Niceville

fucking brother-in-law, I don’t care if he is a fucking war hero, get in between me and my family. If I gotta, I’ll punch his fucking lights out, and, you know, Phil, I’m about ready to do that, because I’m fucking tired of taking shit from people, and I’m really okay if it starts with him. You follow?”
    Holliman, a diplomat, had some of his G and T, because if Deitz and Nick Kavanaugh were going to go at it, he’d have to think long and hard about where he’d put his money.
    “Okay, I follow, and let me know when it happens, so I can come watch. Now back to business, boss. I called the Chinks, you know, to arrange picking up the … thing. I get their voice mail.”
    “Okay,” said Deitz. “No problem. Early yet. Gone down for breakfast.”
    “Okay. Breakfast. Alla them at the same time. I can see that. Chinks move in packs, right?”
    “Yeah. Well, I see your point. Stay on it. I got something else I want you to look at. See what you think.”
    He reached out, gathered up a section of the
Niceville Register
, laid it out in front of Holliman, pressed it flat with a sweaty palm.
    Phil leaned over and read the news item.
    B ODY F OUND IN F OREST
    State police officers doing a search of the woods in the vicinity of last Friday’s fire at the historic Belfair Saddlery discovered the partially decomposed body of a man about a half mile from the site of the fire. The man, described as a white male in his mid-forties, was found lying againsta tree. His body showed signs of being partially eaten by coyotes and other scavengers. Initial estimates place the time of death at between four and six o’clock on Friday afternoon. Cause of death was initially thought to be exposure but a preliminary examination at the scene revealed a gunshot wound to the lower back, which nicked an artery, another wound which severed the left ear, and a third wound in the middle of the throat, which caused severe brain damage and a fatal loss of blood. Fingerprint Recognition at the FBI identified the deceased as Merle Louis Zane, an ex-convict who had served time for attempted manslaughter at the Louisiana State Prison in Angola. Police Captain Martin Coors states that investigators are now looking to see if there is a connection between the dead man and the armed robbery carried out a few hours earlier at the First Third Bank in Gracie, where four police officers were gunned down during a pursuit.
    The investigation continues.
    “The third man,” said Phil. “Gotta be the third guy. Looks like they had a disagreement, after the fucking robbery.”
    “Pukes always do,” said Deitz. “But who’d he disagree with, that’s the question. Now look at this,” he said, turning over the fold, flattening out a large full-color spread above the fold.
    “That’s a picture of the hostage thing, down there at Saint Innocent Orthodox.”
    Holliman studied the picture, a tangle of cop cars, two cops sticking a green-shirted guy into the back of a cruiser, some cops and civilians standing around talking, big grins all over.
    “Yeah, I saw this. Silver-haired guy in the gray suit, that’s Coker, he’s the sniper. Dozer dyke is Mavis Crossfire. And the guy watching, looks like Wyatt Earp, that’s Charlie Danziger. Bunch of other guys, cops. Jimmy Candles.”
    “Look at Charlie Danziger. Anything stand out?”
    Holliman leaned over, lifted his sunglasses to see the shot more clearly.
    “Yeah. He’s got gay cowboy boots on.”
    “Gay? Why gay?”
    “They’re fucking blue, Byron. Who the fuck wears blue cowboy boots? Richard Simmons?”
    “Nothing ringing your bell here?”
    Holliman sat back, taking the paper with him, holding it out into the sunlight.
    “Oh fuck.”
    “Yeah. Oh fuck.”
    “The guy with the blue boots? At the bank?”
    “Danziger. And that fucking Coker.”
    “No way.”
    “Think about it. Danziger knows the payroll is coming in. He finds a wheelman, Merle Zane, some pro he knows from his days with State. Coker is the shooter, waiting for those poor schmucks down on Route 311. He’s using a Barrett out of Stores, cleans it and puts it back before anybody is the wiser.”
    “Coker’s a cop. Danziger was a cop. No way they’d pop four of their buddies like that.”
    “For two and a quarter mil I’d pop your mother. I’d pop
my
mother. And that Coker’s a chilly motherfucker, and Charlie Danziger’s got a beef with State, goes way back.”
    Holliman stared at the picture, taking it