Memorial Day: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Novels) (29 page)

"Damn, Mick," he said in a raspy voice. "Yet another satisfied woman?"

"I sure can pick them, can't I?"

"Fuck you, Callahan!" Annie Wynn shrieked. Her features were now contorted and ugly with rage. "You're just a has-been. You'll always be a has-been."

"Get in the car, ma'am," Bass said politely. "And you'd best calm down before you make things worse. You're in a heap of trouble already."

"Let me go, goddamn it!"

"Oh, lady, shut up." He shoved Annie into the back seat of the patrol car. She started crying. Bass slammed the door and locked it. I reached into my pants pocket for some wrinkled dollar bills and gave them to Jerry.

"Kid, I've changed my mind. I don't want the job."

It was a long night. I ended up being questioned four different times by the State Police. Bass had called them; he'd been listening to the show and immediately radioed for help when the trouble started. Racing back towards Dry Wells, he'd finally learned the identity of Manuel, the dead man we'd found in the alley, and also that the deaths of Sandy and Will were both murders. He learned that Lowell Palmer lay dead back at the ranch because I mentioned that fact on the air.

Still, Bass was in hot water for quite a while. The state people were not happy. When he asked me to keep quiet, he'd been trying to avoid alarming Sandy Palmer, who had just begun to open up to him about the existence of a drug ring. He wanted to break a big case all by himself. Things blew up in his face when Sandy died. And old Doc Langdon was just trying to help out a friend.

They found the kid called Mex. He was still alive, and was sentenced to prison for a very long time. He didn't get the needle because only Loner and Bobby Sewell seemed directly implicated in the homicides. One strange thing: Donny Boy and Frisco were not in the gully where I'd left them. How they got away remains a mystery, since they were both injured and on foot, but this is not a perfect world.

I came to believe that what finally sent Loner McDowell over the edge was a combination of amphetamine psychosis, the disappearance of his partner Manuel and the financial disaster that represented, plus exposure to the incest in the Palmer family. Of course, his huge ego needed a way to rationalize killing everyone and keeping the drug money anyway. He could handle Sandy having other lovers, perhaps even carrying a child, but not if it was by her own brother . . . or father. Loner did some hard time, remember. In prison the lowest form of life is the child molester, or "tree jumper." I think he convinced himself he had the right, even the obligation, to kill Lowell Palmer and his son . . . which then conveniently allowed him to take enough cash to get the mob off his back.

I gave Jerry substantial credit with the police. That seemed like the least I could do. My version had him fighting valiantly with Loner and then shoving him back into that fish tank, thus probably saving my life. He heard that story so often he came to believe it. "Hacker" Jerry became a legitimate celebrity in Nevada, something he'd always wanted. He enjoyed the attention he got from the local ladies, and took to showing off his wounds, both real and imaginary, after a beer or two. But he never stopped thinking about our little savior Mary, or wondering why she failed to contact us. She never did, though we were both all over the airwaves and she had Hal's 800 listing. Me, I just figured her for relapsing on drugs, perhaps an overdose. Sad thought, but it happens.

The last I heard, Annie Wynn was remanded into psychiatric custody for an evaluation, but I am convinced she's technically sane. My guess is that she will get several years to life for her part in the death of Sandy Palmer.

The press descended on Dry Wells from as far away as Salt Lake and Reno and stayed for several days. By the time I'd given half a dozen statements and interviews and finished talking to the grand jury, the television opportunity in L.A. was dead and gone. Darin Young now refuses to take my calls, but you know what? I don't give a damn. Ironically, I'm now a celebrity again anyway. There will be other jobs.

I sent the following E-mail to Hal:

Thanks for your help in a messy situation. I guess evil has failed to triumph, at least in this instance, and that is still possible for one man to make a difference. I finally understand that this is what you have been trying to pound into my thick skull for the last couple of years.

Have a wonderful trip, friend, and stay in touch.

Mick

PS. and by the way, I've never had it so good.

Two Months Later