Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  Maggie stood beside Audrey. “As much as I hate to leave home, the sooner we get out of here the better. I feel like he’s out there watching us.”

  “Maybe he’s already long gone,” Audrey added.

  “That’d be nice,” Jake said, “but Shane isn’t going to fade into the woodwork. He escaped for a reason.”

  “And what reason is that?”

  Jake shot a knowing glance to Bear. “To kill me and Bear and anyone we care about. That’s why you’re going to take the kids and lay low. Bear and I will find this asshole, and I’ll do what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

  Chapter Four

  Droning tires on asphalt and an unending stream of country music filled the cab on the drive to Kansas City. Bear drove Audrey’s Suburban with Audrey riding shotgun and Jake and Maggie in the middle section. Halle hunkered in the back with Bear’s daughter, Alyssa, eyes glued to their cell phones while bitching about the terrible cell service. A murderous escaped convict dominated Jake’s thoughts and likely those of the rest of the adults, making conversation scarce. Nobody wanted to scare the girls any more than they already were.

  A low-hanging ceiling of dingy clouds blocked the morning sun, casting the Kansas City skyline in a depressing shade of grey. Bear followed the Google Map directions along I-435, crossing the Kansas border before exiting on Nall Avenue. The Top Golf Driving Range passed by on their right. Jake and Maggie drank too many beers and embarrassed themselves there during a getaway weekend a few months ago. Maggie tracked the range as they passed, a smile curling up and she gave Jake’s hand a squeeze.

  They spent ten minutes cutting through residential neighborhoods and side streets, Jake constantly twisting and turning in his seat looking for potential followers. Seeing none, Bear wound the Suburban through an upscale Mission neighborhood with a mix of upper-end, two-story ranch homes set back from the road on large, manicured lots. Jake peered through the windshield at a white-brick ranch looming before them as they crawled up the circular drive.

  “Whose house is this?” Jake asked.

  “My buddy Mac’s. His dad left it to him when he died a few years back.”

  “Have I met him?”

  Bear rolled to a stop and threw the Suburban in park. “Trust me, you’d remember him if you had.”

  As they climbed from the car, a mountainous black man emerged from the front door clad in tactical black pants and a skintight, gray dry-fit shirt. His breadth across the chest and shoulders forced him to turn sideways to get through the door. His pumpkin head was shaved bald, and a ragged scar cut from his forehead to his cheek, crossing his rheumy left eye. Bear could stand toe-to-toe with a lineman in the NFL, but Mac made him look like a scarecrow as the two embraced in a hug.

  “Your trail clean?” Mac asked, his voice deep and rich.

  “Think so,” Bear said. “Wandered through the neighborhood and didn’t spot a tail.”

  Mac eyeballed his temporary tenants lingering in front of the car and ticked his head toward the house. “No sense tempting fate. Let’s get ’em inside and we’ll do introductions. Toby’s in the kitchen.”

  “Making lunch for us?”

  “Not exactly.”

  They followed Mac through the entryway. The home smelled of cinnamon spice from candles burning in the empty dining room and atop a wood hearth above a darkened fireplace. Chocolate leather furniture was scattered around the living room with a flat screen television mounted on the wall with Fox News on mute. They passed through an archway into a kitchen with a gas-top stove and stainless-steel appliances. A wiry man, with a few days growth on his gaunt cheeks, ran a carbon fiber rod with a cotton patch through the barrel of a handgun. Strewn across the table, a wide array of weapons lessened Jake’s apprehension. The cache included a couple of Heckler & Koch Mark 23 handguns, three Colt M4A1 assault rifles and two HKMP5 submachine guns. The sharp odor of Hoppe’s No. 9 wafted from a large, open bottle on the table.

  “Now we’re talking,” Bear said after a whistle. “You getting ready for war, Toby?”

  Toby gave Bear a thumbs up, and Jake noticed a mass of scar tissue across the man’s throat. He wondered where Toby earned the trophy and if it was the reason for the non-verbal acknowledgement.

  Mac lumbered beside Toby. “I’m Mac Garrett and this is Toby Gerkin. I guess we’re your guardians for the time being. As you can tell, we’re well equipped to provide protection for you.”

  “Is this everything you have?” Jake asked.

  Mac bared his gums and revealed stark white teeth. “Oh no. This is just a little taste.”

  Bear stepped forward. “Between Mac and Toby, they have four combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and have seen more action than any of us want to think about. Toby is a man of few words. Took six bullets during a raid on a house full of insurgents, including one to the throat. But don’t worry, Mac does enough talking for two.”

  “Fuuu…” Mac cut his eyes to the two teenage girls and their mothers in his kitchen.

  “You can say it,” Halle piped up. “We’ve heard worse.”

  Mac winked at her. “There’s a safe room in the back if things go south, which I don’t think they will. Basement door is always locked from this side, don’t go down there. All the windows and exterior doors are wired to sound when opened. You ladies will be staying in the master bedroom. There’s a king bed and I threw down a blow-up mattress. Less than ideal, but I’d just as soon keep you in one spot at night. You’ll be safe as that room has reinforced walls, doors and windows.”

  “You do that just for us?” Maggie asked.

  Mac’s lips disappeared. “I did it for me. Helps me sleep at night. Toby, you want to show everyone to their room and help with their bags?”

  Toby was about the same size as Maggie, slim but strong. He picked up all four of the bags and led the way back through the arch. Jake grabbed Halle’s backpack and followed.

  Toby set the bags on the floor and Jake slid open the closet doors. A handful of Mac’s clothes, judging from the size, on plastic hangers and colorful hat boxes lined the top shelf. Jake never understood why they were called boxes when they were round.

  Jake counted an even dozen of the boxes as Mac entered the room. “You a hat collector, Mac?”

  “My dad’s second and last wife was. White lady. Woulda sent my momma to a second grave. Boxes are just a bunch of wigs she had. Not sure what the hell to do with them. Too creepy to sell on Ebay.”

  Mac nodded toward the hall. Jake and Bear followed him out of the room and back to the kitchen while the others unpacked. Bear handed Mac mug shots of both Shane and Grady Harlan.

  “So how crazy is this Shane guy?” Mac asked. “Would he really go after your families?”

  “Yeah, he would.” Jake peered over his shoulder to make sure Maggie and Halle were out of earshot. “Couple of years ago, he kidnapped my wife and daughter. Would’ve killed them both if Bear and I hadn’t stopped him. He’s smart and dangerous as hell.”

  “That’s a bad combination.”

  Bear spoke up. “But Jake and I are the only ones who know where the girls are. I don’t anticipate any trouble for you but be ready.”

  Mac tossed the mug shots and picked up the Colt M4A1, a toy in his massive hands. “Oh, we’ll be ready. Don’t worry.”

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?” Jake cupped Maggie’s face in his hands by the front door. He locked onto those icy blue eyes as if it would be the last time he’d get the chance. Across the room, Bear rested his forehead against Audrey’s, both their eyes closed as they savored the moment.

  “We’ll be fine,” Maggie said. “It’s you and Bear I’m worried about. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Will you believe me if I do?”

  The corners of Maggie’s mouth curled up. “It’ll make me feel better to know you’ll at least try.”

  Jake brushed his lips against hers. “For you. I promise to try.”

  “That’s my guy.�
�� Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him. Halle came up behind and crushed him from the other side.

  “Take care of your mom,” Jake said. “And don’t be a pain in the ass.”

  “No promises, Dad. Love you.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Love you too, baby girl.’

  Five minutes later, Jake and Bear cruised down I-435 heading back to Warsaw in silence, the weight of those they left behind pressing them into the seats of the Suburban.

  “We doing the right thing?” Bear asked as they peeled south onto Highway 71.

  “Leaving them there? You tell me. Now’s a hell of a time to be having second thoughts.”

  Bear put a dip between his cheek and gum, the scent of Wintergreen wafting through the vehicle. “Shit, I don’t know. Felt like I was a soldier at the train station saying fare thee well to my beloved as I head off to war.”

  Jake watched the landscape flicker past in a blur of yellow and green. “War might be what we’re heading for. We gotta find Langston before he gets his bearings and put a bullet between those beady little eyes. The longer he’s out there, the more danger everyone’s in. What does your law enforcement counterparts think he’s going to do?”

  Bear spit into an empty soda bottle. “Most of ’em think they’re both going to get outta Dodge and as far away from these parts as possible.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Hell, no. As far as we know, Shane’s network is embedded around here. He’ll try and find some allies sympathetic to his cause. I don’t know anything yet about this Grady guy other than he was a lifer for a double homicide.”

  Jake jumped back to eighteen months ago when he first encountered Shane and ran through a list of people associated with him. “His big ass bodyguard Antonio is dead thanks to you. Shane killed Howie Skaggs while he was in the Warsaw jail. What was Howie’s brother’s name again?”

  “Bennett. Deputy Klages found him at Nix’s bar. She said Bennett turned as white as a vampire when she told him Shane escaped. We should talk to him when we get back.”

  Jake pulled a notepad from Bear’s console and jotted a to-do list. “What about Willie Banks?”

  Bear gunned the Suburban around a slow-moving pickup. “Last I heard, Willie’s in hiding after testifying against Shane, but I don’t know where.”

  “Like witness protection?”

  Bear shook his head. “Nope. They wiped the charges against him but didn’t offer him protection. I know he left town, but I’m not sure where he landed. We’re looking into it.”

  “So, should you stick a guy at Willie’s place in case Shane shows up?”

  “You have some well of manpower I can draw from? My resources are spread thinner than a politician’s integrity right now.”

  Jake winced. “That’s a horrible metaphor.”

  “Something my daddy used to say. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  Jake drummed his knuckles against the window. “You ever wonder how different things would be if Halle hadn’t spotted Willie bagging meth at that cook house?”

  “I don’t like playing the ‘what if’ game. Shit is what it is. I’ll see if the Feds contacted Willie. We also should talk to the warden in Jeff City and see if they’ve found anything from the dead guard’s house.”

  Jake ran through options in his head. “It’s early. We might as well shoot over to Jeff City while we’re out this way.”

  “Good call.” Bear maneuvered the Suburban through the emergency island of the divided highway and turned back north heading to I-70. He called Klages, who patched him through to the prison. Ten minutes later, they nabbed an appointment with the assistant warden.

  “He didn’t sound too happy about meeting with us,” Bear said.

  “What do you know about this guy?”

  Bear rubbed his chin. “Name’s Shifflett. Met him once. Seemed like an asshole. But if I let that character trait stop me from talking to anyone, I’d never get to talk to you.”

  Chapter Five

  The Jefferson City Correctional Center was a multi-building complex sprawled across forty-two acres at 8200 No More Victims Road in the Missouri capital. Opening in 2004, the $120 million maximum security prison housed two thousand inmates. The tan-brick buildings with cobalt-blue roofs hunkered inside a perimeter protected by several high security fences.

  After going through a security checkpoint, Jake and Bear pulled up to the administration building on the east side of the complex as a white-panel truck with Kappelmann Laundry services kicked up dust going the other way. They walked through a spacious tiled lobby across a rug emblazoned with the Missouri Department of Corrections seal.

  A grizzled old guard with a belly hanging low over his belt and silver hair sprouting from his ears shuffled back a step as they approached the front desk, a grin slipping past his dentures. “James Parley?”

  Bear’s eyes narrowed to slits as he processed the lined face. “Holy shit. Blaine Starr?”

  Starr’s gray eyes twinkled. “Been a while. What…twenty years?”

  “At least. I was graduating high school and you were the town cop. This is my partner, Jake Caldwell.” Jake pumped the leathery hand offered. “Thought you retired.”

  Starr’s teeth disappeared. “I did. Marjory died five years ago tomorrow, and it was either eat my gun or find something to do. Prison was hiring and they let me sit behind a desk and collect a few peanuts. Whatcha here for?”

  “Want to talk to the assistant warden about Langston and Harlan. They might be heading in our direction.”

  Starr sucked air through pursed lips. “Sucks to be you. Those two are dangerous on their own. Put ’em together and it’s like one plus one equals five. I’ll call Shifflett and let him know you’re here.”

  Starr punched a number into an ancient handset and announced Bear and Jake. Ten minutes later, a heavy-set man in his late fifties popped through a door on the far side of the room dressed in a drab, navy suit with a blood-red tie. He carried Jake’s weight but dipped five inches lower on the yardstick, jowls jiggling like an old coon hound as he waddled across the lobby to greet them.

  “Sheriff Parley? I’m Assistant Warden Clayton Shifflett.” He shook their hands, his grip strong but clammy. Liver spots dotted his doughy face like freckles. “Follow me, please.”

  Jake and Bear did so through a series of doors and hallways before arriving at an office with a mahogany desk and a four-person conference table surrounded by worn leather chairs. Pictures dotted the walls of the assistant warden shaking hands with people Jake didn’t recognize. If the intended effect was to impress his visitors with his star power and connections, it didn’t work. Shifflett shut the door behind them and waved toward the conference table.

  “Appreciate you meeting with us, Mr. Shifflett,” Bear said.

  Shifflett swiped away the greeting with a meaty hand. “Please, call me Clay. Anything we can do to help catch those two, especially Shane Langston. Son of a bitch has been a pain in my ass since he slithered in here.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure he killed an inmate during his first week here, but we can’t prove it. Had an inmate ready to roll on him to get a reduced sentence, but he wound up dead, too. Langston was in solitary at the time, so he didn’t physically do it, but someone did it for him. He managed to amass quite the loyal following for the new kid in town.”

  Jake envisioned the Manson cult worshiping their leader, except instead of crazy Charlie, it was Langston. How many guys in here knew Shane or even worked for him? “Any idea how they escaped?”

  Shifflett narrowed his eyes. “I really can’t tell you anything since the investigation is ongoing.”

  “What about the dead guard?”

  Shifflett doodled on a notepad on his desk. “Barney Combs.”

  “You think he was involved?”

  “Why would we?”

  Bear frowned. “Because they found the pris
on jumpsuits in the guy’s house along with his dead body.”

  “Coincidence?”

  Jake exchanged a baffled look with Bear. What kind of bullshit was this guy trying to sell? “Langston may be gunning for our families. We’re just looking for a little cooperation.”

  “I’d like to help. Really.” Shifflett dropped the pen. “But, between the three of us, the Governor and the lawyers are already crawling up the Warden’s ass with a microscope and telling us to close the investigation to outsiders.”

  Bear bristled, and Jake jumped in before his friend unloaded on the guy. “What can you tell us about the dead guard? Please don’t say ‘nothing.’”

  Crimson crawled up Shifflett’s generous neck, turning his head into a red .45 caliber bullet. “Combs was a guard here for fifteen years. He oversaw the furniture factory where Langston worked.”

  “Interesting. If Combs wasn’t involved, that would be a hell of a coincidence.”

  “What would?”

  If he wouldn’t run the risk of ending up in a cell here, Jake would love to see if he could shake the stupid from this guy. “The fact you found both prison jumpsuits in the house of the guard running the area they worked in.”

  “I guess you could look at it that way. Maybe.”

  “Any red flags in the guard’s records to show he’d be amenable to helping Langston?”

  Shifflett sucked in a deep draw of air. “I can’t tell you that.”

  Bear’s jaw clenched. “And you think he helped Langston escape?”

  “I didn’t say that. But, to your partner’s point, I suppose I could understand why you’d draw such an inference.”

  “Any other guards involved?”

  “I can’t tell you that either. Sorry.” Shifflett’s eyes bounced between Jake and Bear.

  Jake’s fist bunched, blanching his knuckles white. Did this idiot not realize they were on the same team? “Well, goddamn it, what can you tell us?”