The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 29

“I don’t know,” Josie said. She turned her back to the people on the deck, leaned against the railing, and stared out at the lake.

“I knew I should have kept the marijuana farm,” Jimmy said. “Out in the forest, on public land, no one around to bother you. I would have had a huge crop by now.”

“You would have been in prison by now,” Roy said. “You rode around in an old Cadillac so everyone would think you were a player.”

“I told you, that was all about marketing.”

“No one in this family is going to deal drugs,” Josie said.

“This is better?” Jimmy asked.

“It would have been okay if you had gotten there half an hour earlier,” Skarda said.

“What are you talking about?” Jimmy asked.

I went to the cooler, lifted the lid, retrieved a can of beer, and closed it while Skarda answered.

“An armored truck picked up all the money just before you arrived. We were going to warn you, but it was too late,” he said.

“Is that true?” Roy wanted to know.

“You didn’t do your homework,” I said. I reached for the two bags and looked inside. They both contained personal checks made out to the grocery store as well as some receipts.

How are these people not in jail? my inner voice asked. They’re not even smart enough to destroy incriminating evidence.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Jill said. “Maybe it’s someone telling us we should quit. We should stop doing this.”

Roy cursed and raised his hand to hit her. Jill made no attempt to escape. Instead, she cringed, raised one shoulder and ducked her head behind it as if she knew exactly where the blow would fall, and screwed her eyes tight in anticipation. Rushmore McKenzie wanted to step in to protect the girl. Nick Dyson did nothing. Stay in character, stay in character, my inner voice chanted. Fortunately, the blow didn’t fall. Roy simply cursed again and turned away. I opened the beer and took a long sip.

“What we should have done,” Skarda said, “was rob the armored truck. Dyson said the guards were sloppy. He said we could have taken it with a slingshot.”

“That’s not what I said, not exactly anyway,” I told him.

Josie turned to face me. “How much money does an armored car carry?” she asked.

“Depends on the customers,” I said. “Sometimes millions, sometimes only a few hundred thousand dollars.”

“A few hundred thousand,” Jimmy said. “That would be more than enough.”

“Forget it,” I said. “You guys can’t even stick up a supermarket properly.”

“You can teach us,” Josie said.

“Me? I’m just passing through, remember? I’m going to Canada.”

“With only four hundred and sixty-nine dollars?” Jimmy asked.

“Josie insisted we give you a share, I don’t know why,” Roy said. “Jimmy’s right, though. How far do you think you’ll get on four hundred and sixty-nine dollars?”

“I’ll get more,” I said.

“How?” Josie asked. “With what? A stolen car? A deputy’s gun?”

“It’s a start.”

“You’re on the run, remember? Every cop in the state is looking for you.”

“Dyson, you said it would be easy,” Skarda told me.

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Listen to me. Forget what I said about the local cops before. You hit an armored truck—that’s a federal beef. The FBI investigates whenever federally insured money is stolen, and they never stop looking for you. Never. They’re worse than the frickin’ Mafia. When they catch you—there’s no parole system for federal prisoners, no time off for good behavior. They’ll convict your ass for aggravated bank robbery with a deadly weapon—which is how they look at armored truck heists, like they were bank robberies. You could draw a sentence all the way up to twenty years, and you’ll serve every single day.”

“You said—”

“I didn’t say, Dave. You weren’t listening. That’s the problem, you guys don’t listen. Jimmy didn’t listen about the automatic. Roy doesn’t listen to anything. You think you’re hardened criminals. You’re not. We’re talking about real cops and robbers now, and people can get killed.”

“You can teach us,” Josie repeated.

“C’mon.”

“What about it, tough guy?” Roy said. “You’re supposed to be this criminal mastermind. What about it? Are you chicken?”

“You’re damn right I am.”