Denton - 03 - Way Past Dead Read Online Free

don’t worry, we’re—”
    Pop. Static. Crackle.
Damn cell phone
.
    “Marsha!” I yelled.
    “—sorry, the phone’s fritzing out on me. Listen, I gotta go. I don’t know how long the batteries are going to last.”
    “Have you got a recharger?”
    “Yeah,” she said through the ever-rising hiss. “Only we’re not sure if it works.”
    “Marsh,” I said, almost desperately. Damn, I didn’t want her to go. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning. You got food, water, the essentials?”
    She laughed. “Enough for a couple of days. We get real hungry, we’ll pop Evangeline in the microwave.”
    “Well,” I said, “at least you’ve retained your sense of humor.”
    “Who’s laughing?”
    “Listen, babe. Keep your head down.”
    “In your dreams, smart guy. And that’s
Doctor
Babe to you.”
    “Okay, Dr. Babe. Listen, I—I—” I got stuck, couldn’t get the words out.
    “Harry,” she said, “don’t get mushy on me. This isn’t a private line.”
    “Yeah. So take care, will ya?”
    “Yeah. See you soon.” She hung up.
    I laid the phone down next to the CV joint, wondering for the first time if I’d ever see her again.

Lonnie pointed the remote control at the television and we got sound again. The station had cut away from the morgue to a conference room at the main police station downtown. I stared dumbly at the screen, exhausted, drained. As cameras flashed and reporters jostled for position, Chief of Police Harold Gleaves walked into the room and marched stiffly to a podium set up on a folding table.
    “I’ve got a prepared statement for you,” he announced. Lonnie and I leaned forward in our chairs as he described for everyone what we’d all just seen and heard. After the short statement, hands flew up.
    “Has the FBI been brought in?” one reporter yelled.
    “No,” Chief Gleaves said firmly. “At this point in time, we’re considering this a local matter. The local FBI office has been notified, but for the time being, we have our own hostage negotiators on scene.”
    “That won’t last long,” I said.
    “Yeah,” Lonnie agreed. “The Fumbling Bunch of Idiots isn’t going to let this party go by without crashing it.”
    I smiled. “Maybe they’ll bring in thuh Bew-row of Al-key-hol, Tabacky, and Far-arms.…”
    “Yeah.” He grinned. “Bring in the
BatFucks
. That’ll do it. Then we can all kiss our asses goodbye.”
    “God, you’re tacky,” I said.
    “What about federal weapons charges?” a voice yelled. “And kidnapping charges?”
    “As I said,” Chief Gleaves shot back, “as of this point in time—”
    “Why do politicians always talk in clichés?” Lonnie interrupted.
“As of this point in time …”
    “Ssshh,” I hissed.
    “—we have no proof other than the claims of the people involved that there are any illegal weapons on scene.”
    “But they admitted it!” another reporter yelled back.
    “If you’ll let me finish,” Gleaves instructed. I had to hand it to him; Chief Gleaves was cool. He was the first Nashville police chief to come to the job with academic credentials and a little professionalism, rather than just a hundred years on the beat and a lot of good ol’ boys on the council as pals.
    “There have been no charges filed against these people yet. The last thing we are going to do is go in there and provoke a confrontation. I’m not going to have another Waco here.”
    “That’s a switch,” Lonnie said. “Old Baltimore Sims would’ve welcomed the chance go in there shooting.”
    Baltimore Sims was a North Nashville boy who’d come up out of the old city sheriff’s department in the days before city consolidation. He had only a tenth-grade education, but he’d served as Nashville police chief for over a decade before being forced to retire for having his picture taken with guys in black suits at Churchill Downs one too many times.
    I leaned back in the chair, exhausted. We listened to the press conference rattle on for