Hour Game (42 page)

“No doubt his trial will get a change of venue,” said King. “If it goes that far.”

“What, you mean insanity?” asked Williams. “No way. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.”

“In a way he was exorcising demons that have been with him most of his life,” said King. “I’m not excusing anything he did, and if he gets the death penalty, so be it. But if he hadn’t had Bobby Battle as his father, I don’t think any of this would have happened.”

They all looked at each other in silence.

“And there but for the grace of God go I,” said Sylvia in a very low voice.

W
HEN
E
DDIE
B
ATTLE WAS DRIVEN OVER TO THE COURTHOUSE
the next morning in a special convoy provided by state police and uniformed FBI agents, the crowd of townspeople and media was so enormous the convoy couldn’t get through. Indeed, fueled by the national attention the story had received, seemingly everyone from a five-state area had come to watch. And there was an angry look to the throng.

“Shit,” bellowed Chief Williams as he stared out at the crowds from the lead van. “I was afraid of this. We’ve been getting death threats against Battle ever since the story broke about his capture.” He eyed the mobs in their way. “No telling if somebody out there has a gun either.” He scrutinized a group of tough-looking men standing beside pickup trucks with building materials in the beds.

“That’s probably a bunch of Junior’s good old boys, and they don’t look like they’re here to pat Eddie on the head.”

“Isn’t there an underground entrance to the courthouse?” said Bailey, who was in the rear seat behind Williams.

“Don’t you think if there were I would have already gone there? Maybe we should take him back to the jail and let it settle down.”

“Settle down! It’s not going to settle down for months. We might as well get it over with now, while we have the manpower with us.”

Williams studied the crowd some more, then barked into his
walkie-talkie. “Okay, let’s move it right down the middle of the street. Take it slow; I don’t want any civil lawsuits because we ran over somebody. We’ll pull onto the lawn directly by the front steps. You clear and secure that area. I want a ring of body armor there, you understand? Then we’ll open the doors and hustle him through fast for his arraignment. But before he comes back out, we’re going to disperse this damn crowd and get these media trucks out of here, that’s for damn sure.”

“You’re gonna have a big First Amendment problem with that, Todd,” said Bailey.

“To hell with the First Amendment! I’ve got a prisoner to keep alive. Even if it’s just so they can execute him.”

The area was secured, the van pulled in front and Eddie Battle was whisked into the courthouse as screams and epithets rained down on the men encircling him, along with bottles, cans, rocks and other thrown items but fortunately no bullets.

Battle’s court-appointed lawyers met him outside the courtroom. They spoke briefly and went inside, where Eddie pleaded not guilty. His counsel didn’t ask for bail to be set, not that such a request would have been seriously considered. His lawyers might have been terrified that a free Eddie would come and visit them in the middle of the night.

“We’ll be in touch,” said his lead attorney, a tall, portly woman with a bad haircut.

“I’m sure,” said Eddie, his strong body nearly bursting out of the too small orange prison jumpsuit. “You think you can get me off with good behavior?”

Eddie and his bodyguards headed back out but were stopped by Williams and Bailey long before they got to the exit doors.

“We’re looking at a near riot out there,” said Williams. “Before we can get him out, we have to deal with it. I’ve ordered pepper spray and tear gas if they won’t disperse on their own.”

Eddie smiled. “Looks like I really lighted up old Wrightsburg’s fire, Todd.”

“Shut up!” screamed Williams, but that did nothing to wipe the smile off Eddie’s face. It just grew bigger.

“Now, you have to protect me,
Todd.
You can’t let them kill me or the media will be pissed. You can’t deprive them of the show. Think of the ratings. Think of the ad dollars.”

“I said shut up!” Williams moved toward him but Bailey got between them.

“That’s stupid, Todd, don’t even think it.”

“Hey, thanks, Chippy. You’ve always been such a good friend,” said Eddie.

Bailey whipped around, and his hand went toward his gun.

Now Williams stepped in. “Okay, Chip, we’re not going to let him do this to us.” He bellowed to two of his deputies. “Take him to the holding cage on the second floor. We’ll come get him when the crowd’s under control.”

“Good luck,” called out Eddie as the deputies led him away. “Don’t let me down now.”

O
NE OF THE DEPUTIES WAS BY THE OUTSIDE DOOR; THE
other hovered by the window.

“It
looks
like a damn riot there,” said the one by the window. He was Eddie’s height, well built, with curly hair. “There goes the tear gas.”

“Tear gas!” said the other, a short cop with a bulldog chest, wide waist and broad hips that caused all the gear on his belt to stick out sideways. “Wish I were out there shooting some of that stuff at those sumbitches.”

“Well, go on, I got things here.”

“No can do. The chief said to stay put.” He glanced in the direction of the holding cell where Eddie Battle sat silently watching them. “This mutha’s killed a bunch of people. Dude’s crazy.”

“They don’t riot for jaywalkers, boys,” said Eddie.

They both looked at him. The big cop laughed. “That’s a good one. They don’t riot for jaywalkers.”

The short cop looked at his partner.

“Go on,” said the big cop. “This dude’s going nowhere.”

“Well, look here, if you see the chief coming, radio me. I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Roger that.”

The short cop left, and it was just Eddie and the big cop.

Eddie rose and moved to the door. “You got a cigarette?”

“Right, like I’m falling for that one. My mother didn’t raise no idiots. You just stay over there and I’ll stay over here.”

“Come on, they searched every crevice I have and some I didn’t even know I had. I’ve got nothing to hurt you with. I really need a smoke.”

“Uh-huh.” The big cop kept looking out the window. He glanced back every now and then to check on Eddie but eventually kept his gaze on the goings-on outside.

Eddie Battle had massive forearms with thick, pronounced veins. One of these veins was bigger and thicker than the others, a fact probably noted by the police who searched him, but not raising any suspicion. It was a vein after all, full of blood. However, to someone as skilled as Eddie Battle, a vein was not always a vein. This vein, in fact, was made of plastic, resin and rubber and was completely hollow. In the course of his reenactment career Eddie had become very adept at makeup, disguises, costuming and creating fake wounds and scars. He sat back down in the shadows for a bit, working on the artificial vein with his fingers. It finally “ruptured,” and he slid out the very slender items that had been hidden there. The risk that he might be caught had been very real, and he’d taken some very real measures to deal with that eventuality. No search of his person, however thorough, would have turned up the pick and tension tool hidden in the hollow vein.

He kept his eyes on the big cop still looking out the window. He moved forward quietly, draped his manacled hands through the bars of the cell such that they covered the lock. He inserted the instruments in the lock and slowly worked it. He’d practiced this very maneuver for hours at a time on an old cell-door lock he had salvaged from a prison that had been torn down. Finally, through the tension tool and lockpick he could feel the tumblers start to fall into place. There was a loud noise from outside, and he used that moment to cover the sound of the lock clicking open. He held on to the bars and slipped his instruments between his wrist and manacles.

“Hey, dumb-ass! Hey, I’m talking to you, you big stupid piece of flesh.”

The big cop turned and eyed him. “Why don’t you just stuff it! I ain’t the one going to no electric chair.”

“Lethal injection, you moron.”

“Right, that’s my point, so who’s the dumb-ass?”

“From where I’m looking you are.”
Come on, big guy, just step this way.

“Keep right on talking.”

“What, sticks and stones’ll break your bones, but words will never hurt you? How the hell did somebody like you get to be a cop? But not a real cop, just a country bumpkin.”
Come on, you know you want a piece of me. Here, coppie, coppie.

“Us country bumpkins caught you, now, didn’t we?”

“An ex–Secret Service agent did, dumb-shit. Your police chief I could’ve eaten for breakfast any day of the week.” Eddie glanced at the man’s hand and saw the wedding band. “After I screwed your little woman, that is. Damn, she was a tasty thing.”

“Uh-huh.” A bead of sweat broke over the back of the cop’s thick neck. His pistol hand clenched and unclenched.

Almost there.

“Are your kids as ugly as you are, or did you and your fat-ass wife adopt so you wouldn’t have any little freaks running around?”

The cop whirled around and strode toward the cell, his big low-quarter shoes thumping on the painted concrete floor with each step. “All right, you piece of shit, you’re damn lucky you’re in there—”

Eddie kicked the door open, and the heavy metal caught the cop flush in the face. He went down hard. Eddie charged out, the chain binding his hands went around the cop’s neck and Eddie flexed his powerful arms. In thirty seconds there was no more big cop. Eddie searched the body, got the keys to the manacles and was free. He raced over, locked the door to the hallway, pulled the dead officer into the cell, switched clothes and set him on the bunk propped against the wall.

Eddie put on the cop’s sunglasses and broad-brimmed hat,
unlocked the door and glanced down the hallway. There were officers stationed along this corridor.

Not a problem, there was always the window. He shut the door, raced over and looked out. Fortunately for him, the police had now herded the crowd to the other side of the building. He glanced down. It wouldn’t be easy, but the alternative was far more unpalatable. And he had a job to finish. He opened the window, climbed out, felt for the ledge below with his feet and hit it squarely. He squatted, gripped the slender edge of brick with his strong fingers, eased his body off but held on, swinging. He glanced to the right and left. He swung out, did it again, a little farther this time, and then once more, until his body was almost parallel with the ledge. On the fourth swing he let go, the man on the flying trapeze. He hit the outcropping of roof on the first floor of the building, caught his balance and then lowered himself to the ground.

Instead of running away, he marched to the other side of the building and right into the middle of the crowd, fighting his way through at the same time he pretended to be helping quell the riot. He reached a number of empty squad cars, looking in one after another until he spotted keys in the ignition of a bulky Ford Mercury. He climbed in, backed it out and drove off. The riot was still going on, the network personnel gleefully filming all of it for the national audience. However, they’d just missed the biggest scoop of all: the successful escape of Eddie Lee Battle.

He found a pack of gum in the ashtray, popped a piece of Juicy Fruit in his mouth and turned the police radio on high so he could learn instantly when they discovered he was no longer in custody. He breathed the fresh air and flicked a wave to a kid walking his bike along the side of the road. He slowed the squad car and rolled down the window.

“Hey, you gonna grow up to be a good law-abiding person, son?”

“Yes, sir, mister,” called out the little boy. “I wanna be just like you.”

He tossed the kid a stick of gum. “No, you don’t, son.”
You don’t want to be like me. I’m terminal; only got a few days to live.

But he looked on the bright side as he sped up. He was free and he was back in business. And he only had one more to go. One more!

It felt so damn good.