Chaingang

He'd done an arsenal job years ago. They were dangerous and tricky, but he'd ended up with all the munitions and small arms he needed. He'd made off with an Uzi, which was all the rage as the most popular SMG. But the grip safety didn't suit him and he'd finally picked up a semiautomatic Chinese knockoff, doing the conversion himself to keep it street-legal. He trusted it, and was pleased Dr. Norman and his superiors had not forced him to scrounge up a piece.

For a few seconds he considered picking up the brass. But he opted on leaving it, stomping as many shell casings as he could see into the mud, kicking some into the river, leaving some.

The wallets first. The first two. The one he'd back-shot had a money clip but no wallet or ID. A nonperson. Keys next. Checking hands for unusual jewelry. Feeling for hidden holsters, stashes, money belts. Moving them quickly and easily to the vehicle that would act as their temporary sarcophagous. An aging orange-brown Toyota with a camper on the back. Perfect.

Textbook ambush. Almost. Almost ... He was a perfectionist. All that spoiled it were the unseen watchers. He really spent some careful time checking it all out, trying to scope out the hidden eyes. They were out there somewhere. Maybe following him through high-tech binocs from the far hills across the road. Perhaps they were out across the water. Wherever they were, they were keeping their distance. But he was almost certain of their presence.

Some suit was filming him with a telescopic lens, maybe sound-on-film, capturing the suppressor clatter of the SKS with a state-of-the-art government parabolic.

But it was of no consequence. After all, taking someone's game and running it back down their throats was what he did. His hobby, you could say. He was a collector. He collected payback.

15

WATERTON CITY LIMITS

There were ten tracts of land, each a complex negotiation in itself, where dual abstracts had been drawn up by both parties, and the contractual boilerplate was mind-boggling to Royce Hawthorne. He promptly became lost in a cloud of easements, adjacencies, parcels, and legalspeak; adrift in a choppy sea of restrictions and covenants.

The tracts were far from equal in size—the smallest being a four-acre divot at the edge of Luther Lloyd's river ground, the largest being the entire Weldon Lawley farm.

Lloyd's was simplest, too, regarding paperwork. Perkins Realty had a slim folder on the deal consisting of map coordinates and title search, general warranty deed with statutory acknowledgments, dual abstract updates, letter of freedom of incumbrances, copy of clerks reply, the bill of sale, the canceled cashier's check, and a couple of pages of notes on the negotiation and purchase.

Each time he'd begin reading, something would throw him. The first sale was a “lot, tract, or parcel of land lying north of County Road ‘598’ and being situated in the NEA of the NEA of Section 9: T915N; R174E of the Third Principal Meridian, Waterton County, Missouri, more fully described by metes and bounds: beginning at a point in the center line of County Road ‘598’ therein distant east 347.83 feet from the northeast corner of Section 11-71-T915N; thence..."

At approximately the fifth “thence,” he would start to fog up.

All of the general warranty deed documents were signed with the formal “TO HAVE AND TO HOLD the premises aforesaid, with all and singular the rights, privileges, appurtenances, and immunities thereto belonging or in anywise appertaining unto the said parties of the second part, and unto their heirs and assigns forever, the said

[Cullen Alberson and Regina Alberson, his wife]

hereby covenanting that they are lawfully seized of an indefeasible estate in fee in the premises herein conveyed; that they have good right to convey the same; that they will Warrant and Defend against the lawful claims and demands of all persons whomsoever. IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the said parties of the first part have hereunto set their hands and seals this the day and year first above written.

(Signed) [Cullen Dale Alberson] (SEAL),

[Regina Louise Alberson] (SEAL)."

A notary public had stamped her stamp in testimony whereof, a copy of the thing had been microfilmed, the instrument had been filed for record in the recorder's office by the clerk of the circuit court and ex officio recorder of Waterton, one Elizabeth Smythe.

On all of these documents the party of the second part was a very well heeled and anonymous buyer calling itself the Community Communications Company, headquartered in Alexandria, Virginia.

He drove to the nearest isolated pay phone and punched in money and the 703 area code for Alexandria, Virginia.

“Jean, what city please?"

“Alexandria."

“Yes?"

“May I have the number of the Community Communications Company, please?"

“One moment ... Hold for the number.” A recorded voice dropped the digits into the long lines:

He hung up and dialed direct. An operator asked for money. He complied and the line rang.

“Communications Company."