Chapter 69

CHAPTER 69

P RU JACKSON SAT IN HER SUV and did what she did best: observe.

Her target today was the picturesque town of Ricketts.

The disguised Jackson was considerably overweight, her hair short and graying. Her baggy shirt fell over stretch pants that were expanded to their absolute limit. Her shoes looked like giant waffles. She wheezed and had an oxygen line running to her nose with a small tank of it in a harness that she could wear over her shoulder. Her tinted glasses covered the one thing that could give her away: penetrating eyes.

However, she was now a nonentity. People might stare for a moment, perhaps from sympathy or even pity, but then they would look away and forget what they had seen.

Presently, she had her eyes on the government building. People had been coming and going for the last hour. Cops, admin, probably some elected officials. She had seen Eric King arriving in a specially equipped van. Jackson had continued to watch as he expertly extracted himself from the vehicle deploying a side ramp and then levering himself down using hand straps attached to the inside of the van.

His wheelchair wasn’t motorized; he had to power it the old-fashioned way. And he did so with vigor, she noted.

With her long-range monocular, Jackson had also taken in the military-grade equipment housed in the fenced-in area next to the building.

Impressive. I wonder when the war is starting.

Twenty minutes later, a Porsche Cayenne painted metallic silver pulled into the slot next to King’s van. Since this spot was reserved for the mayor, Jackson pointed her monocular right at the Porsche.

Mercedes King climbed out of the SUV, dragging a large purse and briefcase along with her. Jackson zoomed in on the woman. She was dressed in a tight dark dress with a short, heavy jacket over that. She had sneakers on. Jackson assumed the pumps would come out once she was in her office. She was on her phone jabbering away.

She obviously couldn’t hear the woman’s hoarse voice from here, but it was Anne Cassidy—she was sure of it. The unique, swaggering walk was a clear tell along with what Devine had told her.

Jackson could feel the anger and desire for revenge pulse inside her with every step the woman took. But then she dialed it back, because it was not healthy to get all worked up with nowhere to vent that rage.

Enjoy today, Anne.

She took a photo of the SUV’s license plate and then hacked into the DMV. That got her the home address of both the police chief and his wife. She drove there. It was twenty minutes outside of town and secluded among a sea of dormant trees.

Jackson stripped off her disguise in less than two minutes, and, now dressed all in black, including a head covering, she wended her way through the trees to the large wood frame and stone home sprawled across a lawn that was extensively terraced and landscaped.

Jackson figured the place at about ten thousand square feet.

Clearly within the salary range of a cop and a mayor of a small town that probably had fewer residents than a Chick-fil-A parking lot at lunchtime in any metro area.

She ran her monocular over the area looking for security with heartbeats, and/or surveillance cameras. She saw none of the former and plenty of the latter, indicating that the Kings clearly relied on electronic eyes over the human kind. Smart, since humans missed a lot, even trained ones, while the mechanized version did not. And human eyes could blackmail you.

She looped around the house, calculating sight lines of the cameras until she found an exposed corridor on the northwest corner near the rear of the building. Jackson threaded across that narrow strip of ground and pulled a device out of her backpack.

Noting the gas line that entered the house here, she cut the dormant grass carefully back, dug out the dirt under it, set her device there, covered it up with the dirt, and placed the grass carefully back on top. There was no telltale sign that the area had been disturbed at all.

Devine had wanted her to come and snoop, which she was doing. But there was no reason she couldn’t add a little personal touch to the deal, was there?

She returned to her vehicle, changed back into her large lady clothes complete with oxygen, and drove back into town.

Around lunchtime the Cayenne roared down the street all balls and brass, and parked in front of a restaurant. Mercedes King slipped out, high heels on now, and went inside.

Jackson, who had followed the Porsche, parked on the other side of the street, struggled out of her car, and, using a walker, she slowly moved into the restaurant.

A young woman escorted her back to a table, a table that Jackson needed to ask to be changed because it was not in a sight line with Mayor King. She looked around and saw a possible solution without causing suspicion.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said in her old woman drawl. “But I need to be near a bathroom at all times. My plumbing ain’t what it used to be, sweetie.”

The young woman’s eyes swelled in alarm. “Oh, okay. Um… the restrooms are right over there, so you just pick where you want to sit, ma’am.”

Jackson chose a booth near the bathroom, but which also held a commanding view of King, and the tall, suited man who was just now sitting down to join her.

Jackson put on a pair of AirPods and positioned a device she drew from her pocket onto the front of her clothing. It was the same gaudy broach she had worn when electronically eavesdropping on Devine at the restaurant he’d been at with Odom and Saxby. Embedded in it was a sophisticated listening device.

Jackson ordered a pot of hot tea and saw that King and the man—who over her AirPods she had heard King call Nick—had ordered glasses of red wine.

The man did much of the talking and it was an interesting conversation. However, when Jackson had first heard the woman’s hoarse voice, a product of damaged vocal cords that had never truly healed, her fingers had involuntarily turned to fists.

And some of the man’s words were particularly galling to Jackson.

King had said to him, “Based on what you told me, when you come to power, you’re going to do things that will anger your supporters. They may have buyer’s remorse. But the thing is, you don’t want widespread turmoil on your hands. I speak from experience. I dealt with many of those situations in other countries that were transitioning to new regimes.”

He had replied, with a slick smile and in a confident tone, “Remember, sweetie, right now I do need supporters. But as anyone who has read any history can tell you, when you’re actually in charge, with all the guns behind you, all you need are followers . And they will have no choice in the matter except to follow, if they want to stay out of prison or continue breathing. And that includes my supporters .”

Sure it does, you son of a bitch , thought Jackson.

Then the two started discussing something that might provide an opening both to Devine and Jackson. The focus of the conversation was a certain someone at the government center, and what they were doing there.

Once, King looked over at her. Jackson was staring down at her food and pretending to have trouble with her fork. From the corner of her eye, she could see King’s gaze boring into her. She waited for any sign of recognition on the other woman’s features, but then King looked away and continued her conversation.

An hour later Nick paid the bill and left King sitting there. King ordered another glass of wine. After it was brought, the woman thumbed through her phone, perhaps sending texts, emails, or death threats, mused Jackson.

After finishing her wine, King rose to leave.

A few moments later, Jackson sensed a presence next to her table.

King said, “Are you visiting our fair city?”

Jackson peered up at her, trying to discern if the woman had recognized her and was just playing coy.

In her old lady voice, with pauses to snort on the O 2 line, Jackson said, “Just passing through. I’m on my way to visit my daughter in Idaho. Little place right across the state line. Need to see my new grandbaby.”

“Well, I’m the mayor here, so if there’s anything I can do to make your stay better, you just let me know.”

She slipped a card from her pocket and passed it across to Jackson.

“Honey, I sure appreciate that,” replied Jackson, putting the card away. “And what a cute town you got here.”

“Thank you.”

She watched King flounce out of the place.

Yes, flounce is the right word , thought Jackson.

God help you, Anne, when I’m done with you. But then again not even God will be able to put you back together again.