The Last Call: A Bill Travis Mystery
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Bill Travis believes that he may not live the most exciting of lives, yet when Julie Simmons steals two million dollars from North Texas quarter horse racer and illegal liquor baron Archie Carpin, the last of a dynasty of criminals from the 1920's, thus ensues a chase across the Lone Star State to recover the money. Carpin's cohorts may seem simple-minded, yet their penchant for sniper rifles and high-explosives makes for a reckless and deadly quarry. Yet, through all this action the compelling tale of another mystery--the 80-year unclosed missing-persons file of a U.S. Marshall--begins to unravel.
on Wednesday night. My hearing hasn’t changed since I was about two.” “You just have the one duplex, right Dock?” Hank asked. “That’s right,” he said, scratched his head and looked down at Keesha again. I noticed whenever he looked at her the corners of his mouth turned up into a little smile. “Well,” Hank said. “I never heard an official definition, but I think you’d have to own a row of them, come by a couple of times a month not to repair anything but just to browbeat everybody for their
back directly. He’s gone to Waco to pick up some chickens. You’re welcome in this house, Mr. William, so come on in here. That’s all of you. You too, Slim,” she said, raising her voice and hailing Hank, who leaned back against my car at the edge of the light. I stepped up to the top step and in through the door into the waiting warmth inside. “Come on in here, child,” I heard her say behind me. “Don’t be shy, now.” Just inside the kitchen I turned and waited. First came Keesha, with Julie’s
I was bringing it in. The two white things were eyes. They were dead and knowing and accusative all at the same time. When the head broke the surface the eyes blinked at me. The mouth opened and gallons of water spilled out. It was someone I knew. “Oh,” my dad said at Driving Miss Daisy speed, “It’s just a hank. Kill him and throw him back in.” The hank was reaching for me, green and gray fingers dripping river bottom mud, contorted, grasping at the air just a short space from my ankles.
Freddie tracked her there and Jake killed Ernest Neil with a bullet to the head at three-hundred yards. It was impossible to know whether or not he’d been aiming at Julie or at Ernest. I had it figured that in the moment he had her lovely head and face in the cross-hairs of his sniper-rifle, Jake couldn’t bring himself to do it. Whether from misplaced affection, unrequited, or from anger, I believe he moved the cross-hairs a few hundredths of a degree, took careful aim at Earnest Neil, and fired.
exhibits where they keep the three thousand year old mummies?” “Naw. Can’t say as I have.” “If you did, you’d know the feeling,” I said. “Okay. Now I don’t want to know,” he laughed. It was a nervous laugh. “But you better go ahead and tell me.” “It’s being trapped. Not for seventy years, or even a thousand. But for eternity.” We were quiet for a bit. The men behind us shifted around. I heard quick whispers in the gloom. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get out of this place. But Sheriff Thornton,