Chapter 16

"What do you mean you don't know where O'Donnell is?" Max yelled into the satellite phone. He was halfway back to town, bouncing along an old mining trail, when Jamal, the guard driving the white Chevy 4 X 4, called him with the bad news.

"Look man, I made it all the way to the roadblock. They haven't been there," responded the guard with frustration and fear in his voice. "They was in front of me the whole time, but I just couldn't catch em. They was too fast. After I got to the roadblock and talked to the deputy, I went all the way back to site five where we started. I still didn't see em. I even looked down in the canyon, but there's nothing."

"Fuck," was Max's simple reply. He thought for a minute then raged, "Where's my fucking Jeep? Where the fuck did they go? O'Donnell better not be acting out one of his sick little fantasies. You find them and call me the moment you do," Max was out of breath, his muscular face contorted and red with anger. He couldn't believe this day was getting worse.

It should have been a simple operation. Find the Driscol girl and get rid of her. Quietly. He pulled a cinnamon toothpick from his pocket and chomped down on the sliver of wood angrily. The simple act calmed him greatly and he finally regained enough composure to dial another number. He knew Max had to maintain leadership.

"Sheriff speaking. What can I do for ya, dipshit?"

"Are your Deputies completely fucking incompetent?!" Max yelled, nearly swallowing the toothpick.

Sheriff Warner was pulling the shiny H2 into his circular driveway and had contemplated ignoring the call. He was looking forward to gutting the sheep and taking it to the local taxidermist. He really didn't want to talk with Max at the moment, but Max and his boss paid the bills, handsomely. He reluctantly answered. "Slow down there," he drawled. "They aren't completely incompetent. Even a broken watch is right twice a day. I thought you guys liked em incompetent, makes business easier."

"Listen prick. That damn bitch must have made it through the roadblock. My guy didn't find the car on the road and one of my men is missing in my new Jeep," Max screamed into the phone.

"Well they didn't make it through the roadblock, that's for sure. Deputy Miller was sitting there all afternoon. He was doing a speed trap before we set up the roadblock. Didn't see no white Porsche or your nice little soccer mom car. Miller would have noticed that one. He's got a weakness for cars and tells me about every single one of them. He loves chasing down rich, Ferrari driving assholes right out of rehab."

"Well he must have been sleeping today," Max snarled. "Get your fat ass to the fucking airport and use that fancy helicopter of yours to find those fucking cars!"

"Will do hoss, but you know this is gonna cost you," Sheriff Warner rubbed his hands, anticipating the payoff. This wouldn't be cheap. "Might wanna calm down Maxie, you're gonna have one of them aneurisms. Ah hell, on second thought-"

"Whatever, dick-wad, bill the boss and find my fucking Jeep!"

"Hey, I'm not complaining, Maxie. I need a few new toys for winter. It's easier to hunt critters when the snow's all the way up to their necks. Think I might get me a new snowmobile or two. Always a pleasure doing business," Tom drawled.

Sheriff Warner put the goat in a shed behind the house and then called to order the local search and rescue helicopter prepped for flight. He grabbed his rifle from the back seat of the Hummer and headed toward his squad car, a four wheel drive Ford Expedition. Normally the helicopter was used to find lost hikers or evacuate distressed rock climbers, but today it would be put to more sinister uses. Tracking down and killing Liv Driscol.