Chapter Three

Tuesday, October 15 th .

Black Wolf Mountain. Rocky Mountains.

Buried under a thick layer of quilts, Travis woke up cozy warm. The only part of his body that was cold, was his nose. That told him the air in the cabin was frosty and the stove had gone out while he slept.

He'd slept like a dead log in this old cabin, just him and the dogs. Something he hadn't been able to do since the day Olivia died.

Sleeping next to the bed on their own doggy beds, Max and Sarge both raised their heads the instant Travis moved.

"Yeah, I'm awake. Want to go outside? We have to get more wood. Should've brought in wood for the morning fire last night. Who doesn't know that? Guess this old man forgot one of the rules of survival."

One bare foot touched the frigid floor and Travis reached for his thick socks and pulled them on. He tugged on his jeans and shoved his feet into his boots.

Grabbing his parka off the chair where he'd tossed it, he headed for the back door.

"It's barely light, doggies." He opened the back door a little, then heard the deep, low growl. Impossible to miss, and not too far from the house.

"Bear at the back. Y'all will have to wait until I grab the wood, then I'll take you out the front door—on your leashes. Don't give me whining either."

Travis stepped carefully out the back door zeroing in on exactly where the bear was. She was back in the trees a little ways off, but he could see the size and shape of her through the evergreen boughs.

"Why aren't you in a cave sleeping for the winter?" he hollered to her as he gathered up an armload of wood.

No more growling. She lumbered away, but he couldn't take any chances with the dogs. No vets up here to sew Max and Sarge up if a bear claw ripped them wide open. It had happened once before and that was enough for Travis.

The dogs waited while Travis restarted the stove, then began whining as he leashed them for their morning run. "One quick walk outside is all you get. Hear me?"

They wagged their tails whenever Travis talked to them.

Pretty damned cold. Uncle Carson's outdoor thermometer nailed to the side of the cabin read twelve degrees. No new snow. Too fuckin cold to snow.

The dogs tugged on their leashes, and it was tough to hold both of them at once. The Belgian Malinois were a muscular breed and super strong.

Back inside with the dogs, it was time to try cooking on the woodstove. Travis searched the only cupboard and found an iron frying pan.

Dusty, he wiped it clean with one of the dish towels and set it on the stove to heat up. He took a package of bacon and a carton of eggs out of the cooler and gave it his best shot.

No toaster, but he could heat the bread up a bit on the wire rack in the oven.

Old tin coffee pot was next. He dusted it off and filled it with bottled water. Had nothing else. Couldn't imagine how bad it was going to taste. Hot and strong for sure, but it might be hard to swallow at first.

When his breakfast was ready, he sat down at the table to eat and wondered how the boys were doing.

Wild Stallion Ranch. Montana.

While me and Virge did the barn chores, Billy made our breakfast. Felt weird eating at the table without Dad.

"I hope Dad ain't freezing to death," said Virge. "What if he can't get the fuckin stove going in the cabin? Then what? He can't cook an egg or nothing. Fuck. I hate this."

"You boys realize Travis spent years in the Marine Corps, right?"

"Yeah."

"That means he's trained in survival and in a lot of other ways too, just like I was trained in the army. He'll make out okay even if he doesn't have much to work with up there."

"I'm not worrying," I said.

"Bullshit, you're not," Virge hollered at me. "Don't you lie to me, Harlan. You are fuckin close to losing it. I can see it in your eyes."

"Stop fretting about Travis and let's focus on our case," said Billy. "We've got six angry women to interview today. Molly made the appointments, and the women arsonists know we're coming."

"Don't really want to talk to a bunch of Bic-happy stripper-haters," mumbled Virge. "I've got bigger problems on my mind."

Billy tried not to laugh at Virgie. "When we get to the station, we'll have a little meeting with Ted and decide how we're going to handle the women."

"We have to center out the leader," said Virge. "In every fuckin gang, there's a leader. That's the rule. One leader and the rest of the chicks are followers."

"Decent theory, Virge," said Billy. "We'll soon find out which woman is running the show. Molly should have their background checks ready for us by the time we have our meeting."

"You think the leader of the chicks is an ex-con, Billy?" asked Virge.

"Nope. Just an angry housewife with an unfaithful husband."

"Yeah," said Virge. "They're probably all married to fuckin cheaters and that's a requirement to join their stupid fucking group."

My brother made me laugh.

"Guess we'll find out when we get to work," said Billy.

"Stop talking, Virgie and finish your breakfast, or we'll never get to work."

Virge gave me the finger as I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. He was in one foul fuckin mood. Today would be a doozer.

Shiner's. Louisiana Bayou.

Mason Swift packed up his gear and he and Clyde circled around old man Shiner's restaurant to the wharf running along the backside of the building.

Vertical boards for cladding, weathered black by the swamp mist, red paint on the window trim and a huge rooster weathervane on the roof, Shiner's was a landmark. Accessible only by boat. Rivermark.

Mason stowed his gear in the boat and left Clyde on guard to watch it. He went back inside for breakfast and to ask a few questions.

Shiner's was the best source of information for miles around. The main reason Mason Swift was there.

He ate breakfast alone, then picked up his coffee mug and made the rounds. On the other side of the restaurant Mason spotted one of the Prejean cousins. Notorious family of thieves and murderers. One branch of the family had been killed off by people Mason didn't want to come across. He made his way to the table where the cousin sat and stood next to it.

"Who you looking for, Swifty?"

"Young girl fugitive who shot Carl Levon."

"Glad somebody shot the slimy fuck. He had it coming."

"Hear anything on the girl?" Mason sipped his coffee and waited.

"Tell you this much. Heard she was pretty. Bonaventure was in on it. Took his cut when they sold her."

"Who was the buyer?"

"Those mean fuckers down near the Gulf."

"I know the ones," said Mason. "If that's who's got her, I might need help getting her back."

"Good luck with that. Nobody gonna go up against that crew with you, Swifty."

Mason shrugged. "Guess I'll do it alone, then."

"Yeah, you'll have to."

Mason gave the Prejean cousin twenty-five bucks for his trouble and strode back to his boat.

Like a soldier, Clyde sat in his seat in the middle of the boat waiting and wagged his tail when he saw Mason coming down the wharf. "Brought you some bacon, Clyde. Your lucky day."

Best Western. Montgomery. Alabama.

Casey and Ardal ate the free breakfast provided by the hotel and tried to figure out where to start looking for Bobby Prescott.

"A lot of unknowns," said Casey. "We're not sure he picked up a driver, although Blaine is pretty sure he would've been forced to."

"Let's say there are two of them," said Ardal. "They stop for food and gas. The only way we'll know if we're even going the right way is to stop at every one of the truck stops and show Bobby's picture."

Casey shrugged. "Let's go that route. It's all we've got."

Sheriff's Office. Coyote Creek. Montana.

Virge stomped into the station in the foulest of moods. Refusing to drink coffee with his brother, he headed to the squad room and hovered over Molly's desk.

"Did you check out the stripper-haters, Molly?"

"I did, dear. All finished."

"You find anything that would point to one of them being the leader of the pack?"

Molly smiled and checked her notes for Virgil. "Only one of them has ever been arrested."

"Which one?"

"Grace Blintz."

"What did she do?" asked Virge.

"She stole a loaf of bread when she was eighteen," said Molly. "Not much of a crime."

"Huh," said Virge. "The rest of them all clean?"

"Yes, they are. Spotless so far."

"Damn it," said Virge. "I need to pick a leader."

"Okay," said Billy. "Molly has the background checks done and there's nothing much showing up in any of the women's pasts. We talk to them individually and form our own opinions. Three names for each team, then we come back to the shop and compare notes."

"Yep," said Ted.

"Ted, take Harlan," said Billy, "and I'll take Virgil."

"We interviewing them or bringing them in, boss?" asked Ted. "We know damned well they set the fire at Krystal's place."

"We'll have to prove the arson," said Billy. "Let's talk to them first. If any of them admit to starting the fire, or even helping to start it, bring them in."

"Copy," said Virge. "I'm gonna get it out of them. Loose lips sink ships."

Molly laughed. "Haven't heard that in a while, Virgil."

Billy frowned. "Who says that, Virge?"

Virgil shrugged. "Can't remember."

"All of the women live in Ethridge," said Molly. "Once you get there, you won't have much driving around from one to the other."

"If any calls come in, Molly, forward them to my cell," said Billy.

"Copy that, Sheriff."

Pitts Residence. Ethridge.

Molly made the appointments for us and all six of the fire-starters knew we were coming to interview them. Me and Ted had Glenna Pitts at the top of our list.

The drive to Ethridge took about fifteen minutes and we were ready to start our three interrogations.

Mrs. Pitts opened her front door and let us in without smiling. "Come in, Sheriff. We can sit here in the living room. I'm hoping this won't take long. I have to go to work."

"Where do you work, ma'am?" Ted nodded at me to start writing. I was the note-taker. Ted didn't like doing it.

"At Dollar General. I'm the manager."

"Uh huh," said Ted, a little smirk on his face. "You belong to the group called ‘Wives Against Strip Clubs?'"

"Yes, I do. It's not a crime to belong to a club."

"True enough," said Ted. "Clubs are legal. What is not legal is setting fire to another person's property. That's a crime called arson."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Sheriff. I've never committed any crimes."

"You and your club girls have been picketing Krystal's Palace and don't bother to deny it. We have pictures taken by Mister Daniels of you there with your signs, and plenty of local people will swear in court that you and your friends are out front all the time."

"Yes," said Mrs. Pitts. "We have protested there a couple of times."

"The last time you were there, your group set fire to the dumpster on strip club property and the fire caught onto the back of the building. The fire department was called to extinguish the blaze and we have a copy of their report clearly stating that it was arson. You and your group are arsonists. That's a crime and Mrs. Daniels has filed charges against all six of you."

"I didn't do it," said Glenna. "I didn't want to do it. When I went to the strip club with the other girls, I had no idea they planned to do that."

"Whose plan was it?" I asked.

"I forget," said Glenna. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap and didn't look up. Not giving up the instigator.

Ted pressed her. "Who climbed up and lit the garbage on fire, Mrs. Pitts?"

"I don't remember."

Stick to your story. Attagirl.

Ted stood up and pulled his cuffs off his utility belt. "You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit arson, Glenna Pitts. Please, stand up."

Ted turned my way, "Cuff Mrs. Pitts, Harlan."

Ted handed me the cuffs and the woman shook her head, tears in her eyes like she was gonna cry. "You don't have to put handcuffs on me. I'm not a criminal."

"I guess you just became one," said Ted. "You broke the law, and the owner of the club wants justice."

"I want justice too," Glenna raised her voice. "I want that club out of Ethridge so my husband will stop going there. That club is ruining our marriage."

"Your trouble is with your husband, ma'am. There are dozens of men in Ethridge and in Harrison County who have never set foot in the strip club. You should be picketing your hubby."

Glenna had nothing to say to that. She gave Ted the stink-eye and stuck her chin out.

I secured her in the back of the squad and Ted drove us to the next name on our list. Glenna Pitts was first in and last out. She'd have the longest wait.

Paige Residence. Ethridge.

Billy and Virge interviewed Brenda Paige, the first name on their list. She lived in a drab gray bungalow two blocks from the main street.

Nervous and teary-eyed, Brenda was frightened of Billy and Virge being at her house.

"My husband can't find out you deputies were here. He's going to be angry if he finds out I belong to the group. I'm not allowed to belong to any groups. Promise me you won't tell him."

"Can't promise he won't find out, ma'am," said Billy. "You and your friends have committed a crime and there will be a court case. Nothing I can do to hide that."

"All we did was toss a few matches into the dumpster to scare Krystal and make her close her place down. More of a prank than a crime."

Billy nodded. "You'll have to come with us to the station, Mrs. Paige."

"No. I can't be in jail when Jerry comes home from work. He'll kill me if I don't have his dinner ready."

"Virge, take Mrs. Paige to the squad and make her comfortable in the back seat."

"Copy that, Sheriff."

Brenda Paige screamed when Virge took her arm and hustled her out the door and into the Bronco.

He tried his best to cheer her up. "Won't be so bad, ma'am. Our jail is pretty clean."

"I can't go to jail. I didn't do anything except light some garbage on fire. Nobody got hurt."

"The building caught on fire, ma'am," said Virgil. "Your little gang of stripper-haters intended to burn the building down. That's where the crime lies."

"No. We didn't mean it."

"Miss Krystal and her husband both thought you meant it, ma'am. Yep. They thought you meant it."

Brentwood Acres. Tennessee.

Bobby Prescott rented a fairly new double-wide trailer in a park outside of Nashville. He and Ray each had a bedroom and lots of room for the two of them.

Both of them could cook a little and they were enjoying their new home.

"I've been thinking of selling the truck," said Bobby. It's the only clue to finding us."

"If the truck is gone, you got no way of hauling loads and making money to pay the bills," said Ray. "I sold one song so far and that money ain't gonna last us too long unless a big country star records it."

"As soon as I get new ID, I'll sell both of my properties through an agent and that will give us enough money to live on for a few years."

"I'll talk to our neighbors and see which ones are shady enough to know where you can get the ID," said Ray.

Bobby nodded. "As soon as you find out, we'll go get ‘er done."