Pastor

"Pastor, Pastor, how are we?" It was Travis Boyette. In anticipation of this unlikely event, Keith had rigged a small recorder to his phone. He pushed "Record" and said, "Hello, Travis," and Dana came to life. She scrambled out of bed, flipped on a light switch, grabbed her cell phone, and began punching the number of a Detective Lang, a man they had met with twice.
"What are you doing these days?" Keith asked. Just a couple of old friends. Lang had told him to keep Boyette on the line as long as possible.
"Moving around, can't stay in one place too long." His tongue was thick, his words slow.
"Still in Missouri?"
"Naw, I left Missouri before you did, Pastor. I'm here and there."
"You forgot your cane, Travis. Left it on the bed. Why did you do that?"
"Don't need it, never did. I exaggerated a little bit, Pastor, please forgive me. I got a tumor, but it's been with me for a long time. Meningioma, not a glioblastoma. Grade one. Benign little fella. It acts up every now and then, but I doubt if it will kill me. The cane was a weapon,fake foamposites for sale, Pastor, something I used for self-defense. You live with a bunch of thugs in a halfway house, and you just never know when you might need a weapon." Country music was in the background; he was probably in a seedy lounge.
"But you had a limp."
"Well, come on, Pastor, if you're using a cane, you need a little limp, don't you think,Link?"
"I wouldn't know, Travis. You got some folks looking for you."
"The story of my life. They'll never find me. Just like they never found Nicole. Have they buried her yet, Pastor?"
"No. Her funeral is Thursday. Donte's is tomorrow."
"I might sneak around and watch Nicole's, whatta you think about that, Pastor?"
Great idea. They would not only catch him but probably beat him. "I think you should, Travis. You're the reason for the funeral. Seems fitting."
"How's that cute little wife of yours, Pastor? Bet you guys are having fun. She's so fine."
"Knock it off, Travis." Keep him on the line. "You thought much about Donte Drumm?"
"Not really. We should've known those people down there wouldn't listen to us."
"They would have, Travis, if you had come forward earlier. If we had found the body first, the execution would not have happened."
"Still blaming me, huh?"
"Who else, Travis? I guess you're still the victim, right?"
"I don't know what I am. Tell you what, though, Pastor. I gotta find a woman, know what I mean?"
"Listen to me, Travis. Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you and bring you back to Topeka. I'll leave right now. We'll do another road trip, just the two of us. I don't care where you are. You'll be locked up here, and then they'll extradite you to Missouri. Do what's right for once, Travis, and nobody else will get hurt,Website. Let's do it, pal."
"I don't like prison, Pastor. I've seen enough to know."
"But you're tired of hurting people, Travis. I know you are. You told me so."
"I guess. I gotta go, Pastor."
"Call me anytime, Travis. I'm not tracing these calls. I just want to talk to you."
The phone line was dead.
An hour later, Detective Lang was at the house, listening to the recording. They had been able to trace the call to the owner of a stolen cell phone in Lincoln,fake jordan shoes, Nebraska.