Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  “Maybe you should pace yourself. You almost got us nailed today.”

  Grady had insisted on stopping by a liquor store yesterday before they holed up in the trailer. He strolled out with an eight ball of coke in his pocket from the store clerk and two fifths of Jack Daniels. He would have walked headlong into a Missouri State Trooper on the sidewalk if the guy hadn’t stopped to take a call on his radio.

  “You going to share your grand plan with me?” Grady snagged the guitar from the floor and strummed hard and heavy, beating the strings like they owed him money. “Thought we was gonna kill the guys who locked you in the JCCC. Can’t do dick sitting in a shitty trailer in the middle of nowhere. Good pussy or not, I’m goin’ stir crazy in here.”

  “Oh, we will. Just need to let the heat cool off a bit. Besides, Caldwell and Parley are the dessert. We still have an appetizer and entrée to eat first.”

  Grady jumped to his feet. “Speaking of food. Let’s hit the diner off the highway. I can’t eat another fuckin’ bologna sandwich.”

  Shane ground his teeth. “Can’t leave the girl here alone, man.”

  “She ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  His shit-eating tone caused Shane to roll his head to the side and take in his cellmate. Grady Harlan shared the same six by nine-foot space with Shane for seven months, and Shane had endured every gruesome story Grady confessed, every crime he’d committed, and every prison he’d rotated in and out of during his fifty years on planet Earth. Each time the cops nailed Grady, he’d done something stupid to put him in their crosshairs. Stupid shit like going to eat in a diner when you’ve escaped from a maximum-security prison with a nationwide manhunt for your ass. Stupid shit like what Shane feared he’d find if he went back to the other room.

  “We’re not hitting any diner. What part of laying low don’t you get?”

  Grady smacked away Shane’s logic with a wave of his hand and grabbed his jacket from the couch. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Probably nobody in that diner over yonder even got a TV.”

  Shane took another drag and dropped the cigarette into an empty beer bottle. “A diner right off the highway. Going there is a stupid idea. You’re gonna get us both pinched. Besides, we can’t leave the girl.”

  Grady jammed his skinny arms through the jacket sleeves. “Like I said, she ain’t goin’ anywhere, and I want some biscuits and gravy.”

  Shane narrowed his eyes and clomped to the back room, a hard knot balling in his stomach. The girl lay spread-eagle on the bed, her jaw ajar and lifeless eyes locked on the ceiling of the trailer. Red rings surrounded her throat, her face half-buried under a stained, bare pillow. Shane’s clenched fists trembled, and he burst back into the living room.

  “You killed her? What the hell for?”

  Grady flashed a stone-cold smile. “I like it when the light fades from their eyes right when I come. It’s tough to time it right, but I haven’t lost my touch. Why’re you so pissed off? She’s a whore.”

  “She’s worth a shitload of money, you dumb shit, and I have people expecting her.”

  “Send me the bill. I’m goin’ to get some food.” Grady blew out the door and into the night.

  Goddamn it. Grady represented too much a liability. Shane didn’t need any more problems than they already had. He reached for the nylon bag with the guns before spotting the baseball bat on the floor by the couch. Shooting Grady would be no fun and would make too much noise.

  Darting out the trailer door, he stomped toward the car, reaching it as Grady tugged on the door handle. His cellmate turned his head just as Shane split it open with a grunt and mighty swing of the bat. Blood splattered in the moonlight across the car window and a coven of blackbirds poured from the trees, screaming into the dark night. Grady gurgled and clawed for the car.

  Shane bounced on his toes and swung the bat again. It felt good to be back in business.

  Chapter Eight

  Jake and Bear found Bennett Skaggs in a darkened corner of the Turn It Loose Bar off Wildcat Drive in Warsaw. Five empty beer bottles and an overflowing ashtray signaled he’d been there for a while. Bear led the way through the haze of smoke, ticking his head to a couple of grease-stained mechanics from Darryl’s Autobody who shot pool on a thin felted table. A couple of tweakers did a shitty job of acting casual before they bolted out the back door.

  Bennett slouched alone at a four-person table, his black hair buzzed unevenly, like he’d cut it himself with nail clippers. At least three days’ worth of scruff pasted the sides of his pale cheeks. His red flannel shirt hadn’t seen a washing machine in weeks and, judging from the odor, could probably stand on its own. Bennett unlocked his bloodshot contemplation of the graffiti-covered table and took in Jake and Bear standing before him.

  “Mind if we join you?” Bear asked.

  Bennett sucked in a lungful of cancer and blew the smoke at them. “As a matter of fact, I do. Go away.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate the invite.” Bear pulled out a chair and sat opposite Bennett. Jake slipped to the side where he could get a full view of the bar. “How’s things?”

  “Well, my stock portfolio is down, but my Victoria’s Secret girlfriend still blows me every night, so I guess things ain’t too bad.”

  “You finally turn twenty-one?”

  Bennett’s lip twitched. “Last week, Sheriff. I must’ve missed your birthday card.”

  “You working?”

  “Was washing dishes at the Benton House, but now that’s closed so I’m back to being fucked. Why the sudden interest?”

  Bear leaned in on his elbows. “Shane’s out.”

  Bennett took a drink with a shaking hand. “That’s what they say.”

  “You heard from him?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Thought you two were close.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Jake figured Bennett played dumb. After Shane kidnapped Halle, they tracked her by following Bennett to Shane’s lake house where Jake, Bear, and a swarm of FBI agents killed Shane’s entourage and captured Shane after a boat chase.

  Jake moved his head closer. “You and I are a couple of the few remaining survivors of the shootout in Shane’s house. You led us to him, and Shane knows it.”

  “Bullshit. If Shane thought that, I’d be dead already.”

  Bear held up a thick finger. “Or, he knows it, but wants to do the retribution himself. You saw what he did to Bub Sievers when he thought Bub crossed him. Chopped his legs off with an axe. They had to demo the patio because Bub’s blood wouldn’t come out of the grout.”

  “And don’t forget about your brother,” Jake whispered into Bennett’s ear. Bennett’s nostrils flared. “Steel shank through his eye while in police custody.”

  Bear tilted back and folded his hands across his belly. “Of course, there’s the theory Shane is scrambling for a refuge.”

  Bennett’s eyes crunched. “What the fuck is a refuge?”

  “A safe place. Every law enforcement official in the state is on the prowl for him. He might come back here seeking revenge, but he could be on the hunt for a place to hide out. Maybe that place is with you.”

  “I’m telling you, I ain’t seen him or heard from him since he busted out.” Bennett jammed a cigarette in his mouth and lit a match.

  Jake clamped down on Bennett’s arm and held it to the table. The flame licked its way up the cardboard toward Bennett’s pinched fingers. “You hear from him while he was locked up?”

  Bennett’s wide eyes shifted between Bear, Jake, and the half-empty beer bottle in front of him. When the flame from the matchstick licked his skin, he gasped and dropped it to the table. “No…well, yes…well, kinda.”

  “Which one is it, kid?” Bear asked. “Give me something and we’ll bounce outta here and leave you alone with your happy thoughts. Otherwise, we can haul you in and let the State police and the FBI dig their talons in you for information.”

  “Haul me in for what? I’m just sittin’ here drin
kin’ beer.”

  Bear set his jaw, his voice steady and low. “Trust me, I’ll think of something.”

  Jake released Bennett’s arm and dropped back against the wall. Bennett struck another match and lit his cigarette, studying the plume of smoke he blew out like the answer to his problems lay in the swirling cloud. “I just bet you would. Look, I don’t know much.”

  “Tell me what you have.”

  Bennett surveyed the guys shooting pool across the room and bent across the table, dropping his voice. “I went to visit Shane a year ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Because two guys with arms like tree trunks threw my ass in a Navigator and drove me up to Jeff City.”

  “What did he want?”

  Bennett’s hands shook. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “He’d kill me if I told you.”

  Bear growled. “He’ll kill you anyway. Quit dicking me around and spill it.”

  Bennett drew his hand in dramatic fashion across his face like he wanted to tear it off. “Ah, shit. He wanted to keep the meth train rolling. Asked me to re-establish the network here, and he wanted to run drugs through the prison.”

  “Who in the prison?” Jake asked.

  “He didn’t say. Just he had some guards willing to look the other way.”

  “Through who locally?”

  Bennett forced his thin lips together as if to prevent the answer from coming out. “The Blood Devils.”

  Jake wasn’t surprised. The Blood Devils were a local biker gang who managed to break a few heads and laws every few months. Bear had some run-ins with their members on occasion, but they more or less kept to themselves out in the deep country of Benton County. Rumors flew they’d filled the meth void when the courts sent Shane up the river, but Bear hadn’t been able to confirm anything.

  “Did you? Establish the network again.”

  Bennett rubbed the back of his neck like he was trying to start a fire from the friction. “Told him I’d try. What else was I going to say? You don’t tell Shane Langston no. Figured I could set up the meeting, but I didn’t have no intention of doin’ anything past that.”

  Jake let the sarcasm flow. “Since you earned such a high salary washing dishes in the Benton House, I’m guessing you decided to pass on the easy money?”

  Bennett’s bloodshot eyes hardened. “Easy? What’s so easy about it? That shit got Bub and my brother killed. I didn’t want no part of it. But, I took the two gorillas to The Asylum, made introductions, and waited outside while they talked.”

  “While who talked?”

  “The two gorillas and Garvan Connelly. That’s all I know. I swear. Those guys came back out, and I never seen them again.”

  “And Garvan?”

  “He don’t ever leave The Asylum and I don’t go there. Those bastards are crazy.”

  Bear dug his fingers into Bennett’s forearm. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll find out and Shane will be the least of your worries.”

  “I’m not, Bear. Swear to God. I made the intro to Garvan and that’s the last I heard from anybody about anything.”

  Bear stood, dug into his pocket, and tossed a twenty on the table. “Happy birthday, Bennett. Have a beer on me. And if you’re telling the truth, keep your head on a swivel for Shane. Would hate to see you toe-tagged in the morgue.”

  Bear ticked his head, and Jake followed him out of the bar into the light of the rising moon. The gravel crunched under Jake’s boots as he pondered the implications of Bennett’s confession. If Shane was tied to the Blood Devils, then he could’ve had them take out Jake and Bear at any time. Unless, of course, Shane wanted to do the deed himself which fit Jake’s version of Shane’s psychopathic profile. He seemed the type of guy who loved to do his own dirty work. Even then, Shane could’ve ordered the Blood Devils to keep tabs on the location of Jake and Bear and their families. While thankful he got them out of town, Jake made a mental note to call Toby and Mac and tell them to keep an extra vigilant eye out. He was certain they hadn’t been followed, but there was always a chance.

  Bear stopped at the truck. “You believe him?”

  Jake studied the gray clouds swarming in from the west as a cold wind kicked up dust from the gravel lot. “I kinda do. You know this Garvan character?”

  “Unfortunately.” They climbed into the Suburban and Bear cranked the ignition. “Garvan is hell on wheels. Tried going after him last year, but he kept me busier than a cat covering crap on a marble floor and I couldn’t nail him on anything.”

  “We going to talk to him and his little Blood Devil gang?”

  Bear rolled onto Wildcat Drive and gunned the Suburban toward town. “It’s late and no way I’m going to The Asylum at night without a SWAT team. Garvan ain’t going anywhere and I gotta check in with my crew at the station. Let’s check on our Branson go-kart lead tomorrow. We can hit The Asylum after that.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jake and Bear left early the next morning for Branson. The trip south took three hours, forty-five minutes longer than it should have because Bear had to stop at Smith’s Restaurant in Collins, Missouri for a fried pork tenderloin and pie. The waitress didn’t bat an eye at the tenderloin and pie request at ten o’clock in the morning, not even when Bear ate the pie first. Jake could offer no compelling argument for the twenty-mile detour off Highway 65 because his stomach screamed for food too, and the fare at Smith’s was outstanding. Bear bought a coconut cream pie to take back home, but when he also asked for a couple of forks Jake knew the pie stood little chance of ever seeing the light of day in Warsaw.

  Throughout the drive, Bear liaised with his staff on the status of the manhunt for Langston and Grady Harlan. Hundreds of tips were pouring in through a hotline offering a hefty reward, but half were wild goose chases and the other half scumbags who hoped to make a quick buck by peddling shitty information.

  One of his deputies, Rhonda Klages, tracked the cell number from the matchbook found in the guard’s house. From a burner phone and no immediate help. While Bear talked, Jake kept the Suburban on the vapid expanse of concrete feeding Missouri’s tourist capital, packed assholes to elbows with people. Two things Jake hated were traffic and crowds, and Branson dripped with both.

  They ran into the first gnarl of traffic as they hit 76 Country Boulevard, the two-lane thoroughfare that fed most of the Branson attractions ranging from go-karts, putt-putt golf, and restaurants to live performances by country music artists. Halle had hit Jake up to take her and Maggie to the amusement park Silver Dollar City over the summer, but he’d stalled long enough for her to give up when the weather turned cool. They didn’t nickname the place Steal Your Dollar City for nothing.

  “Shit,” Bear said, pulling out his cell. “Suppose I ought to give Chuck a call and let him know we’re here.”

  “Who?”

  “Chuck Benson, the Taney County Sheriff. One hell of a good man.”

  As Jake inched along in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, Bear laughed with the sheriff, trading war stories no reasonable person would believe happened the way he told it. Bear asked about Xtreme Entertainment and if they needed to know anything before they arrived. He listened, grunted, and thanked the sheriff for his help.

  Bear eyeballed the line of cars in front of him. “Jesus, isn’t there a side street we could use to get around this shit?”

  “You don’t like going a quarter of a mile an hour? Place is a mile ahead.”

  “I might hit retirement age by the time we get there.”

  Jake slowed to let a grandma in a Cadillac slide in front of him. His good deed of the day. “What’d your buddy have to say?”

  “Not much. Place is clean. Run by a guy named Fancy Withers.”

  Jake grimaced. “What kinda name is Fancy?”

  “The kind that gets your ass kicked around these parts. Unless he’s a bad ass or old, then it’s considered endearing. No complaints or suspicions about Xtreme, been i
n business for a decade.”

  “Wish we had a name to go with the cell phone.”

  “Don’t worry. I have an idea.”

  Jake waited a fruitless moment for Bear to continue. “Well, what’s the idea?”

  “I don’t want to spoil it.”

  “God, I hate it when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Try and build up the suspense. You could just tell me.”

  Bear spit into an empty water bottle. “You’re the kind of guy who reads the end of the book first so you’re not surprised, aren’t you?”

  “What makes you think I read?”

  One mile and twenty minutes later, they made the turn into Xtreme Amusement. They parked in an open space in the back of the cracked asphalt lot. Jalopies lined the last row, culminated by a blue semi cab with garish flames painted up the side. The smell of gas combustion filled the air as motorized carts roared around a multi-story wooden track winding its way across the property. Lines of kids and adults waited their turn inside the fence line, moving forward like a zombie herd when the previous group hit their allotted time. Despite the afternoon temperature in the mid-fifties, plenty of tourists stacked the queue.

  “Are we the first ones to talk to this Fancy?” Jake asked. “What was that cop’s name from the dead guard’s house?”

  “Kirkland. I talked to him and even though we found the match book in his backyard, he said we could follow-up as long as we shared any pertinent findings with him.”

  “Nice of him.”

  Bear shrugged. “Think he’s got enough to do with the bodies Shane left behind.”

  Jake dropped from the truck to the asphalt, his thoughts cast to other potential resources they could use, specifically Agent Victoria Snell with the FBI who helped Jake and Bear out in the past. “What about the Feds?”

  Bear seemed to read his mind. “If it was Snell, I’d tell her everything, but the guy I’m dealing with is named Schmidt and he’s a douche of epic proportions. I’m not saying shit to him until we have something.”