous,” Hayes cautioned with a snort as he climbed up the ladder.
“Not even a little. Go ahead and jump in—it’s not like he can kiss you.” Beckett gestured towards the disfigured visage of the corpse. “Sorry, that was probably a little insensitive—” he apologized to the corpse as Hayes reached the top of the ladder.
Beckett turned to Kolinsky, wearing that trademark grin that hinted of a shit load of trouble ahead for someone.
“Alright! Let’s go, Rambo! I have a brother to strangle,” he declared, mimicking choking someone by the neck, showcasing his expert skills.
In the dim light of his flashlight, Hayes thought he saw Kolinsky roll his eyes at Beckett.
“Come on. Car’s waiting,” Kolinsky said and headed towards the cemetery entrance.