Page 86 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“And this is why I’m driving.” The chief resettled his hands in the classic two-and-ten position on the steering wheel.
A good thing, too, Hadley thought. The last Sunday before Christmas was as busy a day for traffic as they’d see until the Fourth of July holiday. She had heard about Reverend Clare’s lead foot, and she had no interest in seeing how fast she could speed through the bag-and- package-laden vehicles around them.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“You and I should go in first.” Clare twisted in her seat to talk to her. “He’s never seen you, and you don’t look like a cop.”
“So you want to give him two more hostages?” Van Alstyne shook his head.
“Just long enough so I can see if Tiny is there. Then you and Lyle can come in with guns blazing.”
“Oh, yeah, that would make the setup even better. You and Knox and this woman caught in a crossfire. And what if March just shoots you on sight?”
“He doesn’t want to kill me. At least not right away. He wants to humiliate me. He wants to see me scared and weak.” She turned around again to face Hadley. “Right?”
She sighed. “I know the type. Men who don’t feel tall unless they’re standing on a woman.”
“I really don’t like this.”
Clare turned to her husband. “Okay, what’s your plan? Keeping in mind you can’t scare March away or leave him feeling so trapped he’ll resort to violence.”
He made a sound like a small engine motor, then subsided. “All right. But I’m coming in with you.” He held a hand up to stop any protests. “It’s that or we wait for Lyle and the sheriff’s deputy.”
Hadley was about to give her enthusiastic support for this, but Clare beat her to it with an exasperated, “All right. You come in, too.”
Cal March’s place of business was a featureless corrugated steel building the size of a barn or small warehouse. Two rolling doors, big enough to let box trucks in and out, barricaded the shorter end, and on the longer side, a small portico shielded a door. A row of narrow windows tucked just beneath the roof let in daylight from all directions, but there was no other way to look in or out.
“No vehicles,” Hadley observed.
“Probably parked out of sight.” He let the car roll toward the front door and parked it crossways. Easy to get back into in a hurry, not in the direct line of fire.Please God, don’t let there be fire.
The chief checked his gun. “Keep yours out of sight for now.” Hadley nodded. As they stood by the door, her heart was pounding so hard they could probably hear it inside. She took a deep breath, and Van Alstyne opened the door to…
Not much. Two box trucks with room for more, oil spots on a cement floor, tools hanging off the opposite wall, a stack of tires.
“Hey!”
She jerked her head around. At the far end of the building a flight of metal stairs led up to an office. Two men in greasy jeans and plaid shirts stood on a metal walkway in front of its door. There was a wide window overlooking the truck bay, but Hadley couldn’t see anything inside.
“Hey!” one of the men repeated. He swung a rifle toward them.
“Oh, Christ, nottheseidiots.” The chief raised his voice. “It’s me, Dillon.” He swept Hadley and Clare to the front and gently pushed them toward the stairs. Dillon shook his gun toward Van Alstyne as if he could prod him back. Hadley glanced at Clare, who was clearly as confounded as she was.
“For God’s sake, put that thing down. You’re going to hurt someone. Or put a hole in Cal’s building, and you know he’s not going to be happy about that.” He gestured toward the stairs, and in a menacing tone said, “Get up there, you two.”
Hadley, inspired, turned to him. “You’re not going to get away with this!”
For a moment, she thought he was going to crack a smile. Instead, he growled, “I already have.”
They mounted the stairs. By now, the other guy had dropped his rifle. “What the hell, Van Alstyne? We left you at camp. I thought…”
“You thought what the captain wanted you to think, Austin.”
“What are you going on about?” Dillon still looked as if he wanted to shoot them all. Well, maybe just the chief. “Who are these females?”
Clare made a noise.
“These are the two who were trying to turn Cal’s wife against him. He’s got you guarding her, right?” They stepped onto the walkway, which was a good five feet wide. Behind each of the men was an upturned crate, a still-smoldering cigarette resting on one. Clearly, their guard duty had been pretty relaxed.
