Get Busy Dying (Roy Ballard Mysteries) Read online

  “Candice,” I said, “he knows he might have a chance on the run if you’re with him. But alone, his chances are zero.”

  “He went down to the border, then came back for me,” Candice said. Still holding out hope. “He could’ve left.”

  “He went down there to throw the cops off,” I said. “He never planned to actually cross. He knew they’d catch him, even with a fake passport. I should’ve realized that myself a long time ago. He has to stay in the States, at least until the search cools down. For that, he needs you.”

  Boz said, “You people are really limiting my options here, you know what I mean?” He was almost laughing from sheer stress and desperation. We’d backed him into a corner. He was starting to crack under the pressure. At that point, I was convinced he would kill us all, if he could, and flee in Candice’s car.

  “I have duct tape in my van,” I said. “You can use that.”

  “Where are your keys?”

  “In my pocket.”

  Boz nodded and made a “give me” motion with his free hand. I tossed him the keys.

  “Candy,” he said. “Go out and get the tape.”

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t move. I could see the turmoil on her face. The indecision.

  “Candy!”

  She was balking. She wasn’t prepared to go on the run with a man who’d killed two people. And I believe she was also frozen with fear. Too paralyzed to even see her way out. Our way out.

  “Go ahead, Candice,” I said, giving her a reassuring nod. “Get the tape. It’ll be all right.”

  And right then, something changed in her eyes. She understood. She walked up beside Boz and took the keys.

  “Where’s the tape?” Boz asked.

  “Glove compartment,” I said.

  Candice walked out of the apartment without a word and closed the door behind her. We waited in silence.

  Thirty seconds passed. A minute.

  I let the clock continue to tick without pointing out the obvious—that Candice wasn’t coming back. It was to our advantage to let as much time transpire as possible. So I tried to distract him—and fill in the last hole.

  “Only thing I can’t figure out,” I said, “is why Erin, or you, or both of you, drove over to Alex’s house on that Thursday night. Did Alex know about your plan?”

  Boz had no reason to answer—or not to answer. “Not at first, no. He didn’t know a thing. Don’t you try to screw him over on this.”

  “I won’t,” I said. “Sounds like he wasn’t involved.”

  “I went over there to ask for money. He didn’t even believe it was me at first. Then he said to turn myself in and he’d hire a lawyer for me. But he wouldn’t give me any money. Some best friend.”

  “So he—”

  “Shut up,” Boz said. He finally seemed to understand what was happening with Candice. He said, “Both of you—get over there.” He wanted us to move away from the windows so he could take a look and confirm his suspicions. We both willingly complied, moving to our right along the wall.

  “She’s called 9-1-1 by now,” I said. “The cops are on their way.”

  I hoped that was true. I hoped Candice had actually made the call, rather than simply taking off to save her own hide. And I hoped there had been a patrol unit so close that the officer was already pulling into the apartment complex. I hoped all of those things, right at that moment, because I didn’t yet know that it wouldn’t matter if a cop was outside or not. Everything would be settled within these four walls. Quickly. Violently. In a manner I wouldn’t have expected.

  Boz Gentry was trying to step toward the windows while keeping an eye on us. Moving laterally.

  And he tripped over the cat.

  It happened so quickly—and it looked so comical—that I almost didn’t have time to react. Boz Gentry tried desperately to stay on his feet, but Sadie had wrapped herself around one of his ankles like some sort of feline ankle weight.

  It became apparent that Boz was going to take a tumble, and he did what most people would do in that situation. He let go of the gun so he could use both hands to break his fall. Or maybe he had the presence of mind to release the gun so he wouldn’t accidentally pull the trigger and execute himself. He hit the carpet and the gun bounced a few feet in front of him.

  In situations like this, you don’t have time to weigh the pros and cons of various courses of action. You spontaneously react. And in this case, Mia and I did the same thing, at the same time. We both hurled ourselves at Boz Gentry and landed on him as he was still on his knees. Our combined weight on his back knocked him flat, and I heard him grunt from the force of the impact.

  But he was still reaching for the revolver with his right hand. I grabbed his arm in an attempt to slow him down, but I was using my injured hand, and it was too weak to get a solid grip. Gentry was lean and strong—and fueled by massive amounts of adrenaline. His fingertips brushed the butt of the revolver, and he stretched further, managing to wrap his hand around it. I couldn’t let him swing the gun around in this direction.

  I was so focused on the gun, I had no idea what Mia was doing—until Gentry let out a piercing shriek and let the revolver go. Mia had just dug her fingernails into one of Gentry’s eye sockets. He began twisting his head from side to side in an attempt to shake free.

  Mia continued her assault, and in the meantime, I managed to snake my left arm—my good arm—around Gentry’s throat. I began to squeeze as hard as I could. Was I breaking delicate bones? Crushing his windpipe? I didn’t care. Gentry was kicking and flailing, using every last ounce of energy, while making some unsettling guttural grunts and moans.

  And then, as if someone had flicked a switch, he went limp. Totally out cold. Mia quickly sprung to her feet and grabbed the revolver. We were both gasping for air.

  “You okay?” she said.

  “Yeah. You?”

  She nodded her head at Gentry. “You’re going to kill him.” I hadn’t relaxed my grip, and it was tempting to keep it that way until the son of a bitch turned blue.

  “Roy,” Mia said. “Come on.”

  I relaxed my headlock just enough to let him breathe, but I wasn’t going to completely let go until the cops arrived.

  I looked around for the cat, but she was nowhere to be seen. I made a mental note to buy her about ten pounds of fresh salmon.

  44

  I got to the airport an hour early, simply because not being there when her plane arrived would’ve left an impression on her that I could have never erased. I figured I already had enough work ahead of me on that front. I was the father who had allowed her to be abducted, and that was a hurdle I might not ever be able to overcome completely.

  I would have liked to have met her right as she exited the gate, but security regulations prohibit that nowadays, so we’d agreed to meet at the baggage carousel, downstairs. I found an out-of-the-way seat and waited.

  Forty minutes.

  My right hand ached. My arms were sore. My back was stiff. I hadn’t realized until this morning how much of a physical struggle it had taken to subdue Boz Gentry.

  The police—Austin cops, not Travis County deputies, since we’d been inside the city limits—had arrived at Candice’s apartment in about four minutes. That’s when the tedium began: Going down to the station to tell the entire story over and over to an APD detective. I’d given her everything, but, of course, they always want to make sure every last detail is nailed down. They want to make sure a witness’s story matches up every time he tells it. I told her to call Ruelas at TCSO. Call Victor Dunn at Hays County. Call the Lee County Sheriff. But she kept asking questions. Finally, at two in the morning, I’d had to say sorry, but I’m done. It’s time for me to go home and sleep, because I have a big day tomorrow. We’ll have to pick this up another time. Mia was in another room telling another detective all the same details. When she saw me in the hallway, she called it quits, too.

  Thirty minutes.

  When I’d woken up, Heidi h
ad sent a short and sweet text.

  Well done, Roy. Enjoy every minute with your daughter.

  About a dozen journalists and reporters had left voicemails. I knew some of them pretty well, but I didn’t return any of their calls. No way. Not right now.

  Twenty minutes.

  I fidgeted and watched people grab luggage from a flight that had arrived from Atlanta.

  Then, over the noise of hundreds of travelers passing to and fro, I heard my phone ring. It was Ruelas. Tempting to let it go to voicemail, but I answered.

  “I have just a few minutes to talk,” I said.

  “They just grabbed Candice Klein in Dallas,” he said.

  I wasn’t even sure how to feel about that. Part of me didn’t even care. Part of me wanted Candice to get away. And still another part wanted her to serve serious time for the arson at Mia’s house.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “I’ll tell Mia.” I didn’t ask any questions. The details of Candice’s capture could wait.

  “Jeez, where the hell are you?” he said, because of the background noise.

  “Picking someone up at the airport,” I said. He didn’t need to know the particulars.

  “Yeah, okay, anyway,” he said. “Just wanted you to know about Candice. And good job with all that.”

  Good job with all that?

  Was this really Ruelas? Was he actually doling out some praise? I expected to look out a window and see a pig taxiing on the runway.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “And I met that dog, Blackie,” he said. “You were right. He likes to chase squirrels.”

  There was a tone to his voice, acknowledging what my strange phone call to him had meant a few days ago. I had beaten him to the evidence. He knew that. But he didn’t sound bitter. He actually sounded amused.

  Ten minutes.

  “Listen,” I said, “my daughter’s plane is going to arrive in just a few minutes...”

  “Your daughter?”

  He knew all about my daughter, and what had happened to her years ago. He was a cop. Of course he knew.

  “Yeah, she’s visiting for a month.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you then,” he said.

  Then I surprised myself by saying, “Maybe you’ll get a chance to meet her.” Really? Had I just said that?

  “That’d be cool,” Ruelas said. “Give me a call sometime.”

  And he hung up. I sat there, stunned, wondering what had just happened. While I was holding my phone, it rang again—the Commodores singing “Brick House.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey, back,” Mia said. “Have you heard?”

  “About Candice Klein? Yeah, Ruelas just called.”

  “It’s already on the news. Figured you’d want to know. You at the airport?”

  “Yep.”

  “How you feeling?” she said.

  “Possibly the most nervous I’ve ever been.”

  “Understandable. But, Roy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I give you some unsolicited advice?”

  “Of course you can.”

  Five minutes.

  “It’s time to focus on the future, not the past,” Mia said. “You’ve atoned for your mistake, and then some. Many times over. You can’t let it follow you around forever. You are one of the finest men I know, Roy. I hope you know that. You have to forgive yourself, and if you do, I promise that Hannah will forgive you, too. Make it a clean slate, Roy, starting right now. You deserve that.”

  I didn’t want to, but damn it, I was starting to cry. What kind of tough guy sits in an airport and cries? Mia knew what was happening, so she simply waited. I realized right then that I was going to tell her very soon how I felt about her. Not right now, on the phone, but in person. No more waiting.

  “Thank you, Mia,” I said. “I hope you know how much that means to me.”

  “You bet. See you tomorrow night?”

  We’d planned dinner, so Hannah and Mia could meet.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “See you then.”

  We hung up.

  Two minutes later, Hannah’s flight touched down.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ben Rehder lives with his wife near Austin, Texas, where he was born and raised. His novels have made best-of-the-year lists in Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, Kirkus Reviews, and Field & Stream. Buck Fever was nominated for the Edgar Award. For more information, visit www.benrehder.com.

  OTHER NOVELS BY BEN REHDER

  Buck Fever

  Bone Dry

  Flat Crazy

  Guilt Trip

  Gun Shy

  Holy Moly

  The Chicken Hanger

  The Driving Lesson

  Gone The Next

  Hog Heaven

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  About the Author

  Titles by Ben Rehder