Free Fire - C. J. Box [128]
Joe sat back and said nothing. The idea that McCann would once again go free bothered him nearly as much as his plan falling apart. He vowed that it wouldn’t happen but kept his mouth shut. When he glanced up at Nate, he saw Nate studying him as if reading his mind. Nate nodded slightly, as if to say, “McCann won’t walk.”
There had been no discussion about the arrangement Joe had made with Portenson, and Joe found it odd that after the initial acknowledgment, the agents had conspicuously ignored Nate. Again, Joe got an inkling something was going on beneath the surface with McIlvaine and his assault team that might or might not involve Portenson.
“I want some assurances,” McCann said to Portenson in his haughtiest manner. “I want a piece of paper that says if I cooperateto make the arrests, the federal prosecutor will give me immunity.”
Portenson simply stared. Even in the poor light, Joe could see that blood had drained from the agent’s face.
Ashby looked from Portenson to Joe, concerned.
“I can’t get a piece of paper here in time,” Portenson said. “You know that. We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. It’s Sunday night.”
“Then forget it,” McCann said, sitting back. “No paper, no cooperation.”
Portenson, Ashby, and Joe exchanged looks. To Joe, it seemed as if the other two were in the first stages of panic. McCannwas playing them the way he’d played his partners, played the Park Service, played a jury, played the system.
“No paper, no cooperation,” McCann said again, firmly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Nate suddenly rear back and throw a length of wood, which hit the lawyer in the side of his head, making a hollow pock sound. Before McCann could slump off his chair, Nate was all over him, driving him into the hardwood floor.
McCann gasped, and Nate reached down and twisted his ear off, yanking it back so the tendons broke like too-tight guitar strings.
“No cooperation, no fucking ear!” Nate hissed, holding it in front of McCann’s face like a bloody poker chip.
Ashby said, “My God!”
“Fuckin’-A!” McIlvaine said, approvingly.
Blood spurted across the floor, ran down McCann’s neck onto the floor. Nate reached down and grabbed McCann’s other ear, growled, “You want to make another threat, law boy?”
“Please, no! I’ll do what you want! Please, somebody get him off me!”
Joe grimaced, stood, said, “Nate.”
McCann shrieked, “I’ll help! I’ll help! I’ll help!”
As Nate pulled McCann to his feet, he flipped the severed ear onto the table like a playing card he no longer needed. McIlvainepicked it up and inspected it, whistling to himself.
Portenson looked at Joe, raised his eyebrows, shook his head. “We don’t do this kind of crap, Joe.”
Joe winked. “Sure you do.”
One of the assault team was placed in the woods near the highway interchange with a radio so he could call ahead if anyonewas coming. Inside, Joe had watched with interest as McIlvaineefficiently placed the rest of his men throughout the cavernous lobby: two on the second-floor veranda with automaticweapons and a full field of vision of the lobby and door, one in a room on the side of the front desk with a view of the door, another behind the glass in the darkened gift shop, next to the hallway that was the only means of escape.
While the commander checked in with his team, Ashby bandagedMcCann’s head and cleaned up the blood on his face and neck. McCann looked terrified and never took his eyes off Nate, who prowled around the fireplace like a big cat.
“Is this the way you do things in Wyoming?” Ashby asked Joe.
“When Nate’s helping me, it’s the way we do things,” Joe said. “This wasn’t his first ear.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that guy.”
Joe shook his head, said, “Don’t.”
With the inn set up for an ambush, Joe and Nate prepared to go find Bob Olig. They strapped headlamps on their heads and Portenson handed Joe a radio.
“We’ll call you the second we see a vehicle coming,” Portensonsaid, “although you’ll probably