Read A God in Ruins Page 27


  “I hope not.”

  Hours of midday dragged by, the longest of their lives. A pair of half-eaten pastrami sandwiches died on Dawn’s desk. Quinn was knotted up. He could barely get his teeth unclenched to drink his Coke. Dawn had been staring at the empty monitor. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “We’ve been stiffed,” she said. “It’s four o’clock.”

  “One more half hour,” he mumbled.

  “You’ve been saying that since noon.”

  “Never mind,” Dawn said to herself. “Why argue the point now? The governor had played it skillfully and bravely, but neither skill nor courage was the game. And no one has ever figured out how to stop time.”

  Both of them clicked on as the scramble phone buzzed. Dawn nodded to Quinn. He lifted the receiver.

  “Hello,” Quinn said.

  Dawn put a headset on to listen.

  “Hello,” the other end said. “Who am I speaking to?”

  “Governor Quinn O’Connell, Marine Gunner O’Connell.”

  “Tell me, Governor, who was your commander at the Urbakkan raid?”

  “Major General Jeremiah Duncan.”

  “And he won the Congressional Medal?”

  “Yes, as a fighter pilot in World War Two. He received a posthumous Navy Cross for Urbakkan.”

  “About how tall was Jeremiah Duncan?”

  “He was on the short side, like five eight.”

  “George Appleton here, Governor. Sorry to put you through the quiz. I flew to Atlanta after we spoke to set things up myself. Who is aware of my participation?”

  “Dr. Dawn Mock, chief of the CBI. She’s been involved from the beginning. And Dr. Harry Chin, our Internet specialist.”

  “I’m speaking to you on a secure phone? No tapping?”

  **/”.C *

  Ur course not.

  “And I’m just doing you a favor, and I don’t know what it’s about.”

  “Yes, sir,” Quinn said.

  “All right, here’s your man.”

  “Hoop Hooper,” a voice growled.

  “This is Quinn O’Connell, governor of Colorado.”

  “Yeah, I know who you are.”

  “Good. I’ll cut right to the chase. A semi and eighteen wheeler left the Wisconsin Grand Army two and a half days ago carrying three thousand VEC-44’s and a lot of massacre trimmings. Destination, Denver.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Governor.”

  “We’ve lost the truck in the Denver environs,” Quinn plowed on, “and we may not find it here. But we sure as hell are not letting them out of the state. Roy Sedgewick was going to set up a nest egg for you with the Denver sales. Sedgewick is gone, probably en route to China. Hoop, you’ve got to know that Sedgewick was going to beat you out of a couple hundred grand either way. He fled because everyone’s hot breath was on him.”

  “Well, who in the hell is Hedgehog?”

  Quinn ignored the remark. “Dickie Darling is going to pocket all your hard-earned money.”

  Bingo! Quinn heard Hooper wince.

  “I’m on the fast track, and we’ve got time to make a bust. Where are they going to deliver the guns sold at the convention?”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “You have a forty-year sentence that has been reduced to twenty by your guilty plea. Give me the information, and I’ll do everything in my power to reduce your sentence to ten or twelve. That means, with good behavior you could be out in six.”

  “You should be speaking to my lawyers, Mr. Governor.”

  “No way. I’d have to expose the operation and my associates, and there’s not time to argue with attorneys. It is you and me, Hooper, you and me, us.”

  Hooper ran over the governor’s figures. It meant going in with a forty-year sentence, coming out with six. I have to take his word that Sedgewick has fled, and he sure has his facts right on the VEC’s. “How do I know you’ll deliver?” Hooper asked.

  “You don’t. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “I ain’t never trusted nobody and never will.”

  “Well, today is a real fine day to start.”

  Hooper huffed, grunted, and snarled. The tattoos reading MOTHER COUNTRY GOD on his left arm pulsated. He looked over at George Appleton, who was fixed on him with hatred. Hoop knew hatred when he saw it. Sure did. He knew if he rejected the governor, prison life was going to be brutal.

  “Give me some time to think about it,” Hooper said.

  “Sure, you’ve got thirty seconds and I hang up.”

  “Hold on, Governor. The gun run from Wisconsin to the Denver convention was planned seven months ago, when we were unable to sell them. I’ve been in prison for five months. They sure as hell must have changed the delivery location.”

  “What was the former location?” Quinn snapped back.

  “Friehoff’s Furniture Outlet, somewhere out on West Coster. Can you get me a single cell?”

  “Maybe. Tell me about the truck and the drivers.”

  “They’re crazy, man. Three brothers and a cousin named Jensen. They’ve been running contraband out of the Great Lakes ports for years. On this run their pay will be on delivery.”

  “What are they advertising on the side of their truck, and tell me about their plates.”

  “Governor, I don’t know. They’re probably driving a hot rig they stole recently. On a few runs I know they put up Old Milwaukee beer sheets with magnets. I don’t know.”

  “All right, give me a solid gold name of an exhibitor at the convention who is dealing in the VEC’s.”

  Jesus! Hooper had already exposed the Jensen brothers, and he’d exposed himself. Chuck it in and pray, he told himself.

  “I want to get moved to another facility,” Hooper whispered hoarsely.

  “Why?”

  “I, uh, ran into a number of militia boys and Klan people. All of a sudden I’m organizing them against the niggers, and the niggers are out to get me.”

  “Hoop, it’s not in my power. Let me speak with the deputy director,” Quinn said.

  “Hello, Governor,” George Appleton said.

  “Hoop is about to give us the key piece of information, but he thinks he’s been fingered by the black prisoners. He’d like to be transferred to a facility where he isn’t known and can be isolated.”

  Appleton blew a long whistle. “You’d better pull this off or God save us all. Here’s Hooper.”

  “Well, now,” said Hooper, “I’ve met two guys I don’t trust in the same day.”

  “Let’s have it!” Quinn said abruptly.

  “It’s me or him,” Hoop Hooper thought. “If he was in my place, he’d snitch on me.” “There will be an exhibition table belonging to Chad Murtha. He exhibits plastic, Teflon, titanium handguns, ammo, and clips.”

  Lovely, Quinn thought. Everyman’s weapons to beat the metal detectors!

  Dawn Mock was at her door jotting notes for her assistant: Get a layout and index of the exhibition tables .. . Chad Murtha is the exhibitor .. . Call up Detective Boedecker and draw ten thousand dollars in marked hills, mixed .. . Try Tennessee penal system and drivers license hureau to see if we can hring up a photo of Chad Murtha .. .

  “Okay,” Quinn went on. “Does Murtha’s exhibit have any kind of identification sign or banner?”

  “Yeah, the back banner reads “Clock Almighty!” and a smaller one under it reads “Clock “Em All!””

  “Now tell me about you and Chad.”

  “Me and him been on the circuit twelve years or something. He hit on the plastic weapons because they’re a big-turnover item. They’ll only shoot up a few clips when they start to crack.”

  “All right. After I find the Clock Almighty sign and I’m talking to Chad Murtha, what do I say?”

  “Say, “I think I got the wrong table. Billy Joe said I could get some real metal here.” Chad’s gonna say, “I ain’t seen Billy Joe in a coon’s age,” and he’s gonna ask you where you last saw him. Then y
ou say you seen him at the gun show last year in Fort Smith, Arkansas.”

  “I follow you,” Quinn said. “What does Chad look like?”

  “Heavy guy, big gut, used to wrestle professionally. Blond hair, he dyes it, like sixty years old and usually wearing a baseball cap.”

  “Can we get a photograph of him?”

  “Probably. He’s done some time in Tennessee.”

  “Continue, Hoop.”

  “Chad’s gonna say something like, “What kind of metal you looking for?” and you say, “Swedish metal.” He’ll want a ten percent deposit. Then he’ll give you the location of his camper park and the number of his parking space. He’ll probably tell you to show up at two or three in the morning.”

  “Couldn’t he just take off with the deposit?”

  “No, not and deal in gun shows for a dozen years. Honor among thieves.

  That’s the standard time when the deliveries take place.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “See, he’s got to keep his exhibits open at the convention hall until they close, usually around ten-thirty to midnight. Then he has to get the guns.”

  “And, in theory, he’ll lead us to the mother lode.”

  “That’s the ticket, Governor.”

  “Next,” Quinn said, “there is a special parking lot for exhibitors at the convention center. What’s he driving?”

  “A light blue Ford pickup, trades it in every other year for another light blue Ford pickup. It has a stainless steel camper shell over the truck bed. He’ll have Tennessee plates.”

  “Hoop, think hard, are there any other exhibitors who can be as helpful to us as Chad Murtha?”

  “No, he’s the main man. He’ll look over the exhibitors, and if there are some who have worked with him, he’ll select maybe four or five, depending on how sales are going.”

  Hooper was unaware of pressure in his chest. He had always thought the pain was a part of his being. As he spoke, he blew out words coming from his deep interior, and it was like a relief from a tremendous crushing machine.

  “Let me speak to George,” Quinn said.

  “Apple ton.”

  “I’m setting some things into motion. Can you put Hooper in a holding cell so I can stay in contact, if needed?”

  “The present setup is very secure,” Appleton answered, and gave his phone number. “We’ll be here. For Christ’s sake, don’t forget to inform us.”

  “Semper Fi, buddy,” Quinn said.

  “Semper Fi,” Appleton said.

  Quinn grabbed the stale bread on Dawn’s desk and bit a hunk off it, starved. In a moment Harry Chin spread out a map of the exhibition hall, and they scoured it with magnifying glasses. Quinn went down the list.

  “Bingo! Murtha, Chad, Knoxville, Tennessee, plastic handguns and paraphernalia. Side booth on west wall, stall number seven hundred twenty-three.

  “Dawn, I need a half dozen detectives in three two-man teams to locate Murtha’s pickup truck. I know we’ve gotten burned with signals from the big truck, but can you slap something on Murtha’s vehicle to give off a radio signal?”

  “I’ve got a dandy, and it will work.”

  “All right, your three CBI cars will follow Murtha some time after

  ten-thirty. As soon as his signal gives us a general direction, I can

  set Yancey’s team into motion. Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute!” Quinn said, slapping his forehead. “Position a plainclothes pair in an unmarked car near Friehoff ‘s Furniture Outlet so he has a bead on 10101 West Coster. I’ve a wild hunch these people may not have changed the drop-off location.”

  “It’s sure as hell worth a shot,” Harry Chin said.

  “God, I wish I could go in with Yancey,” Quinn said.

  “With all due respect, Governor,” Chin answered, “keep your ass right where it is.”

  Chin made a log at Dawn’s computer.

  1800 Clock Almighty! reads the banner at the back of booth number 723.

  A second small banner reads Clock “Em All.

  1822 Photo of Chad Murtha arrives CBI. Description, excellent.

  1830 Detective Lieutenant Mary Boedecker contacts Quinn from convention hall. She has located booth. Description of Murtha equals man at the booth.

  1835 Mary Boedecker proceeds to booth.

  Her appearance belied her profession. Mary Boedecker was thin, fifty-something with black and gray hair pulled back in a penny-plain knot. She wore no make-up and was dressed ranch style. Mary pointed at Chad and said she’d like to look at a pistol. Murtha unlocked chain from trigger guard.

  Mary made a sour face and set the pistol down. “I think I must be at the wrong table,” she said.

  Chad scrutinized her so keenly, Mary could nearly feel heat from his

  glare

  “I’m looking for Chad Murtha,” she said.

  *

  “I’m Chad.”

  “I ranch some up in Lodgepole County.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Billy Joe said I could obtain some real metal from you.”

  “Billy Joe.”

  “Yes, suh, Billy Joe.”

  “I ain’t seen him, must have been a hundred shows back. I thought for sure he quit the circuit,” Chad said.

  “I saw him a couple months ago in Fort Smith, Arkansas,” Mary said.

  “I missed that show. I was doing something around Helena. Just what kind of metal are you interested in?”

  “Swedish. The best Swedish.”

  It connected! The lady was talking major money.

  “Well, now, top-grade Swedish is hard to come by,” Chad gurgled, counting dollars as he spoke.

  “I want ten of them,” she answered, opening her large purse and giving him a flash of her bankroll. Chad Murtha’s eyeballs clicked.

  “That’s a mighty big order,” Chad said.

  “You ever tried to get anything done with the United States government?” she snapped. “Me and some of my neighbors had our grazing rights on public land terminated. For two goddamn years we tried to get it reversed. It was like walking in hell and trying to argue with the devil.”

  “Government is at the root of all evil,” Chad sympathized. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Mary Decker. My neighbors and me think that if we form a militia unit, we could change the government’s mind.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Mary. Could I have your phone number and the name of someone who might be at the ranch?”

  “Thank you, Chad,” she said, smiling broadly. She gave the number slowly. “My husband, Harry, will be there.”

  “You realize, now, the class of weapon you’re looking for is top-of-the-line fully automatic and pretty near fingerprint-proof. Ten VEC-44’s, new, ten thousand rounds in long clips. We’re looking at around a thousand a copy.” “Get them,” Mary ordered.

  1802 Detectives locate Chad Murtha’s pickup truck in exhibitors’ lot and attach a radio signal under its tailgate.

  1831 Photograph of Chad Murtha arrives at the CBI. Record shows some small-time robbery convictions. He has been fairly clean in past five years.

  1840 Detective Lieutenant Mary Boedecker contacts Dawn Mock. From description of photo, Mary is certain they have the right man.

  1841 Detective Hymes has security point a camera down from roof to tape Chad Murtha’s booth. Murtha checks the deposit for marked bills. He is satisfied. Murtha proceeds to pay phone and dials the number.

  The number is routed into Dawn Mock’s office on phone line two. Harry Chin lifts the receiver.

  “Hello,” he says, “Harry Decker speaking.”

  “Oh, hello, Harry. How are things going on the ranch?”

  “Shitty. Who am I talking to?”

  “Just a friend down at the AMERIGUN convention. Thought I might get to see you.”

  “I sent my old lady down.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

  Chad hangs up with a big “cat in the fishbow
l” smile. Mother fucker, there is going to be a big old payday!

  1900 State trooper Sergeant Hap Cronin in plain clothes and unmarked car takes up vigil in sight of Friehoff’s Furniture Outlet at 10101 West Coster.

  1930 The evening’s “Barbecue and Bash” opens its doors to the microsoft GRAND BALLROOM.

  2001 Detective Mary Boedecker returns to Chad Murtha’s booth.

  “I’ve got some good news for you, Miss Mary. I managed to find the last pieces in Western America. The VEC-44 is a beauty, a real man-stopper. Aren’t you worrying about all that money you’re carrying?”

  “Well, now, don’t you fret, Mr. Chad. I can hit a mosquito’s ass at forty yards with my little Beretta 25.”

  “I sure bet you can,” Chad said, feigning what might be a chuckle. “Here’s the way it works. Don’t write none of this down, just remember it. You be at the Foothills Trailer Camp on Lawson Street at two in the morning. You’ll be observed, so come by yourself. I am in space number eighty-four, in a small mobile home.”

  Mary repeated the numbers, then asked, “What kind of vehicle do you have? I don’t want to go knocking at the wrong door at that time of morning.”

  “Blue Ford pickup, Tennessee license plate. Maybe we can split a beer or two.”

  She gave a noncommittal shrug that didn’t exactly say no.

  2014 Mary Boedecker contacts Dr. Mock’s office, reports on gun-delivery instructions, and confirms the blue Ford pickup truck as vehicle to follow.

  2100 Ribs and chicken and beans proliferate as the bash rolls into motion at the microsoft GRAND BALLROOM.

  2134 State trooper Sergeant Hap Cronin reports that a single automobile with driver and one passenger is buzzed through the main gate at 10101 and parks near the loading docks. Automobile is this year’s Mercedes and appears to belong to a top-echelon person.

  2145 Quinn ups the ante, deciding that 10101 is still the designation. He orders Yancey to move his people very quietly to within a mile of 10101 and hold.

  It was the best damned evening AMERIGUN ever put on. There were lots of country and western performers, some Nike all-stars, sitcom stars, and finally, Senator Darling moved the crowd to tears.