The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 55

“What are you talking about?”

“Conspiracy, trespassing, breaking and entering, burglary, assault, felony assault with a car, for God’s sake.”

“Well, if you’re going to nitpick…”

“Just—just let me think about this for a second.”

Bullert paused for so many seconds that I thought I had dropped the call. Finally, “Actually, you know what,” he said. “It’s just crazy enough to work.”

“Tell me you didn’t say that.”

“Your plan…”

“My plan? My plan is finished. Get a name, you said.”

“If the Bandits are convinced you’re actually going to rob an armored truck…”

“Chad.”

“This Fenelon will be convinced, too.”

“Chad.”

“You can set up a buy with Fenelon, bring us in, we take him with the guns in his possession, convince him to lead us up the chain…”

“Chad.”

“I like it.”

“Hell no, Chad.”

“You’ve taken it this far, McKenzie. It’s just one more step.”

“This is the part of the program where I admit to you, I like these people. I don’t want to see them get hurt.”

“There won’t be any charges stemming from the armored truck robbery. We won’t even cite them for conspiracy. It is entrapment, after all. You have to know, though, McKenzie—they’re going to be hurt whether you continue to help us or not. They’re wanted. They’re armed robbers. Skarda is an escaped prisoner.”

“I know.”

“Look, the ATF has no interest in the Iron Range Bandits, and the FBI, Harry, he’ll tell you the same thing. The county sheriff, the local cops—that’s a different matter. We won’t intercede, not to help, not to impede. On the other hand, helping us take the guns off the border no matter how indirectly, that might be useful at their trials. You could even testify on their behalf. An ATF operative, that might carry some weight.”

“You would allow me to do that, call myself an ATF operative in open court?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I can think of lots of reasons.”

“McKenzie, if we can get those guns off the Canadian border without any innocent people getting hurt, you can call yourself any damn thing you want. You can be His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama from Tibet for all I care.”

“I can take your word on that?”

“Of course you can. I work for the federal government.”

I parked the Jeep Cherokee behind Josie’s car and climbed back onto the deck. There were voices raised in heated debate inside the cabin, and I paused outside the door to listen. What I heard filled me with sadness. I had hoped my words earlier would scare them straight, only I was mistaken.

“Truck C,” Skarda said. “It’s gotta have the most money because it goes to the biggest cities. We can rob it here.” There was a loud tapping sound. “Rob it here on Highway 135.”

“No, no, no,” said the old man. “Just because it goes to Virginia … Look, Truck A stops at the casino up here in Grand Portage.” There was more tapping. “That’s gotta have the most money.”

“Why?”

“It’s a casino.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Jimmy said. “Why not rob all of them?”

“All three?” Josie said. “That’s crazy talk.”

“I’ve been doing research. It’s not all that hard to rob an armored truck.” I heard the flipping of sheets of paper, and I knew he was thumbing through his three-ring binder. “In New York, in the Bronx, two men pepper-sprayed a guard who was delivering a bag of money to a check-cashing center and took off with the money. In St. Louis, a group of robbers overpowered a guard who was leaving a bank with a sack containing nine hundred thousand dollars. In Rochester, some men took a guard hostage who was getting fast food and forced him and his partner to drive to a secluded spot where they transferred the money into a van. Eleven million dollars. Eleven million.”

Better put a stop to this right now, my inner voice said.

I walked into the cabin. The Bandits all turned to look at me.

“Jimmy,” I said. “In your research, how many robbery attempts failed? How many of the thieves were caught? How many people were shot? How many killed?”

He didn’t answer.

“That’s not a rhetorical question,” I said. “You said you did the research. How many jobs went to hell in a handbasket?”

“A lot.” He spoke just above a whisper.

“How many?”

This time he answered loudly. “A lot.”

“You’re an ambitious kid, I appreciate that. One job at a time, though. Let’s keep this thing manageable. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t think for a second it’s going to be easy, either. It won’t be. Our job, if we’re going to get away with it, is to make it look easy. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I glanced at Josie. She was smiling at me. They were all smiling. I had no idea why.

“You’re back,” Josie said.

“So it would appear.”

“What changed your mind?”