Page 87 of Open Season

TWENTY-FIVE

Of all the things Jack had never expected to happen, having Glenn Sykes walk into the station, introduce himself, and ask to speak to him was number two on the list. Number one was his reaction every time he got close to Miss Daisy, but he was learning to live with that. He was also beginning to think nothing was impossible.

Sykes was of average height, a little stocky, and neatly dressed. His sandy hair was short and neat; he was clean-shaven, his nails pared and clean, clothes pressed. He didn’t look like anyone’s version of a hit man, but then Ted Bundy hadn’t looked like a monster, either. Criminals came in all shapes, sizes, colors, and could be wearing rags or diamonds. The smart ones wore diamonds. The really smart ones looked like this man.

Sykes was also very calm, and certain of what he wanted. “I want to cut a deal,” he said. “I can give you Mayor Nolan, the man who stabbed Chad Mitchell, a man named Elton Phillips, and a lot more. Let’s get the D.A. in here and talk.”

“We know who stabbed Mitchell,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair. “Buddy Lemmons.”

Sykes didn’t even blink. “Miss Minor identified him, didn’t she?”

“She got a good look at all three of you.”

“So you’ve got her stashed someplace safe.”

Jack didn’t respond, just watched Sykes. The man had an excellent poker face, giving away nothing.

“There’s something a lot bigger than just a stupid piece of trash getting offed.” Sykes leaned back, too, as relaxed as Jack.

“I was wondering how the mayor is tied in.”

“There’s a lot of money in the sex trade,” Sykes said obliquely. “You going to call the D.A. or not? You need to move fast; there’s something big going down tonight.”

“The Russians,” said Jack.

Sykes whistled softly through his teeth, not even trying to hide his surprise. “Guess you know a lot more than I thought. But you don’t know where and you don’t know who.”

“I’m guessing Mayor Nolan does, though.”

“He’ll sing like Tweety Bird,” Sykes agreed.

“So why would the D.A. want to deal with you?”

“Because trust is a rare commodity, and I don’t have much of it.”

Jack studied the sandy-haired man, the clear, cold eyes and utter calm of his manner. “You’ve got the goods on all of them, don’t you? You documented everything.”

“That’s right.” Sykes gave a thin smile. “Just in case. I like having a little leverage when things go wrong. And sooner or later, they always go wrong. You just gotta learn when to get out.”

Jack left the room and placed the call to the district attorney in Scottsboro. If a deal had to be made, he thought Sykes would be a better state witness than Mayor Nolan, simply because Sykes struck him as more ruthless and organized. Sometimes you had to deal with the devil, and this was one of those times.

Then he called the motel where he’d left Daisy, wanting to give her the word that she was safe. The front desk switched him through to her room, and he listened to the ringing. Four rings. Five. Six. He began to sweat

Maybe the front desk had put him through to the wrong room; mistakes happened. He disconnected, called back, and asked for her room again. One ring. Two. A cold fist knotted in his chest She should be there. Three. Maybe she was getting something to eat at the Huddle House. Four.

Sykes was here. There was no way Daisy was in any danger now.

Five.

She wouldn’t have left for any reason, would she? She was safe there. But what if she’d come up with one of her off-the-wall plans and thought she could trap Sykes or the mayor?

Six.

Logic told him she was okay. The worst fear he’d ever known, however, whispered all sorts of scenarios to him, scenarios that ended with Daisy—

Seven.

He tried to imagine a life without Daisy in it, and it was like hitting a stone wall. Full stop. Nothing.

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