As Sissy tried on rings, Mandy glanced over and saw the pistol. This startled her but she pretended all was well. When Jimmie asked if there were larger diamonds in the safe, she said yes and left to fetch them. In the office, she informed Tony that the customer had a gun. Tony had been in the business for years and knew his inventory attracted all types. He grabbed a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber automatic and went to the front. When Jimmie saw him coming with the pistol, he panicked and reached for the Ruger.
Hugh was ten feet from the front door when shots rang out inside the store. A woman screamed. Men were yelling in angry, desperate voices. One bullet shattered the large front window as the sounds of others cracked through the air and were heard up and down Liberty Street. Hugh ducked away and scrambled around a corner. His first impulse was to get in his Firebird and leave in a hurry. He heard sirens, more loud voices, people running here and there, total confusion. He decided to wait, blend in with the crowd, and survey the damage. He walked across the street and stood in front of the courthouse with other shocked onlookers. Two cops crouched low and entered the store; others followed. The first ambulance arrived, a second one moments later. Deputies blocked traffic and ordered the crowd to stand back.
Word finally spread and the first accounts came to life. Armed robbers had hit the store and Tony fought them off. He was injured but not seriously. The two thieves, a man and a woman, were dead.
As experienced criminals, Jimmie and Hugh knew to leave behind nothing with their names on it. At that moment, Jimmie’s wallet and clothes were in the trunk of the Firebird, along with Sissy’s purse and personal effects. The purse she carried into the store had nothing but a pistol and duct tape. Hugh was too stunned to think clearly, but his instincts told him to ease out of town. With his eyes glued to his rearview mirror, he drove out of Waynesboro, Georgia, for the first and last time.
Augusta was the nearest city of any size. When he was certain he had not been followed, he stopped at a motel on the outskirts of the city and spent a long afternoon waiting for the six o’clock news. The botched robbery in Waynesboro was the big story. The chief of police confirmed the deaths of two as-yet-unidentified people, one man, one woman, both about thirty. After dark, Hugh, eager to leave the state, drove to South Carolina, circled west into North Carolina, then to Tennessee.
He had no idea where Jimmie Crane called home but he had mentioned a couple of times that his mother had moved to Florida after his father went to prison. He did not know where Sissy was from, and even doubted that was her real name. Not that it mattered because he wasn’t about to notify anyone. With time, he would find a way into the records at Red Velvet and perhaps learn more about Sissy. He had been sleeping with her off and on for two months and had grown fond of her.
Two days later, he finally returned home. Frightened out of his mind and convinced he had been nothing but a complete idiot, he gradually fell into his old habits. Armed robbery was not his calling. Arms dealing was for someone else.
* * *
A month later, two FBI agents paid a visit to Fats Bowman at the sheriff’s office. They had finally strung together the trail of robberies, and the first five victims had helped an artist prepare composite sketches of the gang of three. The woman, Karol Horton, stage name of Sissy, had been tracked to her last place of employment, Red Velvet. She was now deceased. Her sidekick, Jimmie Crane, was a convicted felon who had recently been paroled and had a Mississippi driver’s license. Address in Biloxi. He was dead too. They were looking for the third suspect.
For once, Fats was completely innocent and knew nothing about the robberies. Why should he? They took place in other states, far away from the Coast.
The third composite bore a close resemblance to Lance Malco’s son, but Fats said nothing. The FBI agents could flash the composite all over Biloxi, but the people who knew Hugh would not say a word. After they left, Fats sent Kilgore, his chief deputy, to talk to Lance.
Hugh got a job on a freighter hauling frozen shrimp to Europe and was not seen in Biloxi for six months.
Chapter 23