“I wasn’t.” She stuck the CB back inside the car, leaned close to her husband. “You shouldn’t hassle somebody like Masterson, honey. We’ll get our due, don’t worry.”
“Damn asshole thinks he knows everything,” the man muttered, his eyes glued to the binocs.
North of the central city a blue and white van sat parked in the shopping center lot. Inside, the man named Masterson put down a CB speaker and dialed a number on the van telephone. The phone rang a long time but he didn’t hang up. It was early in the morning.
Finally there was an acknowledging click at the other end. “Benjamin Huddy?”
“Yeah. That you again, Masterson?”
“It’s me. We’ve found him again.”
“So soon? Well, that’s something. I thought when you’d blown it at the motel we’d have to start scouring bus stations again.”
Masteron ignored the criticism. “He’s standing outside, trying to get a lift. I don’t know where he was hiding when we searched the motel, but that doesn’t matter now. Point is we’ve got him under surveillance.” He glanced at his watch. “My people are moving in right now. We’ll have him in ten minutes.” He hesitated. “I don’t think I told you about the trouble we had at the motel. You ought to know, I guess.”
“All you told me earlier was that you’d busted into his room and he wasn’t there. What kind of trouble?”
“A couple of my people got overanxious. They didn’t use good judgment. They were nervous anyway, you know. All the stories about this guy that have been making the rounds. Anyway, we’ve got a couple of dead bystanders on our hands and—”
“Dead!” Huddy’s exasperation exceeded his anger. “What do you mean, dead? Christ, you damn Texans!”
“Take it easy, Mr. Huddy. What do you want from my people, anyway? You’re such a smart guy, how come you didn’t pick this old codger up days ago?”
“We had our own problems. Alright, skip it. What are you doing aboutit?”
“I’ve handled this sort of thing before. There won’t be any complications, Mr. Huddy. The cops won’t show up until the maids start cleaning those rooms. Maybe not until this afternoon. My people lifted the valuables; you know, rings, wallets, stuff like that.”
“I’m sure that was a lot of trouble for them,” Huddy said sarcastically.
“It’ll look just like a bungled robbery to the cops,” Masterson assured him. “There’ll be no reason to connect it to anything else, least of all the Company, so quit worrying about it, okay?”
“Sure. All I’m worrying about right now is the old man. How do you plan to pick him up?”
“I have two of my best people moving in. They have the tranquilizer rifle assigned to my group. They’re going to stop for gas at the station where he’s standing and plug him from the car. Maybe one witness, my people tell me. We can handle that.”
“I hope so.”
Masterson hesitated. “Look, I’ve heard the stories, Mr. Huddy. The whole thing sounds crazy to me. Are you sure all this is necessary? The tranquilizer rifle and all, I mean? Why don’t I just have a couple of guys sneak up behind him and bop him one? He’s just an old man.”
“That old man,” Huddy explained dryly, “is probably the most dangerous individual in the country, all the more so because he doesn’t know it himself. You do the pick-up the way you were instructed.”
“If you insist, Mr. Huddy. But I still think we’re doing this the hard way.”
“Humor me.” Huddy hung up.
Masterson put the phone back in its cradle and shook his head slowly. Craziest business he’d ever been in on. All this effort expended to apprehend one tired old man. People covering the whole city. Hell, the whole state. Still, his was not to reason why. Only to collect.
The CB buzzed and he lifted the speaker.
“Stroud here. Come back, Masterson.”
“What’s doing, Stroud?” A check of his watch showed the time: four in the morning. The men with the t-gun should be driving into the station any minute now.
“Trouble. Looks like the old boy’s got a lift.” Stroud balanced himself on the car hood, holding the binoculars in one hand and the CB unit in the other. “Yeah, they’re driving off. Seventy-four Ford pickup, maybe seventy-five. License number six six seven DRF. Bright blue with red, black and yellow stripes. Four spots on the cab.”
“Damn,” Masterson muttered. Well, they’d just have to adjust. He spoke louder. “Red, black and yellow stripes on a blue Ford pickup, check. That’ll be hard to miss.” He thought of the unlucky couple who’d shared the old man’s room. He didn’t want any more trouble like that. Messy. “Who’s with him?”
“Looks like a kid,” Stroud reported. “Junior college age. Naw, come to think of it he didn’t look like the type. Almost out of my range now. Still on First, heading east.” His wife was waiting behind the wheel of their car, fingers on the ignition key. “Want us to follow ’em?”
“Yeah. Stay close but don’t press them,” Masterson ordered. “Keep them in sight. Masterson out.”
Stroud piled into the car. His wife nodded, said brusquely, “I heard,” and started the engine. They pulled out onto the nearly deserted street.
Masterson sat thinking for a moment, then touched controls before addressing himself once again to the CB.
“Central here. Outlook four, six and nine, subject is now traveling eastbound on First Street in a late model Ford pickup; blue with red, black and yellow striping, multiple spotlights on the cab. License number six six seven DRF. Young man driving. Set up your position on First in advance of the interstate on-ramp. The kid’s probably heading home after a fast night in town. Maybe we’ll be lucky and he’s too bombed to see much. Unit six, you’ve got plenty of time to set up on the bridge. Put the kid out too if you have a clean shot. I’ll be there in a few minutes myself.”
He replaced the pickup in its holder and hurried forward. The van engine turned over with a satisfying roar and he gunned it, laying rubber as he headed southeast. He might get there in time to witness the actual pick-up and he might not. A lot depended on how fast the kid was traveling. He still had to pass through the traffic circle. There was usually a cop sitting there, watching for people to run the stop signs on their way out of town. That should slow him down a little.
Just outside Abilene’s eastern flank lay a large industrial area spotted with treed empty lots. It would be a good place to pick up the old man, Masterson knew. Not much traffic of any kind out there this time of morning. It would be neat and quick. He’d be glad to be done with it. Other business was going unmonitored while he was forced to fool around with this old man.
As he sped down the feeder road he wondered what all the fuss was about in the first place.
XIV
“I still don’t understand, mister.” The kid let both hands hang loosely from the top of the wheel. “What’re you doin’ out here the middle of the night? You don’t look like no wino. If you had, I wouldn’t have picked you up.”
“I don’t drink much, son.”
