Cut to the Bone(27)
“At three in the morning?”
“It’s that damn snitch,” he said, not looking at her. “He keeps nutty hours.”
Her eyes narrowed as she rubbed her still-sore ear. “What’s really going on, Marty?”
“Nothing,” he said. “This guy’s causing trouble I don’t want to deal with right now.”
“Really? That’s all? You’re not in trouble or anything?”
He waited too long to reply.
Her lungs started burning from not breathing.
“I have to go do this,” Marty said, heading back to the door. “Soon as I’m done I’ll come to the station. Shouldn’t be long. You go on ahead.”
She shrugged, not knowing what else to say. She got in her car and started the engine. He went inside the house.
She waited a minute, then crept to the door. Opened it silently. Padded on tiptoes till she heard him talking in the kitchen.
“You know I’ll do it, Alice,” he was saying. “I’ll find a way. And yes, it’ll be soon. But Emily deserves to know. I just haven’t found a way to tell her yet . . .”
She couldn’t listen any longer.
Tears falling, she retreated the way she came and headed for the station.
10:10 a.m.
“Hiya, Rev!” the passing driver shouted, squinting at the glare off the church bus. “Need any help washing that road hog of yours? I can swing by home and grab the kids.”
“Nah, Chet, I’m good,” the minister said, waving his Windex and rags. “Soon as I finish the mirrors, I’m done.”
Chet gave him a thumbs-up. “Real good luck on your trip. I mean it, Rev. Don’t agree one bit with your position on that electric chair - I say kill ‘em all, let God sort ‘em out. But I do admire your spirit.”
“Thank you, my friend. Be a nice drive if the weather holds.”
“How far is it again to Naperville?”
“Seventeen hundred miles, give or take.”
“Ouch,” Chet said, hamming up a wince. “My fanny hurts just thinking about it.”
The minister smiled. “No sacrifice too great to stop an execution.”
3:07 p.m.
“Last time I tell you to get out of your bunk,” the correctional officer warned, banging the bars with his steel toe, “and read that material the warden sent you.”
“What the hell’s the point?” Corey Trent grunted, running his grime-caked fingers through his butt-length hair. He stunk so bad from not bathing, brushing, or wiping he could hardly stand himself. But it annoyed the screws no end. Reason enough.
“So you’ll know how to be a good, honest citizen when you’re released.”
Trent spat, popped both middle fingers.
The CO laughed. “Fly ‘em while you can. In six days, they’ll be as shriveled as your dick.”
4:17 p.m.
“Thinking about that baby?” Branch said as they studied lab reports. The rest of the task force was in the field, searching for clues.
Marty nodded.
“You’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what I said,” Branch said. “You’re all right.”
Marty worked awhile longer.
Then looked up.
“She called me,” he said. “While we were at Marko’s house.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Was Emily . . .”
“Right next to me. I told her it was a snitch.”
“She buy it?”
“What do you think?”
Branch winced.
8:55 p.m.
“Off the ears, please,” the Executioner said. “Taper the back. Leave as much as you can on top.” He patted his thick-locked scalp, winked. “The ladies like it that way.”
“They sure do,” the barber said, jawing his Juicy Fruit. He swiveled the worn Koken barber chair toward the TV, got busy with scissors and comb. A ball game glared from the screen. Rap music blared from the speakers. The air conditioner over the door rattled and coughed, but iced the room well. “You’re not from Holbrook, are you?”
“Just passing through,” the Executioner said.
“I thought so. Didn’t think I’d seen you around, and you don’t have a tan.”
The Executioner examined the barber’s mahogany arms. “Dead giveaway in Arizona.”
“Gotta burn the elbow that hangs out the window, at least,” the barber agreed. “Are you in town for business or pleasure?”
“The latter. I’m driving to California.”
“On Route 66?”
The Executioner nodded. “I’ve racked up too much vacation time and the boss says use it or lose it. So I decided to get my kicks. Just like the song says.”