You dont go, I dont go, so thats what we got.
You still crazy.
Yeah, Im crazy as hell, lets leave it at that. He finished cleaning and then dressing the wounds and tightly bandaged them. He gently lifted his brother, but the movement sent Josh into a coughing spasm, blood from his mouth pooling down his shirt. Rufus carried him over to the truck and laid him down next to it.
Shit, Rufus, this thing aint going nowhere, Josh said desperately, looking at the battered truck.
I know that. Rufus pulled a bottle of water from the camper, twisted it open and put it to Joshs lips. Can you hold it? You need to get some liquid in you.
Josh answered by gripping the bottle with his good hand and drinking a little. Rufus rose and went to the overturned Jeep. He pulled the machine gun free from where Tremaine had wedged it between the seat and the metal side of the Jeep. The man had used wire, a piece of metal and a string to rig the trigger for full automatic fire while he set up his ambush of Josh. Rufus eyed the situation for a moment and then tried to push against the hood to right the vehicle, but he couldnt get any leverage that way, and his feet slipped in the loose gravel. He studied the situation some more. There was really only one way that he could see. He put his back against the edge of the drivers-side seat and then squatted down. He dug his fingers into the dirt and gravel until they got underneath the Jeeps side, and then he clenched the metal tightly. He gave one good pull to gauge what he was up against. The Jeep was heavy, damn heavy. Thirty years ago, this wouldnt have been that much trouble for him. As a young man he had lifted the front end of a full-sized Buick, engine and all, clean off the ground by a good three feet. But he wasnt twenty anymore. He pulled again and he could feel the Jeep rise a little before settling back down. He pulled once more, straining and grunting, the muscles in his neck tensing hard beneath his skin. Josh put the bottle down and even managed to lift himself partially off the ground by leaning against the shredded truck tire, as he watched what his brother was trying to do. Rufus was tired already. His arms and legs werent used to this anymore, not for a long time. He had always been strong, stronger than anyone else. Now, when he really needed it, when his brother would surely die if he couldnt turn this damn Jeep upright, would he not be strong enough? He hunkered down again, closed his eyes and then opened them. He looked skyward where a big, black crow lazily circled. Not a care in the world, just long, unhurried brush strokes against the canvas of blue. As sweat poured off Rufuss face he clenched his eyes again and did what he always did when he was troubled, when he thought he wouldnt make it. He prayed. He prayed for Josh. He asked the Lord to please grant him the strength he needed to save his brothers life. He gripped the sides of the Jeep once more, tensed his massive shoulders and legs. His long arms began to pull, his bent legs began to straighten. For a moment, Jeep and man were suspended in a precarious equilibrium, moving neither up nor down the Jeep unwilling to yield and Rufus just as stubborn. But then Rufus slowly started to fall back a little as the weight was just too much for him. Rufus sensed he would not have another chance. Even as the Jeep began to win the battle, he opened his mouth and let out a terrible scream that forced tears from his eyes. As Josh looked on at the impossible thing his brother was trying to do for him, tears started to fall down his exhausted face. Rufuss eyes opened again as he felt the Jeep rise, inch by agonizing inch. His joints and tendons afire with what he was accomplishing, Rufus grunted and pulled and heaved and ignored the pain as it snapped perilous signals through his trembling body. The Jeep fought him every punishing inch. It creaked and groaned, cursing him. But then he was standing upright, and he gave the hunk of metal one last heave. Like a wave about to pitch onto a beach, the Jeep cleared the point of no return and fell hard to earth, rocking upon impact and then coming to rest on all four wheels. Rufus sat down in the Jeep, his whole body shaking from his immense exertions. Josh looked on in silent wonderment. Damn, was all he could finally say about what he had just witnessed. Rufuss heart was racing so hard now, he worried his success might prove to be an empty one. He clutched at his chest, breathed deeply. Please, he quietly said, please dont. A minute later Rufus slowly rose, shuffled over to his brother and carefully lifted him into the Jeep. He rearranged the cloth top, which had become dislodged when Tremaine and Rayfield had been thrown clear. He gathered up as many supplies as he could from the truck, including his Bible, and put them into the back of the Jeep along with the weaponry. He climbed in the drivers seat and then stopped and looked over at Tremaine and Rayfield. Then he stared up once again at the circling crow, which had now been joined by several brethren, large enough to be buzzards. In less than a day the two dead men would be picked to the bone if left out in the open. Rufus climbed out of the Jeep and went over to Rayfield. He didnt have to check the mans pulse. The eyes didnt lie. That and the stench of released bowels. He slid first Rayfields and then Tremaines bodies into the shack. He said a few simple words over both men before rising and closing the door. One day he would forgive them for all they had done, but not today. Rufus climbed back in the Jeep, gave Josh a reassuring look and started the Jeep. The engine didnt catch the first time, but it did the second. Gears grinding as Rufus got a quick lesson in driving a stick shift, the Jeep jolted forward, and the brothers left this impromptu battlefield behind. ["C50"]CHAPTER FIFTY
The justices traditionally had a private lunch in the Courts second-floor dining room after oral argument. Fiske had left Sara in her office to catch up on some work. He had decided to use the opportunity to make some inquiries on his own. If his flow of information had been cut off from D.C. Homicide, Fiske decided hed better make it up somehow. One possible source was Police Chief Leo Dellasandro. As he walked along the hallway, he thought about the oral argument he just listened to. Even as a lawyer, he had never really understood how much power was wielded from this building. The Supreme Court over its history had taken some very unpopular positions on a myriad of significant issues. Many had been brave and, at least in Fiskes opinion, correct. But it was unnerving to realize that if a vote or two had gone the other way on some or all of those prior decisions, the country might be very different today. By any definition that seemed to be a precarious, if not perilous, state of events. Fiske also thought about his brother, and how much good he had undoubtedly brought to this place, even in the role of a clerk. Mike Fiske had always been fair and just in his opinions and actions. And when he made up his mind, a person could not ask for a more loyal friend. Mike Fiske was good for this place. The Court had indeed suffered a great loss when someone had taken his life. But not as great as the Fiske familys loss. Fiske made his way to Dellasandros ground-floor office, knocked on the door, waited. He knocked again, and then opened the door and peered inside. He was looking at the anteroom to Dellasandros office, where his secretary worked. That space was empty. Probably at lunch, Fiske assumed. He stepped into the office. Chief Dellasandro? He wanted to know if anything had turned up on the surveillance videos. He also wanted to know if one of the officers had driven Wright home. He approached the inner office door. Chief Dellasandro, its John Fiske. I was wondering if we could talk. Still no answer. Fiske decided to leave the man a note. But he didnt want to leave it at the secretarys desk. He slipped into Dellasandros office and over to his desk. He picked up a piece of paper and, using a pen from the holder on the desk, scrawled out a brief note. As he finished and positioned the note prominently on the desk, he looked around the office for a moment. There were many ceremonial tokens on shelves and walls, attesting to a distinguished career. On one wall was a photo of a much younger Dellasandro in his uniform. Fiske turned to leave. Hanging on the back of the door was a jacket. It had to belong to Dellasandro, obviously part of his Court uniform. As Fiske passed by it, he noticed several smudges on the collar. He rubbed it with his finger and examined the residue: makeup. He went out into the anteroom and looked at the photos on the desk there. He had seen Dellasandros secretary once before. A young, tall brunette with quite memorable features. On her desk, there was a photo of her and Chief Dellasandro. His arm was around her shoulder; they were both smiling into the camera. Probably many secretaries had a photograph with their bosses. There was something in the eyes, how close they were standing together, however, that might suggest something more than a platonic working relationship. He wondered if the Court had specific rules on fraternization. And there was another reason why Dellasandro would be well advised to keep his pants on and his hands off his secretary: Fiske glanced back into Dellasandros office at the photo on his credenza of his wife and kids. A very happy-looking family. Only on the surface, obviously. As he left the office, he concluded that it pretty much summed up how this place and the world in general operated: Surface appearances could be very deceiving; one had to dig deeper to get to the real truth. *����*����* Rufus stopped the Jeep. Im going to flag down the first cop I see. Get you some help, Rufus said. With an effort, Josh sat up. The hell you are. Cops get hold of you, they find Tremaine and Rayfield, theyll bury you.