Dirty (38 page)

“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshiter, Mr. Fraley.
 
You and your brother know everything that goes on in Houston.”

He analyzed me again with those strangely colored eyes, then he said, “The only thing I know is that I was hired to off you by Peter Reagan.
 
You tell anybody that and I will kill you.”

Reagan?
 
One of the suspects who was gunned down on the courthouse steps.
 
That made sense since that would certainly have put the right kind of pressure on my father to dismiss the case.
 
From what I’d seen of HPD’s case file, the judge definitely had grounds.
 
Lack of evidence would certainly have been justifiable.
 
Why hadn’t he thrown it out?

“You didn’t know any of the other players?”

“I knew things weren’t what they seemed, but not much else.”

Bob’s words echoed in my head.
 
An illusion
.

“I wouldn’t have known Rayburn was DEA if your father hadn’t told me.”

“What happened to Rayburn?”

Luther didn’t respond immediately.
 
I couldn’t tell if he was trying to decide what to say or had gotten lost in the past.

“I promised your father I would protect you and Rayburn.
 
Lucky for me the two of you ended up together in a motel.”

Luck had nothing to do with it.
 
Rayburn had sought me out.
 
I knew that now.
 
Had he told my father his plan?
 
Why had my father left Hank out of the loop on that part?
 
That slight only made Hank look guiltier.
 
The pathetic job he’d done in his capacity as lead investigator nudged at me but I refused to give the nag any extra credence.

“I stood guard all night, but when Rayburn came out alone the next morning I got distracted worrying about where you were.
 
I called the room and you answered so I hung up.
 
The next thing I saw was two men overtake Rayburn in the parking lot.
 
I wasn’t close enough or prepared to intervene without drawing attention.
 
They shoved him into a car and drove away.”

I sat on the very edge of my seat waiting for his next words, which oddly grew more grammatically correct the longer we talked.

“I called your father and told him your location and that I was out of it.
 
We never spoke again.
 
I figured he would come to the motel and see after you.”

Jesus, he was right.
 
That morning, finding myself alone, I’d called a cab to take me back to the bar for my car and I ran into my father at the coffee shop right next door to the motel.
 
He’d been waiting for me to come out of the room.
 
I just hadn’t known it then.
 
He’d claimed he had a breakfast meeting with some attorney about an upcoming case.

“Who were the two men you saw?”
 
Obviously they hadn’t known I was with Rayburn or I might have been whisked away as well.
 
Or maybe they didn’t care about me.
 
But I had to know what happened to Rayburn.
 
Dawson had to know.

Luther rubbed his palms against his denim clad legs.
 
“I followed the car.
 
They drove for about an hour and then they got out.
 
They’d already killed Rayburn.
 
Nothing I could do about that.”

Shock wobbled through me, shook me hard.
 
I’d known he was dead...or at least assumed he was, but to hear it...to know for certain.

My reaction apparently expanded Luther’s agitation, he lunged to his feet.
 
“Just get out,” he growled.
 
“I’ve said too much!”

“Wait!”
 
I kept my seat, didn’t make any sudden moves.
 
“Who were the men who killed him?”
 
I needed to know.

“I told you to get out.

“Please, Luther,” I urged, “I need the truth.”

For several trauma filled moments I wasn’t sure he would answer me, but then he said, “I watched’em dump Rayburn’s body in the bayou.
 
The longer I watched the madder I got.”
 
He banged on his chest.
 
“This was my territory.
 
They had no right here.”

Comprehension dawned.
 
“What did you do, Luther?”

“I blowed their fucking brains out.”

I blinked, told myself not to be startled, or at least not to let him see it.
 
“Then what happened.”
 
I steeled myself, uncertain what would ensue if he told me.

He shook his head.
 
Forked his fingers through his greasy hair.
 
“I lost it.
 
I shot’em over and over.”
 
His lips twisted in derision.
 
“Then I checked their ID.
 
I had to know where they’d come from, maybe figure out who sent them.”
 
His gaze bored back into mine and I knew whatever came next was even more damaging news.
 
“They were feds. DEA.”

His words echoed through me but my brain couldn’t wrap around what they meant.
 
“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” he screamed.
 
He started walking in circles.
 
“They were interlopers.
 
Horning in on my territory.”
 
He glared down at me.
 
“I had a right.”

I nodded quickly.
 
“Of course you did.”

“I couldn’t tell anybody.
 
Shit, I wasn’t crazy.”
 
His marching became more frantic.
 
“Then the next morning Reagan and Masters were gunned down.
 
Since Reagan was the one who hired me, I reckoned if anyone found out what I’d seen I’d be next.”

“So you went into seclusion.
 
Faked a nervous breakdown.”

He nodded and dropped back onto the box.
 
His fingers twitched and curled with an incessant tic.
 
“There was nothing I could do.”

But it was different now.

“There’s something you can do now, Luther.”

His eyes met mine and I realized that he’d just given me information that could land him in the express lane for old Sparky.
 
He knew that too.

“What the fuck does it matter now?”

“It matters to me.”

He said nothing, just stared at me.

“I swear on my father’s memory that no one will ever know about this conversation, but I need one more piece of information.”

His manic expression lapsed into one of wary curiosity.
 
“What do you want to know?”

“Where did those assholes dump Warren Rayburn’s body?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I sat in the truck for several minutes after parting company with Luther.
 
A war was taking place inside me.
 
Go to Dawson and tell him what I’d learned or go after the only other known variable in this equation.

Brooks.

Damn him.
 
He had to be the one.
 
The other alternative, my uncle, was unacceptable.

In order to clear Rayburn’s name and my uncle’s I needed specifics.
 
Details.
 
Names.
 
The whole story.

I started the truck and headed back to civilization.
 
No offense to Luther, but he seriously needed to reconsider his digs.
 
This was no way for a former hitman to live.

But then, I guess it beat the hell out of prison.

I was still on what I considered back roads when I noticed a dark sedan on my tail.

“Well, well,” I muttered.
 
Looks like my shadow is back.

I didn’t recognize the car, which, considering the nondescript make and color, was the whole point.
 
But I knew who would be behind the wheel.

Just to be sure I made an abrupt right on a dead end road.

The sedan followed.

Had to be Brooks.
 
There was only one way to find out.

I slammed on my brakes.

Gravel cracked and flew as tires slid.

The seatbelt held me firmly in place when the sedan smacked my rear bumper.
 
Not a big impact, but enough to leave a mark on the other vehicle, startle the driver and to deploy the airbags.
 
Dawson’s truck had one of those big old step-up bumpers.
 
It would take a helluva lot more than that puny car to scratch it.

I reached for Shorty and was out of the truck in five seconds flat.
 
I crouched low enough to keep my cover and swiftly made my way to the rear of the vehicle.
 
With the element of surprise I had the upper hand; I wanted to keep it that way.

The driver’s side door flew open and I braced to fire.

“What the hell are you trying to do, Mercer?”
 

Yep.
 
It was Brooks.

I relaxed my fire ready stance, but didn’t lower my weapon.
 
“I could ask you the same thing?”
 
But then what was the point, I knew he was following me.

He slapped at the deflated airbag that tried to cling to his lap as he scrambled out of the car.
 
I glanced at the front end of his sedan and winced.

“Damn, Brooks,” I said, “that left a mark.”

Having regained his wits he stormed up to me, delayed fury radiating from every square inch of him.
 
I shoved the .38 in his face just in case he decided to get pissy.

He looked at it then at me.
 
“You do realize you’re aiming that thing at a Federal agent?”

“Yeah, but you know,” I shook my head slowly from side to side, “I’m beginning to think that in your case, FBI should stand for Fucking Bumbling Idiot.”

His face turned beet red.
 
Not a good look with the mint green tie.

A muscle in one square jaw flexed.
 
“What were you doing at Luther Fraley’s?”

I didn’t lower my weapon. “What’re you doing following me?”

“Probably the same thing your boy was doing following
me
.”

I wondered about Dawson.
 
“How’d you lose him?” I asked bluntly.
 
As good as Dawson probably was I supposed that Brooks did have the advantage of familiarity with the territory on his side.
 

His gaze narrowed.
 
“I thought I was following you in your Jeep.
 
Let’s just say we had a little run-in.”

I glanced back at the front end of the sedan.
 
Shit.
 
“Did he pull this same maneuver on you?”
 
Now that I thought about it that little fender bender we’d just had couldn’t have done all that damage.

“And you want to know where it got him?” Brooks demanded.
 
“He’s cooling his heels downtown.”

“Shit, Brooks, did you have to have him arrested?”
 
Just then I noticed that there was a red mark on his left cheek and, I squinted, maybe it was even a little swollen.
 
I probably didn’t see that before because his face was so red.
 
“Did Dawson slug you?”

Okay, this was getting a little surreal.
 
Plus I couldn’t help wondering how much damage Dawson had done to my Jeep and whether or not my insurance would pay.

Brooks’ nostrils flared angrily.
 
“You don’t get it, Mercer.
 
I’m
not
the bad guy.”

I shrugged, noticed that he avoided my question about the slugging.
 
“Maybe you’re not the bad guy,” I fired back, “but I gotta be sure.
 
You were involved with Disposable.
 
Appear to be eyeball deep in it now.”

The effort it took to control his temper was visible.
 
And if it hadn’t been I still knew he was pissed off because his face had gone all red again.
 
I’d heard once that when a man gets aroused and all the blood rushes from his head that it takes the brain cells with it, I wondered vaguely just now if the opposite were true.

“This is my case, Mercer.
 
I’ve been watching you since Dawson arrived in Houston.
 
I knew who he was when he got here.
 
I just needed to find out what his intentions were.”

I set aside the question as to the current location of Brooks’ brain cells and the concept that Dawson was in jail and let my full attention swing back to the case as my suspicions stood up and took notice.
 
“Is that supposed to make you look less guilty, Brooks?”
 
This was my damned case.
 
Brooks was the suspect, certainly not me or Dawson.
 
But something felt...off.
 
Way off.
 
This encounter wasn’t what I had expected out of someone who had something to hide.
 

“I’ve waited ten years for the right leverage to get HPD for what they did,” Brooks said crossly.
 
“Don’t think I’m going to let your interference stop me.
 
Your boy Dawson woke up sleeping dogs.
 
I’m taking it from there.
 
I was glad to let the two of you stir the pot, but I can’t let you blow this.”

Whoa!
 
I laughed outright.
 
“You’re trying to nail this on HPD when the Feds are the ones who bungled it in the first place?”
 
Oh, this guy was good.
 
Almost had me believing he was completely innocent.