got to my feet and followed. J.D. was ordering somebody to call for an ambulance. I wasn’t sure the guy with the gun was gone, and I ran on the edge of the sand, ready to jump into the bushes that lined the path if he showed again.
Jock was only two or three yards ahead of me when he reached the intersection. He turned right toward the boardwalk and I followed. We got to the viewing platform in time to watch a go-fast boat receding in the distance, her wake roiling the three sailboats anchored in the cove. The boat cleared the anchorage and turned right into Longboat Pass heading at high speed for the open Gulf of Mexico.
We ran back toward the fork and met some of the officers coming our way. “They’re gone,” I said. “They were in a blue go-fast boat with white topsides, possibly a Fountain, thirty-five feet in length, center console, headed out Longboat Pass.”
One of the officers said, “I’ve got this,” and began speaking into his mic, putting out the word to the Coast Guard and the marine patrols from the various law enforcement agencies. He also asked for a helicopter. I didn’t think it would do much good. That boat could run better than seventy miles per hour, and the Gulf had been flat when we crossed the Longboat Pass Bridge a few minutes before. The boat would be into Tampa Bay in a few minutes.
Steve was awake when we got back to the fork. He was in pain, but he only grimaced. “You okay, buddy?” I asked.
“I will be. I think. Matt, lean down here.” I did and he whispered something I didn’t hear. I shook my head. “Closer,” he said. And when I was close enough for him to whisper into my ear, he said, “You take care of J.D. She’s not as tough as she thinks she is, and I’m pretty sure that round in my shoulder was meant for her.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was nearing midnight, a time when the predators stalk their prey and death comes quickly to the unwary. Jeff Worthington was not pretending to be a lawyer on this dark Monday evening. He was carrying out the orders of the controller. Sort of.
The controller had saddled him with a cretin named Steiffel, a man Jeff had known in prison. If Steiffel had a first name, Jeff had never heard it. Steiffel was big and slow and stupid, but the controller had been told that he was an expert with a sniper rifle, that he’d been trained by the Marines before he ran afoul of the law. Jeff didn’t believe it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Steiffel had acquired a car earlier in the afternoon by simply taking the airport shuttle bus to Tampa International and stealing a vehicle from the long-term parking lot. He’d driven back to Bradenton and was parked in the parking lot of a bar on Cortez Road waiting for Jeff to call with instructions.
Jeff parked his Mercedes in the lot of a small strip mall in West Bradenton and walked three blocks to an all-night Walmart store’s parking lot. He stood in the shadows of the store overhang and watched a Hispanic couple leave an older Nissan in the lot and trudge into the store. In two minutes, Jeff was in the car, hot-wired it, and drove to a dark section of Bradenton that catered to the Mexicans who were employed by the landscape companies that trimmed the yards of rich people.
Jeff found a sad old prostitute whom no one would miss. She worked the street in this bleak part of the world, selling herself to the farm workers, most of whom were illegals, and would not go to the law even if they knew that a crime had been committed. He offered her twenty dollars fora quick trick in the backseat. She willingly got in the car, took the bill from the man’s hand, and asked what he wanted.
Jeff pulled a twenty-two pistol from under his seat, hiding it down by his left leg. “I think just a little loving will do me fine,” he said. “Uh-oh, is that the law?” He was pointing out the right side of the car with his right hand. The doomed whore turned to look, and Jeff brought the gun up in
Jock was only two or three yards ahead of me when he reached the intersection. He turned right toward the boardwalk and I followed. We got to the viewing platform in time to watch a go-fast boat receding in the distance, her wake roiling the three sailboats anchored in the cove. The boat cleared the anchorage and turned right into Longboat Pass heading at high speed for the open Gulf of Mexico.
We ran back toward the fork and met some of the officers coming our way. “They’re gone,” I said. “They were in a blue go-fast boat with white topsides, possibly a Fountain, thirty-five feet in length, center console, headed out Longboat Pass.”
One of the officers said, “I’ve got this,” and began speaking into his mic, putting out the word to the Coast Guard and the marine patrols from the various law enforcement agencies. He also asked for a helicopter. I didn’t think it would do much good. That boat could run better than seventy miles per hour, and the Gulf had been flat when we crossed the Longboat Pass Bridge a few minutes before. The boat would be into Tampa Bay in a few minutes.
Steve was awake when we got back to the fork. He was in pain, but he only grimaced. “You okay, buddy?” I asked.
“I will be. I think. Matt, lean down here.” I did and he whispered something I didn’t hear. I shook my head. “Closer,” he said. And when I was close enough for him to whisper into my ear, he said, “You take care of J.D. She’s not as tough as she thinks she is, and I’m pretty sure that round in my shoulder was meant for her.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was nearing midnight, a time when the predators stalk their prey and death comes quickly to the unwary. Jeff Worthington was not pretending to be a lawyer on this dark Monday evening. He was carrying out the orders of the controller. Sort of.
The controller had saddled him with a cretin named Steiffel, a man Jeff had known in prison. If Steiffel had a first name, Jeff had never heard it. Steiffel was big and slow and stupid, but the controller had been told that he was an expert with a sniper rifle, that he’d been trained by the Marines before he ran afoul of the law. Jeff didn’t believe it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Steiffel had acquired a car earlier in the afternoon by simply taking the airport shuttle bus to Tampa International and stealing a vehicle from the long-term parking lot. He’d driven back to Bradenton and was parked in the parking lot of a bar on Cortez Road waiting for Jeff to call with instructions.
Jeff parked his Mercedes in the lot of a small strip mall in West Bradenton and walked three blocks to an all-night Walmart store’s parking lot. He stood in the shadows of the store overhang and watched a Hispanic couple leave an older Nissan in the lot and trudge into the store. In two minutes, Jeff was in the car, hot-wired it, and drove to a dark section of Bradenton that catered to the Mexicans who were employed by the landscape companies that trimmed the yards of rich people.
Jeff found a sad old prostitute whom no one would miss. She worked the street in this bleak part of the world, selling herself to the farm workers, most of whom were illegals, and would not go to the law even if they knew that a crime had been committed. He offered her twenty dollars fora quick trick in the backseat. She willingly got in the car, took the bill from the man’s hand, and asked what he wanted.
Jeff pulled a twenty-two pistol from under his seat, hiding it down by his left leg. “I think just a little loving will do me fine,” he said. “Uh-oh, is that the law?” He was pointing out the right side of the car with his right hand. The doomed whore turned to look, and Jeff brought the gun up in
Similar Books
