Bluetick Revenge (30 page)

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?” Valeska said.

“Yeah, but one of you has to leave the room.”

“Why?” said Valeska.

“I don’t want two people to be able to testify as to what I said. I have to be able to deny I ever said it.”

“I’ll leave,” Livingston said. He left a legal pad on the table but picked his long body up and left me alone with Valeska.

“This concerns the ATF agent, Agent Lowell.”

“Okay.”

“Karlynn told you she heard Mongoose tell Bugg that Skull had done a good job taking care of Lowell.”

“Right.”

“When Bugg gave Mongoose the order to kill Lowell, Mongoose contacted Skull. Skull’s real name is Anders Riddell. Mongoose
had been at Leavenworth with Skull’s older brother, who happens to lead the Aryan Brotherhood there. Bugg never met Skull;
I don’t think you’ll be able to connect them. Mongoose met Skull in Bozeman to discuss the hit and gave Skull two grand, with
the promise of another three grand after the job was done. Skull killed Lowell about a month later. After he did it, he stopped
in Lander to see Mongoose. To prove he had really killed Lowell, he gave Mongoose Lowell’s FBI credentials. I assume that
included a leather wallet, some business cards, and a badge. Mongoose burned those things in a metal can at his locksmith
shop. If you happen to search it, you may find evidence of burning in that can. You might even find microscopic particles
of Lowell’s credentials that you can match to the type of paper and leather used by the Bureau.”

“How do you know this?” she said.

“I live in Nederland. We’re all big believers in psychic phenomena.” She smiled. “I guess that’s it,” I said. “If I think
of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Are you still willing to testify?”

“I’ll testify to most of it. I just want one favor.”

“What’s that?”

“When you arrest Bugg, let me know. I’ll sleep easier. Any idea when you might do it?”

“Soon,” Valeska said. “Very soon.”

I
T WASN’T SOON ENOUGH
. That night, around two in the morning, Buck started barking. Then Wheat started. They know the difference between normal
nighttime noises, such as raccoons crawling through trash cans, and man-made noises. Something wasn’t right.

I looked out my bedroom window and saw two shadowy figures approach my house from the side, with shotguns. Without turning
on any lights, I quietly got dressed and put my shoes on. I closed my bedroom door so the dogs could not get downstairs. Holding
the Glock in one hand, with the Colt tucked in behind my back, I started walking downstairs and looked out the dining room
window only to see two more shadowy figures. There were at least four of them. I knew they were getting closer, because the
motion detectors Scott had installed had automatically turned on the floodlights.

The trick was not to get sandwiched between them. I figured I was in better shape than they were, and if I could get outside,
I could run into the trees and they’d never catch me. But how did I know there weren’t more of them out there? And what about
my dogs?

Glass shattered. The doors from the dining room to the back deck. At least one of them was in the house now. “C’mon, motherfucker,”
I heard him say, “now the tiger will show his true spots.”

I was crouched down in my dining room and saw him come around the corner holding a shotgun. I shot him three times with the
Glock and he fell dead. If a man is worth shooting, he’s worth shooting right. Then more glass shattered from a direction
I hadn’t anticipated. Could there be more than four? I duckwalked over to the dead guy, took his shotgun, and said, “Stripes,
motherfucker. Tigers have stripes.”

That’s when I saw it. Scott had left the machine gun at my house. I didn’t need the dead guy’s shotgun. The 180 shoots from
a flat pan magazine that sits atop it, so it looks as if there were a small Frisbee on top of it. It was loaded. I had 275
rounds and a weapon that could shoot twelve hundred rounds a minute.

Now somebody was trying to get in through the garage. I could go to the concrete basement and try to take them one at a time
as they came downstairs. Or I could take the machine gun, leap off the back deck into the snow, and head for the trees. That’s
what I did.

I made it to the trees without getting shot at. I fired at one with my Glock to let them know I wasn’t in the house. “Shit,”
someone said, “he’s out there.”

I kept still and tried to see what I was up against. There were four of them, all well armed. As soon as they reached a position
where I could fire the 180 without filling my house full of holes, I fired a burst above their heads. I think that’s the point
at which I gained the psychological advantage.

“What the fuck was that?” one of them said.

“I don’t know,” another said, “but it trumps what I’ve got.”

They started retreating. I fired another burst just over their heads. I saw them running through the snow toward the road
and presumably to their vehicle or vehicles.

Just for the hell of it, I emptied the entire magazine.

As I walked back toward my house, still holding the 180,I saw Luther walking toward me. I was too far away to know whether
he was carrying a shotgun or a rifle, but as we both approached the area near my house that was lit by the floodlights, I
could see it was a shotgun.

“Pepper,” he said, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“I see you’ve been rethinking your position on assault weapons.”

I heard sirens in the distance. “It’s a long story,” I said.

“I’m thinking maybe I ought to take that back to my house,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, I didn’t hear any automatic
gunfire. And if I did, it came from the guys you chased off.”

“I didn’t know you knew anything about firearms,” I said.

“Hell, yeah, I was an MP in the army.”

“You were in the army?”

“Surprised you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Nixon gave me no choice.”

I
FELT BAD ABOUT LYING
to Glen, but I had no desire to go to prison for possession of an illegal weapon. He probably would have looked the other
way, but he would have had to let the ATF check the history of the weapon, and I really didn’t want to explain how it had
come into my possession.

Later that day, after I had gotten some sleep, I walked over to Luther’s house. He was smoking a joint and experimenting with
riffs on his guitar. “I owe you big-time,” I said.

“Living next to you is an adventure,” he said.

“Likewise,” I said.

“You want to talk about any of it?”

“Just believe me when I tell you I’m one of the good guys.”

“I never doubted it.”

“Hey, Luther,” I said, “catch.” I tossed him a stack of bills, held together by rubber bands. It totaled ten thousand dollars.

T
HE NEXT
T
UESDAY
I drove down to the Federal Building and signed some affidavits that would help the feds obtain search warrants for Bugg’s
house and plenty of other addresses listed in his address book.

It was Valentine’s Day, so I stopped at a downtown flower shop and made arrangements to have two dozen roses delivered to
Jayne in Beijing. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t afford it.

Since I was downtown, I decided to stop in at Keane, Simms & Mercante. I didn’t recognize the receptionist. It wasn’t the
same one I had seen on recent visits. I introduced myself to her and asked if Matt was available. She asked me to have a seat,
so I did.

Matt walked out into the waiting area a few minutes later, smoking a cigar, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, his sleeves
rolled up. “Long time, no see,” he said as he extended his hand.

I followed him back to his office, closed the door behind me, then took a seat across from him.

“This goes way beyond the attorney-client privilege,” I said. “This is between you, me, and God. Nobody else.”

“Since when do you believe in God?”

“I’ve survived a lot of shit lately. As much as I’d like to think it was due entirely to my intelligence and skill, I think
there might have been some higher power looking out for me.”

Matt and I go way back. I told him everything. “I’m sorry I had to give the two hundred grand back to Bugg,” I said, “but
Scott and I agreed you should get an equal share of the cash we took from Bugg’s eight caches.” I handed him a box that was
wrapped like a birthday present. It was full of cash.

“What about Karlynn?” he said. “Shouldn’t she get some of this?”

“Karlynn took more than the three hundred grand she gave to you,” I said. “I don’t know how much. She might have taken as
much as half a million dollars from Bugg.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No, but Bugg was telling people that’s how much she took, and people in Alaska say she paid cash for everything.”

“How’s she doing?” he said.

“She’s doing well. I think she might surprise us all.”

I worked out with my brother at his gym, then headed home to Nederland. When I got home, I saw Ray’s camper parked in front
of my house. Ray had never just dropped in without being invited. This was a first.

“How y’all doing?” he said when I entered. He had a fire going and was making spaghetti sauce. Prince was on the floor beside
him.

“I’m fine, Ray. What brings you up here?”

“Had me a vision last night,” he said. “The Lord was telling me loud and clear to come up here, that I was going to be needed.”

“A vision?”

“That’s right. I know you don’t believe in all that, and you can make fun of your ole uncle if you want, but when a man has
a vision like that, it’s best not to ignore it.”

“I had a vision last night too,” I said. “I had a vision that I should make some garlic bread to go with that spaghetti.”

We enjoyed dinner and I told Ray about my trip to Alaska. He said one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard him say. He said,
“How’s your mama, son? Does she still have that little Jack Daniel’s terrier?”

T
HE CALL FROM
V
ALESKA
came a few days later, early on a Friday morning. “We hit them this morning,” she said. “Bugg got away.”

“He got away?”

“It didn’t go down well. There was a gunfight. Bugg took off on foot. We’ll catch him.”

“He knows how to survive. Karlynn said he knows these mountains as well as anyone.”

“We’ve requested a chopper with heat detection equipment, and help from local agencies. We’re putting a team together.”

“There was some survivalist guy down south that avoided capture for five years.”

“That’s the exception, not the rule.”

“What about dogs?”

“No teams available right now,” she said. “The sheriff has the only trained bloodhound in Boulder County, and she’s a drug
dog, not a tracking dog.”

“I’ve got a tracking dog,” I said. “A real good one.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Yeah. It’ll take me a few minutes to pack some gear. Are you still at Bugg’s house?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

I hung up the phone and turned to Uncle Ray. “Ray, your vision was right on target. The feds raided Bugg’s house, but he got
away. He’s on his own in the mountains. Think you and Prince are up to it?”

“I reckon Prince is, but I don’t know about your ole uncle. I’m afraid I’m too old to be runnin’ up and down God’s mountains.”

“I don’t know how to handle a tracking dog.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to it with a dog like this,” he said. “Just let him have a sniff of Bugg’s ole underwear or something, give
him some words to get him fired up, then just follow him.”

I quickly stuffed some gear into a backpack, loaded Prince in the truck, and headed to Bugg’s house near Ward. There were
numerous federal agents there. Some were carrying boxes of evidence out of Bugg’s house and the meth lab beside it. I found
Valeska and Livingston talking with some sheriff’s deputies and U.S. Marshals. Valeska and Livingston were not dressed for
a prolonged journey into the mountains. They introduced me to the others.

“What’s the plan?” I said.

“We’re going to send several teams after him,” a sheriff’s lieutenant said. “We’re still putting the teams together, waiting
on some horses and overnight equipment.”

“I’ve got a dog,” I said. “A bluetick coonhound. A champion tracker.”

“You know how to handle him?” the lieutenant asked.

“Oh, sure. Been tracking my whole life.”

“We’re not ready to start yet,” he said. “When we go into these mountains, we want to go in as a team.”

I said, “The longer we wait, the less chance the dog has of finding him.”

“Too dangerous,” he said. “We go as a team.”

“I’m going to need some of Bugg’s clothing for the dog to sniff.”

Valeska said, “There’s plenty of dirty laundry in there. This guy was a pig. Help yourself.”

She accompanied me inside, and in Bugg’s room I found a flannel shirt that was in what appeared to be a pile of dirty clothes.
I picked it up and walked back outside to my truck. I let Prince out of the truck and he followed me back over to Valeska
and the group.

“He’s ready to go,” I said. “Give me a radio and let me get started.”

“No,” the lieutenant said, “I can’t let a civilian go in by himself.”

“I’ll go with him,” Livingston said.

“You guys don’t even have any supplies,” said the lieutenant. “No food, no shelter, no sleeping bags.”

“I’ve got a backpack in my truck that’s ready to go,” I said. “It has everything. If we’re not back tonight, we’ll use my
sleeping bag as a blanket for both of us.”

“There’s some camping gear in Bugg’s house,” Valeska said. “I’ll go see if I can find another backpack and sleeping bag.”

“Get a warm coat, a hat, and some gloves,” I told Livingston.

“I’ve got some in the car,” he said.

He trotted over to the big Ford, then returned wearing a parka that had “FBI” emblazoned on the back of it. He also carried
a semi-automatic rifle.