Page 150 of The Fourth Option
“He couldn’t possibly know who we are.”
“We have underestimated this guy from the start.”
“You let me worry about that. What’s happening at Dorado?”
“Replacements from down south are coming up to replenish the losses along with a team of hitters to deal with our lone assassin.”
“Just what we need in this city, more assassins. What about the bodies from Dorado?”
“I cleaned it up with some help from our friends. The Salvadorans went the way of the swamp. No one will miss them. Babineaux is with them, but as far as anyone knows he’s lost at sea, out on his boat in the Gulf.”
Gormley was a master at manipulating a crime scene. “How’d you pull that off?”
“He had an advanced nav system. After taking it downriver, I programmed a course all the way to Trinidad, though it won’t make it that far.”
“Coast Guard might pick it up.”
“They might find the boat, but not Babineaux. Pirates, you know. Hell, that thing might be in Mexico by now.”
“Okay,” Bates said, exhaling. “Four fucking dead at Dorado. Shit, the press would have a field day with that, especially after the Garden and Ninth murders. You sure it’s the same guy?”
“It has to be. He’s getting closer, Corn. You should contact the Afghan.”
“We don’t talk about him within these walls.”
“He’s got fucking skills, you told me he does. I’ll pay. I don’t give a shit. Chris Walker needs to die.”
“Hey, calm down. He’s gotten as close as he’s going to. And we still don’t know for sure if Dupuis is dead.”
“He’s fucking dead, Corn. He didn’t drive himself into the damn river. And there’s something else.” The sweat was beading up on Gromley’s temples and upper lip.
“What?”
“Dupuis had that truck outfitted as a rolling arsenal. He showed me some tricked-out AR and a new pistol. Our mystery man has got to be in possession of them now.”
“Shit. Just stay cool and keep your head on a swivel.”
“You do the same, and promise me, the next time we find him we don’t set up surveillance; no tails, no arrest. There is something aboutthis guy that’s not adding up. He’s a fucking ghost or an avenging angel or some shit. He’s not right.”
Bates had never seen his lead detective so agitated.
“He’s not a ghost, Hound. He’s a man. He bleeds, you said so yourself. His vehicle is gone. He’s just got the clothes on his back. The footprints indicate he doesn’t even have fucking shoes. We’ll find him, and when we do, he’s a dead man.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE AMC EAGLErumbled through the late-afternoon traffic on I-10, its engine a low growl beneath the hood. A canvas satchel filled with Alexandre’s old tools was in the seat next to Walker. It held pliers, wire cutters, the soldering iron, and a roll of duct tape so old it had yellowed at the edges. He thought of his conversation with Gloria, out of earshot from Belle, when she had insisted that he take the car.
“I have not seen Belle this alive in a long time. I love her but I worry about her and now I worry about you too. I know that Connor and his mother were both killed and that she wants to know why. I wish she would stop but I know she won’t. It’s not our way. When you get as old as I am you can sense things, and I can tell you are hurt. So is Belle. You take care of each other.”
“I won’t let anything happen to her.”
“I know.”
Was that another promise he would not be able to keep?
Belle wanted to go with him, but he would not hear of it. It would have been safer for him if he had given her a shopping list, but some of the items he needed were extremely specific. He told her she could help by taking care of Paladin. The dog was not getting any worse, but now preferred to stay in the guest room. Walker asked Belle to take Paladin to the vet and had left her three thousand dollars from Dupuis’s truck to cover the expense. He hated to leave Paladin behind, but the dog needed rest and Walker had a mission to complete.
The Home Depot parking lot was half-empty when he arrived. It was thirty minutes before closing. Inside, the aisles were quiet. A few last-minute shoppers wandered the rows, grabbing light bulbs and paint rollers. Walker moved with purpose, his ill-sized flip-flops slapping against the concrete floor. Alexandre had small feet and his shoes didn’t fit. Walker would take care of that at his next stop.
