An American Kill by John Stonehouse

Author:John Stonehouse
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John Stonehouse

Chapter Seventeen

Zachary Tutton sits with his back to the door, unaware of people entering the room. His hair is long, mid-brown, greasy. He's wearing a pair of closed-ear headphones, leaning forward in an operator's chair.

In front of Zach are rows of amplification units—rack-mount tuners, strips of dials and switches.

Whicher studies the young man—thin shoulders, curving back, a dirty, long-sleeve top. The jeans have a sheen of grime. But the sneakers are new-looking, fresh from a box.

The air in the room is hot. Fans whirring on amps, receivers, transformers. It's like the comms unit of a mobile ops post.

Shanon Summers steps a pace into Whicher's sight-line—eyes bugged, seeing it all for the first time.

Zach senses movement, spins around, pushes back sharp in his chair. He rips off the headphones, “Shit, man...”

“US Marshal,” Whicher says.

Zach stares at Shanon, eyes startled, skin taut across his cheeks. “What're y'all doing here?”

“Looking for Lindy Page,” Whicher says.

“Lindy?”

“It's about her boyfriend, Todd.”

Zach clutches the arms of the chair.

“I was up to Crystal City, couldn't find her,” Whicher says. “Somebody mentioned your name. Miss Summers here helped me find my way over.”

“I didn't think you'd mind,” she says.

“Lindy's not here...”

“You have any idea where she's at?” the marshal says.

“No.” Zach looks at Shanon. “She'd know better'n me.”

“It's you I'm asking.”

He puts a foot on the ground. “I don't hardly know her even...”

“But you do know Todd. You know—about what happened?”

“I heard he was shot.”

“What else you hear?”

He stares at his knees. “Well, nothing.”

“He was found with a bunch of wetbacks—out in the brush. You ever hear he might have been involved with something like that?”

No reaction.

“You need to think real careful,” Whicher says.

“He was working as a guide, the huntin' camps. Is what he told me...”

Shanon rubs the back of her bare arm. “That's what he told Lindy.”

Whicher studies Zach—thin, lank, awkward in his own skin. Not hard to picture him friends with a guy like Williams. “You see much of Todd lately?”

Zach scratches at his hair.

“When was the last time?”

“Couple weeks.”

The marshal stares at the equipment, glowing in the darkened room. “What's all this gear, radio?You got a license?”

“I'm qualified, got my papers, an' all.”

“What else you do?”

Zach looks at him.

“You have a job?”

“I help out.”

“Doing what? I don't see any animals, crops...”

“It's rented out—all the land.”

“That's how you make a living?”

“There's a bunch of it,” Zach says. “From here, on out to the river.”

The marshal scans the gear. “Who you talk to with that stuff?”

“All kinds of people.”

“Folk here?”

“Yeah.”

“In other countries?”

“It depends on the signal.”

“How about Mexico?”

The young man shifts in his seat.

Whicher looks at him. “I saw that bunch of wires in the trees yonder. How come you don't have a regular mast?”

Zach loosens the headphones at his neck. “Pop won't have one, land this flat. There's a risk of lightning, anything up high.” He looks at Whicher, needle starting to creep in. “Are you here to search the place? You got a warrant or somethin'?”

“Maybe time I got one,” Whicher says. “Now that I know the way, I guess I can come on back.

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