The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 22

“As a general rule, you don’t want to cross-draw unless you’re sitting down. In any case, you’ll want to practice, especially if you’re all thumbs.”

Jimmy reached across his body and pulled the Browning. Both the 45?8 inch barrel and front sight caught on his jeans.

“That happens with big automatics like this,” I said. “Listen, do you have a smaller gun? A .32 caliber snub-nose with a concealed hammer is my choice. It’s less likely to catch on your clothes.”

“I have a .38 S&W, but I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “It’s smaller, and it only has five shots. The Browning has ten plus one more in the chamber.”

“You point a gun at someone, it’s going to look as big as a howitzer no matter what size it is. My opinion, a wheel gun is more reliable, less likely to jam, okay? It’s not going to eject your empties all over the place, either, in case you left your print on a shell casing.”

“But five shots…”

“Kid, if you can’t seal the deal with five, an extra six isn’t going to help. Trust me on this.”

“What do you know about combat?” I glanced over Jimmy’s shoulder to see Roy standing in the doorway that led to the bedrooms. He was carrying an AK-47 assault rifle in the port position.

“Whoa,” I said. “Where did you get that?”

I reached for the rifle, but Roy turned his shoulder away like a child protecting a toy from his older brother.

“Don’t touch it,” he said.

“C’mon,” I said.

Roy stepped away, showing me his back. “It’s none of your business where I got it,” he said. “What are you even asking for?”

Back off, back off, back off, my inner voice chanted.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said aloud. “Relax, man. I’m just curious. You don’t often see this kind of ordnance.”

“You come in here, pushing people around, and now you want to know where we get our guns—”

Skarda and the old man walked into the cabin. They must have heard the exchange on the deck. Skarda asked, “What’s going on?”

Harry and Bullert wanted me to ask questions and get answers. At the moment, I couldn’t think of anything more suspicious or foolhardy. It was like when you’re doing time—ask for nothing, take nothing, offer nothing, see nothing, know nothing, never show interest in the activities of others, never take sides. Sooner or later the other inmates will realize that you want nothing from them. That’s when they start talking to you. I needed to change the topic of conversation in a hurry.

“You’re a real desperado, aren’t you, Roy?” I said. “Ex-army puke, you think you know my business? Tell me something, Roy, what are you going to do if it rains?”

The question caught him by surprise—it kind of caught me by surprise, too. He hemmed and hawed and said, “It’s not going to rain.”

“Oh, you can predict the weather coming off of Lake Superior?”

“I’m just saying…”

“I’m just saying, I know my business and you don’t. You’re an amateur, Roy, and this gung ho we got the barn, we got the costumes, we got frickin’ AKs, let’s put on a frickin’ show bullshit is going to get someone killed. Roy.” I spun around, went back into the kitchen, scooped up my mug, and gave Josie my best Oliver Twist impersonation. “Please, may I have some more?”

As she poured, Skarda moved close to me. “What if it does rain?” he asked.

“People lower their heads when it rains,” I said. “They don’t look up, they don’t look around, they don’t loiter on the sidewalk, and they don’t window shop. Store windows, car windshields, hidden camera lenses become distorted. Vehicles are made more difficult to identify. Sound is muffled. No one questions it if you’re wearing a jacket”—I pointed at Josie—“or if you’re wearing a hat. Rain, Dave, is your friend.”

I glared at Roy when I said that last bit. He was standing in the living room, gripping the assault rifle tightly. He was angry because he thought I was trying to show him up—I could see it in his eyes. That’s what I intended, although I knew it would work against me in the long run. An experienced, trained undercover operative would have handled it better, I knew, but at least Roy didn’t think I was a police spy.

“We should be going,” Josie said. “Everyone knows when and where we rendezvous, right?”

The general consensus was that they all did. The four thieves made for the door. Jill rose from the kitchen table to join them.

“You, too?” I asked.

“They need me to drive,” she said.

I glared at Josie. She shrugged in return.

“Good luck, sis,” Skarda said. He gave Josie a hug. She glanced at me over his shoulder.

“Break a leg,” I said.

I was surprised that I meant it—absolutely break a leg if it keeps you from going into that grocery store.

Where did that come from? my inner voice asked.