Aimpoint - Chapter Five
Raylan stopped inside the door and looked around. It was the kind of bar that the college kids frequented, and it was crowded for a Monday night. Lair was so out of place in this setting that Raylan could easily make him out cutting a swath through the patrons, heading for the back wall. He was far enough ahead that it would have been up to Tim in the alley to cut him off if the back door of the bar hadn't been locked. Raylan smirked and sauntered up behind him as he flailed uselessly at the handle, yelling at the door to open. He finally gave up and spun around. Raylan was only a foot behind him. He dangled the handcuffs in Lair's face and raised an eyebrow.
"I think it's against fire regulations to lock the secondary exit in an establishment like this," Raylan shouted over the music. "I'd report it, but I'm just so amused."
He grinned and made a turn-around motion with his finger and his prisoner meekly obliged. He searched him and found a handgun. He made a tut-tut sound then cuffed him and led him back through the curious crowd. They ran into Art who was waiting near the entrance.
"Can't stay out of bars, can you?" Art joked. He looked down at Lair and shook his head. "I think there are prettier girls here you could have picked up."
"I enjoy the chase, Art, and he was the only one running," Raylan said.
They made their way out to the street and helped their prisoner into the backseat of Raylan's car.
"Where's Tim?" Art asked looking around.
"Ran to cover the back."
"Should we go get him?" Art suggested, intending the 'we' as a 'you, Raylan'.
"He'll figure it out," Raylan said casually, and the two Marshals leaned against the car, waiting.
An LPD cruiser pulled up just as they got comfortable and Art sauntered over to say hi and came back chatting with the officer.
"Someone called in a fight," the officer said.
"Probably the bartender," Raylan responded. "He looked a little jittery."
Art asked the officer to take Lair to the station in his cruiser. As they transferred him to the other car, Art turned to Raylan, "Go get Tim, will you? It'd be nice to head home sometime before dawn."
Raylan pushed off the car and jogged over between the buildings. When he approached the back alley he started calling out to Tim. Nothing. He called out again as he turned the corner. The light wasn't great, but he could make out a figure curled up on the pavement.
"Shit. Art, call an ambulance!" Raylan yelled over his shoulder.
Art jumped at the command. He hated those words. He pointed at the officer as he walked toward the building.
"I got it," the officer said waving him away. He reached in and grabbed his radio, calling into dispatch for EMS and backup.
Raylan pulled his sidearm and did a quick sweep of the alley. Satisfied they were alone he holstered it and knelt down beside Tim. He reached to find a pulse just as Tim opened his eyes and drew his legs up a little tighter. Moving was clearly a bad idea.
"Fuck," he moaned breathing in gasps and squeezing his eyes shut again.
"Tim," Raylan said anxiously. "What happened, buddy?"
Raylan checked him over as best he could in the poor light. He pulled Tim's hand away from his side, it was slick with blood.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tim kept repeating.
"It's alright, buddy," Raylan said, keeping his voice calm and even. "Help is on the way."
Tim started shaking. Raylan took off his jacket and covered him, offering a little warmth.
"Fuck, fuck…," Tim's voice faltered.
"Hey Tim, keep swearing. Look at me. The swearing is nice – kind of calming," Raylan joked trying to hold Tim's focus.
Art appeared behind Raylan. "What happened?" he asked, looking anxiously at Tim.
Raylan just shrugged and glanced up at Art. "I found him like this. He's bleeding."
"Fuck," Tim said feebly, his eyes losing focus.
"Hey, look at me. Tim," Raylan cajoled. "How the hell did someone get the jump on you? Must've been ten or twenty of them, huh?" He kept nattering while he removed Tim's sidearm and back up and passed them up to Art.
"I'm going to intercept the ambulance," Art said and headed down the alley to the main street.
Raylan could hear the sirens now. "Hear that? That's drugs and a nice soft bed coming your way. Not to mention at least a month off then some light duty – maybe a trip or two downstairs to see that lovely shrink, nice way to pass the time."
Tim's eyes drooped then slid all the way shut. Raylan reached for Tim's shoulder and squeezed it.
"Tim, buddy, look at me," he repeated. "Stay awake, now."
"Fuck," Tim groaned faintly.
Raylan would have laughed if he weren't so worried.
The ambulance pulled into the alley and the paramedics waved Raylan off and took over. Raylan went to stand with Art and the two of them watched in silence as the attendants worked on Tim, then loaded him into the ambulance and drove away.
They walked back over to the spot where Tim had been laying and Raylan squatted down to pick up his jacket. There was a blood stain on the bottom of it and a larger matching blood stain on the pavement.
"Shit," Art said for both of them. His face was drawn down with concern. "What the hell happened?"
"I have no idea," Raylan replied and gave Art a perplexed look. "Maybe he interrupted something."
Art continued to stare at the blood on the pavement. "Or maybe they were waiting for him," he eventually said.
"No one knew Tim was going to be back here," Raylan countered.
"You're right," Art agreed. "But I've been in this business too long to think this a coincidence." He looked hard at Raylan. "Have you considered they might have been waiting for you?"
Raylan looked doubtful.
"It wouldn't be the first time someone was aiming for you and missed. And seriously, an anonymous tip?" Art shook his head. "We should have been more careful."
Raylan considered the possibility. If Lair was working for Dickie, that was certainly motive. Dickie would never turn down an opportunity to get even with him. And Lair hadn't hesitated when he ran into that bar. He wasn't from Lexington, probably didn't know the area well, and it wasn't even Lair's kind of bar, yet he had headed straight for the back door like he was familiar with the place. Moreover, anyone who knew Raylan would assume he would be working alone, it was a good assumption. He would have followed Lair straight into that alley if the door hadn't been locked. But the door was locked and it was Tim that had ended up in the alley.
He looked over at Art who had started wandering back to the corner between the buildings, talking on his phone. Two LPD officers approached, asking what they could do. Art directed them to cordon off the alley, get some lights and start searching for a weapon.
"Gun?" one asked.
"We're not sure," replied Raylan, joining them. They nodded and turned away.
"I called Rachel," said Art. "When she gets here I'm going to the hospital." He passed a hand over his face. "You and she can organize things here, get LPD canvassing, see if there are any witnesses." He looked around at the buildings and sighed. "Shit. We'll question Lair after he's had time to sweat it out in lock up. On second thought, why don't you go have a chat with him right now, hint that his plan went south and he's up for accessory..." Art rolled his hand like he meant to add more but couldn't find the words. He was upset, worrying about Tim's current state of mind and how it would affect his chances.
Raylan let Art ramble, only half listening. He was still trying to get his head around what had happened and was already planning a trip down to McCreary to visit Dickie Bennett.
The LPD had roped off the area and were looking under bins and around corners with flashlights. Art and Raylan left them to it and walked back to the front of the building.
Raylan went straight over to the squad car where they'd left Lair, opened the door and sat inside next to him. He was over the shock of what happened and was working up a solid anger. There was some blood on his hand so he leaned over and roughly rubbed it off on Lair's shirt.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Lair yelped and pushed himself up against the door of the car, as far from Raylan as he could get.
"I'm guessing that was supposed to be mine," Raylan said in a dangerously quiet voice, pointing at the blood smear. He watched Lair's face closely. "That door wasn't supposed to be locked, was it? It was supposed to be me meeting your friends in the alley tonight. You're probably pretty interested right now whose blood that is, and just how much shit you're in." Raylan's voice was getting louder and louder.
He paused letting the information sink in. Lair was staring at the blood on his shirt. He slowly shifted his eyes to look at Raylan. It didn't take someone with training to read the guilt and fear in them.
"That blood belongs to Deputy Gutterson. That's accessory to murder one. Hard time. That's the shit you're in. So I reckon you'd better think about what you're going to say to me when we talk next. It'd better be something I want to hear."
Raylan got out of the car before he could do anything he'd regret. He slammed the door and stood for a moment clearing his head then walked over to join Art.
Art nodded off in the waiting room, almost spilling his coffee. He gingerly set it on the table beside him and stood up to walk around a bit. He had found a nurse when he first arrived who explained that Tim was heading into OR, and that it looked to them like stab wounds. He added that he also had a broken arm and a cracked rib. Art called Raylan and relayed the information, then called home and told his wife he'd be late. When he explained why, she was upset. She liked the kids at the bureau, and she worried about Art. He took these things hard.
When the surgeon finally came over later to talk to Art, he'd fallen asleep again.
"Chief Deputy Art Mullen," he said loudly.
Art jerked awake and stood up a bit too fast.
"Sit down before you fall down," the surgeon ordered.
Art obeyed and rubbed his face. Dr. Phil Burkhart was turning into something like a friend. He'd seen Art often enough over the years and he would shed his professional airs and talk squarely when it was just the two of them. It was the perfect bed-side manner for a Chief Deputy US Marshal.
"Is that your boy in there?" he asked. When Art nodded an affirmative he smiled in sympathy. "I guess it's hard seeing them hurt."
"You sort of think that once the kids leave home you'll stop having to deal with this stuff, but you don't." Art said tiredly. "Maybe it's an age thing. Do you think I'll ever get used to it?"
"I haven't," the doctor replied shaking his head.
Art searched Phil's face for clues about Tim's condition. "I guess if thing's weren't good you'd have said so by now," he reasoned with optimism.
Phil smiled and Art relaxed. "He's still breathing. Your boy's lucky. It could easily have killed him if whoever did this knew anything about anatomy. But fortunately, he didn't and he missed anything that would've made it fatal or hard to repair. There was a lot of bleeding though, and I'm not happy with his blood pressure. We're going to keep him in ICU overnight at least because, hell, shit happens."
Art digested the news and nodded.
"I'll take being shot any day over a knifing," Phil continued. "I hate stab wounds – they're just messy. His arm set fine. Nasty bruise though. Somebody hit him with something?"
Art chewed on that information for a minute before answering. He shook his head and shrugged and said, "We found him lying in an alley. I'm kind of anxious to have a chat with him. I'm hoping he can tell us what happened."
"I'll let you know when that's possible." The surgeon stood and stretched. "I'd like to join you for that chat. I've got a few questions of my own for him. He's got some interesting scars," he added as he turned to leave.
Art chewed on that, too. He stood up again, a little more slowly this time, and headed out the front door for some air. He started dialing Rachel's number just as she and Raylan rounded the corner of the building with a tray of fresh coffees.
"He's going to be fine," he answered before Rachel could ask.
Art repeated the surgeon's report as they wandered back to the waiting room and sat down to talk. Rachel was more quiet than usual, her eyes continuously darting over to the glass partition into the ICU, waiting for a glimpse of Tim. Raylan filled Art in on the details of their findings so far.
"We found a knife and a bat in the dumpster. No surprise there," he said. "I showed Lair's photo to the bartender. He's pretty sure he remembers him coming in a couple of times this week. Said he had a drink at the back, once alone, once with a couple of other guys. He agreed that they weren't the usual clientele. I told LPD we'd collect Lair sometime tomorrow for questioning." He paused and looked at Art, raising his eyebrows. "I think you're right, Art, about them waiting for me. Lair was in a panic when I told him about Tim – way more afraid than he needed to be if he wasn't involved. I'm going to head down and see Dickie tomorrow morning, early, before he has a chance to get the news."
Art nodded, "I'll go with you."
"Worried I'll lose it and do something you'll regret?" Raylan asked.
"No, I'm not worried about you. You've shown admirable restraint with Dickie in the past, and with more reason to beat the living shit out of him," Art replied. "I just want to see his reaction when he sees you. And then if you don't get violent, maybe I will."
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Author's Note: Thank you RedMolly for timely advice on penitentiaries! We can't read "Dickie Bennett" without picturing the hair, can we?