Gone South (A Butterscotch Jones Mystery Book 3) (14 page)

No light had ever been as beautiful as the one shining from Anatoli’s cabin.

“Chuck, we’re here,” I said softly, rousing him from his torpor as we entered
t
he clearing. If I was exhausted,
Chuck
had to be whatever it was that came after exhaustion. A walking coma, maybe. But the sight of the shelter and golden light made Chuck smile and pick up his weary feet so that we travel
ed
at a moderate shuffle instead of a stagger.

I took his hand and managed a smile.

It was over. We were safe.

*  *  *

Jimmy Nine Toes crawled out from a large grove of poison ivy in which he’d been lying in wait.
His clothes were torn and filthy, his left boot
was
missing, his face and hands were battered and bruised, he was waterlogged and freezing, and his grasp on sanity was tenuous.
Though he was physically spent and at his wits
’
end, he forced himself to trudge toward the couple walking up the trail from out of the woods.
He wore a crazed smile on his cracked and bleeding lips and carried a 9mm automatic pistol in his fist.

When the couple recognized him, rather than turn and run, the woman dropped down to a sitting position in the middle of the road in exhaustion while the man bent to place his hands on his knees
,
he was so winded.
Jimmy stopped a few yards away and raised his pistol in his shaky hand.

“Alright, enough of this,” the man said, straightening.
Jimmy realized that he must be the Mountie though he’d never before seen the man up close.
“We know what you want and we’re ready to hand it over.”

Recognizing that he could just as easily wrench what he wanted from the man’s cold dead hand, Jimmy shot him.
The Mountie looked surprised when the bullet hit him in the arm.
Jimmy was surprised too.
He never missed.

The Mountie positioned his hand to cover the wound, but blood poured out around his fingers.
He fell to his knees as the red-haired woman, realizing what happened, jumped to her feet and charged at him. Her face was insane, snarling like an animal, and for a moment Jimmy was shaken.

Jimmy raised his pistol and was taking aim through the
stinging
sweat and rain running into his eyes.
Then his nostrils flared at the scent of something familiar and horrible.
It smelled like wet dog, only ten times worse.
Then he heard the guttural roar that almost blew him off his feet.

“Oh crap,” Jimmy exclaimed, turning to face his nemesis.

*  *  *

I have never, ever wanted to witness a bear attack, especially not on someone ten feet away from me. That day I changed my mind. There was joy in my heart as I heard the roar of the grizzly and saw the thug’s
muddy
face freeze with fear as the bear broke out of the cover of the woods.

Since my usual catlike reflexes had disappeared several hours ago, I stopped my useless charge by having my feet slip out from under me and going splat in slimy mud. The bear could have turned on me, but the weasel-faced jerk screeched and tried to shoot the beast, and she knocked the pistol out of his hand. Actually, it was more like knocking his hand off.

He screamed and went running for the trees, but I didn’t follow to see what happened. The noise was graphic enough.

As soon as the bear gave chase, I crawled back to Chuck. Anatoli was already there. With a shotgun and
—
more importantly
—
with a first aid kit.

“How bad?” I gasped
, seeing the ground around Chuck was far too red
.
Water was diluting the blood, of course, but there was still too much of it.
“Did he hit bone?”

“I put pressure on it.
You hold his head out of water.
Alex
e
i!” Anatoli shouted. “Go to bar. Fetch Doctor Jones!”

“The Bones is here?” I asked, feeling tears of relief begin to leak from my eyes as I scrambled around to Chuck’s head and slid my hands under it, lifting him out of the mud where he had fallen.

The Bones isn’t the best doctor when it comes to diagnosis of subtle illness, but he knew how to treat gunshot wounds.

“Chuck,” I said softly, not really wanting to wake him since he would be in terrible pain, but needing to talk to him anyway. “You hang on now. You just hang on. Doc Jones is here and he’ll fix you right up.”

Cold, bloody water soaked into my pants, but I didn’t care. My clothes were past praying for and cold didn’t matter so long as Chuck lived.
And then, since I didn’t need to be brave for Chuck any more, I went ahead and allowed myself to cry.

Big John whispered to me in Gaelic that the American police were still here
in the pub
. I relayed this to Chuck
and Anatoli as we got out of the Jeep
.
A still rather pale
Chuck
grimaced once
as he adjusted his arm sling,
but instantly straightened, assuming a professional demeanor. It almost compensated for his red and black plaid shirt
and blue and green checked sling
.
Anatoli had sacrificed his ugliest shirts for us.

Chuck would have been happier to do without the plaid badge of honor, but it wasn’t an option. The bullet had nicked the bone and torn through muscle. Because the Bones treated him, there was no official record of a gunshot wound, but Chuck would need a story when he went back to work.

We walked into the pub.
The dim light was comforting after the sunshine outside. I had done a lot of crying and not much sleeping after Chuck was shot
and my eyes were tired
.

To be polite, I waited for
formal
introduction
s
, but I knew who these men were
—
or rather what they were
.
Big John was wrong.
They were much more than
run
-
of
-
the
-
mill city
police.

It was
also
obvious fr
om body language who was in char
ge
. The
head
agent looked grim and was trying for
formal dignity
, though the bright colored clothing
he wore
did a great deal to detract from his air of authority
.
I would have to commend the Braids on finally ridding herself of the
apparel
that the devil
g
oat had slept on. Nice animal
,
but as evil smelling as a wild pig. She had washed the garments repeatedly
in every type of detergent
but the scent refused to fade.

I glanced at the strangers
’
shoes. City footwear. The leader was wearing shoes that were cared for, but worn. The attentive agent to the left had on shoes that were new and polished
though spattered with mud
. The other agent, the one glancing nervously around the room
,
had shoes that
were
worn and not clean.
His posture was also slumped and he looked defeated. I was guessing he wasn’t a good flyer.

It was a snap judgment but I didn’t feel that th
e
agent
in charge
was lik
e the other men in dark glasses who had come to town, m
en untouched by the kinds of scruples
,
or humanity
,
that would get in the way of
doing
a job. That didn’t mean that these guys were pushovers though
, in spite o
f
the pink and orange clothing
.

“I am Agent Desoto of the FBI
. These are agents Dawson and Reese
,” the leader said, confirming my guess about them
.
“
I am investigating an informant’s death. In D
u
luth.
” He paused, considering what to say.
I think Big John, Sasha
,
and
t
he Flowers
standing in line like a Greek chorus
inhibited him.
Or maybe it was Anatoli and Sasha slouching at the bar
and playing with a deck of cards
. Though trying for casual, they
still
looked dangerous.
I was relieved that
t
he
agent
didn’t say anything about the dead man being my father. Of course, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t aware of the connection
, merely that he wasn’t making it
widely
known
.

“
The man who died was helping us collect evidence against a violent crime lord.
The evidence would put this
evil creature
away forever and shut down his organization.
Unfortunately,
our man
died before he could hand it over.
We assume that the opposition didn’t get the evidence either since
Jimmy
Nine Toes and
several of the
goons
crossed the border into Canada
hours after you did
.
”
This time he looked at Chuck. “We were concerned about your well-being
after the break-in
.
Especially if you have this evidence
hidden
somewhere
.
”

I didn’t mention that these
goons
probably wouldn’t be a problem anymore
and Chuck didn’t say anything either
.

The two
agents
stayed silent
as Desoto spoke
,
but one was
still
watching me intently
.
It seemed odd that I was of more interest
to him
than Chuck
was
.
Usually law enforcement prefers to deal with its own
kind
.

“Miss Jones?”
Agent Desoto prompted.

I wondered if it was true that my father was an informant. If so, I was certain that it was only because he needed protection from the violent crime lord and someone had offered him money
and a way out
of whatever trap he’d dug himself into
.

Not that this mattered.
For whatever reason, he had been willing to do the right thing. For a while. Until I came along and he saw a chance out of his trap and to maybe make a buck later. After all, he could have contacted the FBI i
f
he had really wanted to.

I looked at Chuck and waited for his decision. Since this was a problem
that began
in
t
he States, I was inclined to give the damn memory stick to
Desoto
and get them out of
t
he Gulch and out of our lives, but this was his call.
He’d taken a bullet.
If he wanted in
on
this wasp
nest
of an investigation
then he had earned the right to a place at the table.
It was up to him.

Agent Desoto looked me over
while he waited for an answer,
and
unless he was as blind as a mole,
I know what he saw. I had cleaned up at Anatoli’s but I still didn’t look like the kind of person who worked nine to five and had a retirement plan.
The clothes were clean but borrowed and ill
fitting
and plaid
.
My hair, stubborn on the best of days
,
had a more discouraging look than usual
and was acting large
.
Chuck wasn’t exactly dressed for success either
. We were also standing under half a moth-eaten moose
, so unless Desoto was as nonjudgmental as Mother Theresa, he was probably writing
all of
us off as hicks
.
And that suited me fine.
Hicks were of no use to anyone.