Edgework by William Smillie

Author:William Smillie
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781628572278
Publisher: Strategic Book Publishing

Chapter 34

BULLETS, GUNS, & MONEY

Rattail, Scurvy, and Blue found a motel off the main highway in Susanville, California, popped a few beers, and studied the map.

“Nine million dollars,” said Blue. “Cash American.”

“We ain’t got it yet,” said Scurvy. “And we sit here with a U-Haul full of enough rifles and shotguns to outfit a small army and enough ammo to blow one away.” He turned to Rattail. “Where’s the rest of our guns?”

Larry “Rattail” Fetters poked the map with a finger freed from a fist around a can of beer. “Last radio contact, Bishop. We do the jack in Bridgeport.” He slid his finger up Highway 395. “Riley and Weaver should be there by now, waiting. Send the rig over the border into Wellington. We’re papered for seven tons of scrap metal due in Fallon on the fifth. Three days. We’re due at the airfields outside Stockton on the Fourth. 6 a.m. We’re on a seventy-two-hour clock. Helluva fireworks show ahead, boys.”

The words and routes had been said before—and would be repeated again. The airfields on the blowup aerial appeared more like rutted cowpaths than runways, and cover seemed nonexistent. With nine million dollars on the line and a load of artillery large enough to start a revolution, every bent blade of grass or gust of wind caused concern; every snag in the plan, a major discussion.

“Blue, you’ve got the north field,” said Rattail. “Scurv, the south. I’ll take the middle field. Get the money, make the exchange and blow.”

Both men nodded silently. They’d heard the line before.

“We rendezvous by noon up this log road in the Stanislaus.” Rattail slid a forest map next to the aerial. “You’ve all got your copies. Don’t be late. Remember the code. Hit the number and the star button on the cell if you’re in trouble and can’t talk.”

“I wonder where Tan got these aerials,” said Blue, cleaning the lip of his beer can with a tissue.

“Guy’s got bucks,” said Scurvy, popping a dirty vitamin wafer into his mouth. “Probably bought a satellite.”

“I’d still like to know who his enemy is,” said Blue.

“And I still wish we’d talked Riley and Weaver into radios. Or at least a cell between them,” said Scurvy.

“They’re outlaw bikers, for chrissake,” said Blue. “Helmets were a hard push.”

“They’ll be there,” said Rattail. “Payday for them is a hundred grand apiece. They’ll be there.”

Rattail, Scurvy, and Blue awoke before dawn the next day and poked the highbeams of the U-Haul at Highway 395 South. They had eight hours to make two hundred miles. “Arrive early,” Rattail had said at least once a day for the past week. “Scout the ground. Jack the load. Kick Weaver and Riley loose with the scrap.”

Although the fate of the courier drivers from southern California had never been spoken out loud, their fatal demise seemed understood. Only a fail-safe alternative could save them. Rattail had packed a roll of duct tape and two large canvas bags. In his mind, their silence and detention called the shot.

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