Deadline(133)

                     25


            VIRGIL, JENKINS, and Shrake rendezvoused at Johnson Johnson’s cabin, decided that shotguns-only would be appropriate, along with body armor. “I’m thinking of inventing the world’s first office camo,” Jenkins said, as he dug his Kevlar vest out of a duffel bag. “I bet half of all shoot-outs are inside buildings—why would you want the shooter to mistake you for an oak tree? Have to be a dumb shooter. With my camo, you’d look like a file cabinet, or maybe a water cooler.”

            “The way you dress now, they’d mistake you for a trash can,” Shrake said. “I’m not sure a file cabinet would be a big enough change to be worthwhile.”

            “You’re already jealous of my incipient riches,” Jenkins said.

            “My biggest fear is getting shot in the ass,” Virgil said. “He’s got to make some kind of move before we can take him. If I’ve gotta climb that ladder before he tries to jump me, he’ll be shooting up at me, not straight at me. And the armor doesn’t fit that well around my ass.”

            “That could be Jenkins’s second product,” Shrake said. “Ass armor.”

            “I gotta be honest, I don’t think he’s gonna fall for anything at all,” Jenkins said. “We tried to ambush Kerns, and he never showed up. Now we try to ambush Laughton . . . I’d be surprised if he shows up.”

            “If he doesn’t, he’s given up,” Virgil said. “If he thinks I’m going to get a recording of the school board meeting, he’s either got to show up, or concede the fact that he’s going to prison for murder. There has to be something serious on that memory card or Kerns wouldn’t have murdered Will Bacon to get it.”

            “But there isn’t a second memory card,” Shrake said. “There was only one.”

            “But there are two slots. Whoever killed Kerns got one card—but can’t take the chance that there really is a second one. He can’t know that there isn’t a second one.”

            “Maybe. I guess we’ll see.”

            It was just getting dark when they started over to the school in Virgil’s truck. On the way, Shrake said that Jenkins’s talk of making his fortune with office camo reminded him of a rumor going around BCA headquarters. According to the rumor, a BCA team had been digging out financial information about a defunct investment company in St. Paul. Virgil knew about the criminal part of the investigation, because it had been handled by Lucas Davenport, his boss.

            “The question was, did a bunch of other people take out money before the collapse, because they’d been tipped off by the owner that trouble was coming?” Shrake said. “And if so, should that money be reclaimed?”

            “That’s the kind of shit that puts me asleep,” Jenkins said.

            “Me, too,” Shrake said. “But that’s not what the rumor was about. Supposedly this team was looking at all these income tax returns, and somebody decided to take just a wee peek at Davenport’s returns.”

            Virgil said, “Uh-oh. If they did that, and anybody official found out, they’d be fired.”

            “Probably,” Shrake agreed. “But the rumor is, they took a peek, and as close as they can figure it, he’s worth something between thirty-five and forty-five million. Can you believe that?”

            Virgil thought it over for a few seconds and finally said, “I honestly have no idea. I know he’s richer than Jesus Christ and all the Apostles. I know that two weeks ago, when he flew down to El Paso after Del got shot, he wrote a check for the plane he borrowed from the governor. I know he buys what he wants, he has expensive cars . . . but I don’t know a number. You could do all that if you had a half-million in the bank.”