Free Under the Lake by Stuart Woods Page A

parked out front with the motor running. Approach with caution and detain the driver. Watch out for whoever else might come out the front door. Don’t go too heavy; might be my imagination. Read me?”
    “I read you, Sheriff.”
    “And radio me when you’re about to Minnie’s. I won’t go in till you’re there.” Scully put down the microphone, swung left into a side street, then left again into an alley. He pulled up at the back entrance to the store, switched the engine off, and got out of the car. Howell followed as he went to the trunk and removed a short pump shotgun. “Now listen,” Scully said, “you stay right here until I come get you, you hear? If there’s any shooting, pick up that microphone, press the button, and tell my radio operator, okay?”
    “Okay,” Howell replied, glad he wasn’t going into that grocery store with the sheriff.
    Scully stood by the car, waiting impatiently to hear that his man was in place at the front of the store. The radio came alive.
    “Sheriff, this is Jimmy.”
    Bo picked up the microphone. “I hear you. You out front?”
    “Listen, I’m real sorry about this,” Jimmy came back, “but I’ve got a dead battery. Can you hold off till I can get a fresh one in there? Shouldn’t be more than four or five minutes.”
    “Shit!” Bo said. He pushed the button. “Hurry up, goddamnit. Get here as fast as you can.” He put down themicrophone and banged his fist against the steering wheel, then turned to Howell. “Listen, I can’t wait for him to get here. Minnie will be in there by herself. I could use some backup. You know how to use a shotgun?”
    “Well, yeah,” Howell said.
    He handed Howell the weapon. “That’s got eight in the magazine. The button there’s the safety. You just push that and pump, then shoot, okay?”
    Howell nodded. “Okay.” He didn’t feel as confident as he sounded. He had been around cops when there was shooting, but he hadn’t been doing the shooting. He didn’t like this at all.
    “Now, listen, you’re gonna be there to point that thing, not to shoot it—not unless you absolutely have to, and for God’s sake, don’t shoot me. You’re deputized as of right now. There’s a manager’s office through the door to the left; somebody could be in there. Follow me in; if the office is empty, we’ll work our way down toward the cash register.”
    Bo Scully walked quietly into the back hallway of the store, staying close to the wall. He tossed his Stetson onto the floor behind him, looked carefully into the manager’s office, then shook his head. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for Howell to follow him. The two men walked quietly forward into the main room of the store and found themselves facing a shelf of canned goods lying directly across their path. Scully stopped and cupped a hand to his ear. They could hear the cash register beeping softly as an order was rung up. That seemed normal enough to Howell, but he was afraid to be relieved. Scully motioned for Howell to go right, then he went left.
    Howell followed the shelf to its end and peeped down the aisle toward the front of the store. The store seemedempty. He could see all the way into the parking lot but could not see the Tennessee Chevy. How the hell had he gotten into this? He took a deep breath and began tiptoeing down the aisle toward the front of the store, passing other aisles between the shelves to his left. At each aisle he could see Scully, his revolver drawn, moving forward. Fearfully, Howell kept pace with him. He stopped at a cereal display and peeped around the corner toward the cash register. A man in a leather jacket and a woman in jeans stood at the checkout counter, their backs to him, watching an elderly woman bag their groceries. Howell could see the Chevy now; its motor was still running. Nothing else seemed wrong, though. The couple were just buying groceries. He began to relax a little.
    “That’ll be $32.41,” Howell heard the elderly