Page 48 of The Last Straw

The Feds had found him dead when they came to serve an arrest warrant—to a preacher—for money laundering.

Holy shit became the phrase of the day.

Since the Church of The Righteous was beginning to crumble, it affirmed a decision that Jordy Gooch, Jessup Wallis’s drinking buddy, had been wrestling with ever since he’d heard about the quarter of a million dollar bounty.

Granted, Jessup was drunk when he told Jordy that the preacher was sending him on a holy quest to kill a demon, but in Jordy’s mind, that just made him mean and stupid.

Then he’d seen the video and put two and two together, and he’d still stayed mum. But with Raver dead, Jordy wanted that money. He’d always wanted to live where it snowed. He’d seen it once when he was a kid, and never forgot. He could get good and lost with a quarter of a million dollars, and never be judged for where he got it.

That video was still all over social media, with the contact info and everything. So he pulled it up on his phone and wrote it all down. Now all he needed was a picture of Jessup, and he had plenty. He just needed to find one where he wasn’t drunk and laughing, then send it with the name.

Farrell Kitt was almost home. His panic to see his wife and his kids, and talk to Jeremiah, was uppermost. He was coming up on the church when he saw yellow crime scene tape across the driveway.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he groaned.

He didn’t know what had happened, but he stomped the accelerator to put as much distance between him and the church as possible. But to get home, he also had to pass where the preacher lived, and when he saw more crime scene tape at the road leading up to Jeremiah’s house, his stomach rolled. It was all he could do not to throw up. Something bad had happened. Something worse than the bounty on his head. He was afraid to go home for fear the cops would be waiting for him, and pulled off the side of the road to call Judy. He needed to hear her voice.

It only rang once before Judy answered.

“Where are you?”

“About ten minutes from home. I just drove by the church and Jeremiah’s house, and there’s crime scene tape everywhere. What the hell happened?”

Judy started crying. “It’s just awful. The FBI came to serve warrants on Jeremiah for money laundering, and found him shot dead in the front yard.”

Farrell gasped. “What? Money laundering? But—”

“That’s not all. Jessup Wallis’s girlfriend, Britta, already put Jessup out of her house. His things were all over her porch. I don’t know if he’s come back to get them, but everyone is pointing fingers at him being one of Raver’s chosen.”

“What are they sayin’ about me?” Farrell asked.

“Nothing that I know of,” Judy said. “Your brother David came over this morning to borrow the tractor. He got himself stuck up in his back pasture. He asked where you were, and I said you’d gone into the city for a doctor’s appointment, and that you’d be home later today.”

“A doctor’s appointment? What’s supposed to be wrong with me?” Farrell asked.

“I told him you’d been feeling dizzy a lot, and I pressured you into getting a checkup. You know how high blood pressure runs in your family. It was all I could think of.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good. Oh, God, Judy... I’m so sorry I got mixed up in this.”

“Just get your ass home,” she said.

Farrell put the car back in gear and accelerated, but there was no way to outrun the mistake that he’d made.

It was just before 8 a.m. when Charlie walked into the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the kitchen table to call Detective Floyd, and then his phone rang. It was Hank Raines.

“Good morning, Hank. You’re up early.”

“Yes, just one of those days,” Hank said. “I have an update for you. The ATF went to serve an arrest warrant on Preston Davis, who likely instigated the hit on Raver, hoping to cut the link between them before anyone found out. He resisted arrest and pulled a gun on six armed ATF agents. Needless to say, he’s dead. And it is my understanding that the info they confiscated is leading to the arrests of the people Davis had been doing business with.”

“Good,” Charlie said.

“No problem. Have a good day,” Hank said and hung up.

Charlie reached for the notes Wyrick had given him, and called Detective Floyd. The call rang three times, and then he answered.

“Detective Floyd, Dallas PD.”

“Hey, Floyd, this is Charlie Dodge. Got a minute?”

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