Cold Quarry by Andy Straka Page B

get far. It was not the first time I’d seen Toronto lose it. Maybe one of the most explosive. He burst across the room in little more than a stride and with nothing but a couple of fingers applied to the man’s solar plexus had the commander of the local Stonewall Rangers Brigade up against the panel partition leading to the back office.
    “Don’t screw with us, Higgins. And don’t disrespect us. You sent a man up there to Chester’s woods yesterday. Why?”
    Higgins was suddenly having trouble breathing, but he managed to blurt out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Right. We’re going to figure out who shot Chester, and if I find out it was you or one of your little cronies, that Constitution you’re always waving around ain’t gonna help you one bit. You dig?”
    He nodded, ever so slightly. His cheeks were turning bright red.
    “It’s okay, Jake. He’s not worth it,” I said.
    Toronto glared at the man a second longer. Higgins’s eyes began to roll back and his lids fluttered. “You’re right,” Jake said. “And that’s too bad.” He released his hold.
    Higgins crumpled to his knees, coughing and gasping for breath. There was one of those water coolers with a ring dispenser filled with paper cups in the corner. I went over and filled one with the cold liquid, then brought it back and handed it to the car dealer. His hands shaking, he took the cup without looking at me.
    “You’ll be okay in a minute or two,” I said.
    Higgins squeezed out a smile. “Just a couple more days,” he croaked.
    “What’s that?” I bent over to hear him more clearly.
    “Just a couple more days. Y’all will see.”
    Toronto grabbed him by the hair. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
    I held out my hand to stop him. A low vibration rumbled the walls of the building. Outside through the widow, not fifteen feet away, a long tractor-trailer car carrier loaded with used cars and trucks was rolling into the dealer’s lot. I guess the driver was early that morning. Higgins’s paperwork and the answers to the rest of our questions would have to wait.
     

9
     
    “What in the world were you thinking? You could’ve killed that guy.”
    Toronto didn’t answer, simply stared at the multiple lanes of cars ahead of us as we made our way back through Charleston in the direction of Chester’s land. We’d left Higgins talking to the car carrier driver, then headed down MacCorkle Avenue and onto the interstate in stony silence.
    “Talk to me, man.”
    More silence. Then finally, “None of this smells right. If Higgins or one of his pals killed Chester, why would he have sent someone back to the scene of the shooting?”
    “Maybe they’re hiding something. Maybe something about the land.”
    “And maybe that ties in with whatever happened to Elo,” he said.
    “We need to find out if Chester’s vet has gotten back the results from whatever tests he sent out.”
    “Seems simple. Chester could’ve found out about something the Rangers are up to and that’s why they killed him. I might buy that. Still …”
    “Still what?”
    “Seemed to me Higgins was actually telling the truth, at least about not killing Chester.”
    “What do you think these GPS way points are all about?”
    He shrugged. “Could be just one of their stupid war games.”
    “Or it could be something serious.”
    “An actual attack? I suppose Higgins might just have it in him.”
    “Seemed pretty obvious from talking to Deputy Nolestar that the Feds are watching the Rangers.”
    “Which means they’ve probably got them under surveillance and all their phones tapped.”
    “What do you think Higgins meant when he said just a couple more days?”
    “Wish I knew.”
    “Which raises another question. If they know and have solid evidence that the Rangers murdered Chester, why haven’t they moved in to at least arrest those responsible? You pick up on anything specific regarding an attack at those meetings you went