The Target (Will Robie 3)
you’re over there.”
“Guess so. Don’t want you to shit on me like you been doing on yourself.”
Junior grinned. “Know me something, old man.”
Earl returned the smile. “What’s that? How to count to ten?”
“You know what I’m talking ’bout. The doc. And that load’a bullshit you laying on her.”
“Don’t know what you talking ’bout, boy.”
“Your daughter, huh? Bet you ain’t got no daughter.”
“Sure I do, son. Sure I do.”
“I’m thinking you got something up and I need to talk to somebody.”
Earl sat up. “Is that right? You gonna talk to somebody? What you gonna say?”
Junior absently scratched his chin. “Now, I been thinkin’ on that. Been thinkin’ what could Earl Fontaine and his fat ass be up to?”
“And what your little pea brain say back to you, huh?”
“It says to me that Earl Fontaine got some scam going. He wants to get somebody down here to see him for some reason ain’t nobody but him knows about.”
“Damn, son, you good. You real good.”
“Yes, I am,” said Junior firmly.
“But who you gonna tell who’ll believe your ass? They killing you pretty damn soon. You nothing to them but some statistic. One more asshole with a number they making leave this here world. So long, Alabama.”
“I say my piece with the doc. Women? I can be pretty damn convincing.”
“I bet you can.” Earl rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. “Yessir, I bet you damn sure can. Sure, I can see that. Hell, you like that movie star, what’s his name? Brad Pitt? Gals throw their underwear at that boy.”
“So soon as I see her again, she gonna hear from me.”
“But you going back to death row before she comes back.”
“So’s I tell me somebody else. Or I tell her come see me in there.”
“I believe you would. I do indeed.”
Earl looked over and saw a man enter the ward. He gazed back at Junior. “Mebbe we can make some kinda deal, Junior.”
“Mebbe you can go to hell, Earl.”
“Is that your final word, son?”
“No. Go to hell twice.”
“Damn, son, what’s that under your sheet?”
“What?”
“Under your sheet, boy. What’s that thing I see there?”
Junior put his hand under his sheet and his fingers closed around it. He slowly withdrew it, looking stunned.
“He got a knife,” screamed Earl. “He gonna kill somebody. Knife. Knife!”
Others in the ward looked over and started yelling. A nurse overturned her tray. Another patient started yelling. Someone hit an alarm.
Junior said, “Wait. I ain’t know where this—”
He looked up into the immense face of Albert the guard.
“Wait!” screamed Junior as he started to drop the knife.
Albert clamped his hand over Junior’s, keeping the knife right where it was. He seemed to be struggling with Junior for the weapon. Then Albert’s baton came down once, twice, and then a third time on Junior’s head.
Each impact sounded like a melon being hit with a hammer.
The first blow knocked Junior out.
The second blow clearly killed him.
The third blow was just because Albert wanted to.
Albert let go and the knife clattered to the floor.
Junior slid halfway off his bed. His body was held there by the chain bolted to the wall. Albert took a step back and looked at the blood, hair, and brain matter on his baton. He used Junior’s sheet to wipe it off.
He looked around and said, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt nobody no more.” He looked back at Junior. “Dumb sonofabitch.”
“Holy Lord, Albert, you done saved us all,” said Earl. “No telling what that crazy man was gonna do with that there blade.”
“All he’s gonna do now is nothing,” said Albert with finality. He looked over at Earl and a glimmer of a smile crossed his lips. To everyone, he said, “I’ll report this here incident. Everybody saw what happened, right?”
Earl nodded vigorously. “I sure as hell did. Maniac was trying to kill us with that there knife. Saw it clear as day. He knows his ass is gonna get lethal-injected. Probably wanted to take as many of us with him as he could. Bastard ain’t got nothing to lose. Can’t execute him twice, right?”
“Right,” said Albert. He surveyed the room again. “Right?”
Everyone in the room, from the prisoners to the staff, nodded back.
Albert smiled and looked satisfied. “We good then. I’ll get the boys come get this pile’a trash. Least now we don’t have to spend the money to execute his sorry ass.”
He turned and walked off.
Earl settled back against his pillow, trying hard to hide his smile as he stared over at the dead Junior. The same male nurse who had chastised him for wanting to smoke while hooked to oxygen came over to him.
“Damn,” said the nurse. “Where the hell did Junior get that knife?”
Earl slowly shook his head. “No telling. You better count your scalpels and all that stuff. Sonofabitch probably took it from one of you.”
“But he’s chained to a wall. And what was he going to do with it?”
“Wait till somebody got close and take ’em hostage, I betcha,” said Earl. “They gonna kill his ass. He wants outta here. Last chance, right?”
“Damn, talk about your evil scum.”
“That’s right,” said Earl as he puffed up his pillow and lay back, still watching Junior’s blood drip down the sheets. “Talk about your evil scum. Trying to beat the hangman, that sumbitch. After all the shit he done pulled in his sorry-ass life. Good riddance, I say.”
“What is the world coming to?” said the nurse.
It’s coming, thought Earl. It’s coming all right. It’s coming right to me.
An investigation crew came in and took some pictures and did some forensic analysis, but everyone in the ward could tell their hearts were hardly in it. A man who had committed vile murders and was scheduled to be executed for these crimes had tried to kill people with a stolen knife. Then he’d had his brains bashed in by a heroic prison guard for his troubles.
They couldn’t have cared less.
Later, Earl watched as a prison crew came in and took Junior away and then cleaned up the area.
Earl kept his gaze on the black body bag until it disappeared out the door.
Then he closed his eyes and grinned.
Under his breath he said, “Nighty-night, Junior.”
Chapter
28
THE DAWN WAS BREAKING COOL and clear when they landed at a private airstrip outside of Avignon in France. Clearing customs was not a problem; they simply bypassed it. When you arrived on clandestine wings on soil governed by an ally, conveniences like that tended to occur.
Robie and Reel carried duffels off the jet and dumped them in a truck waiting for them on the tarmac. Reel took the wheel while Robie rode shotgun.
After their meeting with Evan Tucker they had geared up and game-planned, as much as was possible in the few hours they had to do so. They had spent the flight time going over various scenarios.