Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  Jake and Bear strolled to the main entrance, heads on swivels checking out the area for any sign of Shane. Shane was a psycho with a revenge plan he’d undoubtedly been mulling and refining over the last eighteen months. That plan would involve something up close and personal, so that Shane could see the whites of his victims’ eyes. Shooting his prey from a distance would be unsatisfying. So, while Jake didn’t think Shane would try anything in a public space, he could never be too careful.

  They passed through the double glass doors of Xtreme. To their right, an arcade with a dozen games spewed out tickets in a headache-inducing cluster of sight and sound. On the back wall of the arcade, a closed door with dual monitors televised kids darting around in the dark playing laser tag. Another door further down led to the putt-putt golf area, though it didn’t appear to be quite as popular.

  Jake focused on the employees, bouncing his eyes from one to the next. Two girls in their late teens manned the counter taking money and passing out trinkets for turned-in game tickets. A silver-topped man with a red vest and folds of skin spilling over a starched white collar floated behind the counter with a clipboard, taking inventory. His nametag read “Fancy.” A grandmother-type, likely Fancy’s wife, took orders at a narrow concession stand on the back wall. None of the employees seemed the type to carry a burner phone.

  Along the far wall leading out to the go-karts, Bear caught Jake’s eye and waved him over. Jake wove through the crowd, his shoes sticky against the tiled floor. “I haven’t seen any burner phone candidates.”

  Bear pointed to the go-kart track. “I have. Check out mullet man.”

  On the other side of the track, a lean man in a black neoprene jacket with jeans and tan work boots directed riders to their cars while herding the group who just finished their race toward the exit. His chestnut hair spiked on top with a spectacular mullet dumping well below his neckline. On the left side of his neck, an intricate tattoo crawled from the collar of his jacket and disappeared around the back of his head.

  Jake patted Bear on the shoulder. “Ding ding ding. We have a winner.”

  “Let’s find out for sure.” Bear dialed the number from the matchbook on his cell. Two seconds later, Mullet Man fished a cell from his back pocket, glared at the number, and killed the call before shoving the phone back in place.

  “That was your idea?”

  Bear’s eyes twinkled. “What’d you think?”

  “It was good, but you wouldn’t have spoiled it by telling me. How do you want to handle it?”

  Bear pushed his lower lip against his teeth while he pondered. “Let’s start with the owner and run the guy through the system before we talk to him. If he is involved with the crooked guard and potentially Shane, we don’t want to spook him. We’ll talk to him, get a read on him and proceed from there.”

  They waded through a birthday party of seven-year-olds to the end of the counter and waved Fancy over. Bear flashed his badge low and away from prying eyes and asked for an out-of-the-way place they could talk. Fancy crunched his eyes in confusion but led them past the laser tag to an office. He directed them to chairs in front of a paper-covered desk with an ancient desktop computer.

  “Mr. Withers, thanks for giving us a few minutes,” Bear said. “As I said, I’m Sheriff James Parley from Benton County, and this is one of my deputies, Jake Caldwell.”

  “Please, call me Fancy,” the old man said. “What’s this about?”

  “We’re investigating the escape of two men from the Jefferson City Correctional Center.”

  Fancy nodded, tugging at the starched shirt collar as if it were choking him. “Heard it on the news. What’s it got to do with me?”

  “During the course of the investigation, we came across a cell phone number of one of your employees. We need some info on him and to maybe talk to him.”

  Fancy’s narrow shoulders slumped, like he’d been expecting this for a long time. “I’m going to guess you’re referring to Delbert. I gave him a job as a favor to his probation officer who’s a friend of mine.”

  “What’s Delbert’s last name?” Jake asked.

  “Dunn with two n’s. He did some time for breaking and entering. Said he was framed, but I have my doubts.”

  “What kind of doubts?”

  Fancy wrinkled his hawk nose like he smelled sour milk. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the tattoos and my unwavering belief in our judicial system but seems like the man is just to the left of center.”

  “How long has he been here?”

  “Eight months. Got released in the spring. To tell you the truth, he’s actually been a good employee. Shows up on time, good with the kids. I have no complaints other than I’m on edge the whole time he’s working, him being an ex-con and all.”

  Bear pulled up mugshots of Langston and Harlan. “You seen either of these two guys around here in the last couple of days?”

  “Heavens no, and I’d call Chuck Benson the second I did.”

  Jake thought he saw a flicker of recognition in Fancy’s eyes when he looked at the pictures, but either Jake imagined it or Fancy did a superb job of masking it. Then again, Langston and Harlan’s mugs were plastered all over the news. Fancy could have seen them there.

  Bear rose, and Jake followed suit. “Give us a few minutes to run Delbert through our computers, but then we have to talk to him. Okay?”

  Fancy’s eyes widened. “Is there going to be trouble? I don’t want to put any of my customers in danger.”

  Jake waved his fears away. “It’ll be fine. We want to ask him a few questions and we’ll be on our way. Just act normal around him, don’t say anything and we’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

  Fancy nodded and cleared his throat. “I think I can do that.”

  Jake and Bear shook the old man’s sweaty palms and were outside in the parking lot a minute later.

  “What do you think? You trust him?” Bear asked.

  Jake’s eyes swept the car-laden street ahead of them. “He seems okay. Thought something registered in his eyes when he saw the pics, but maybe I imagined it. You?”

  “I’m finding it hard to trust anyone outside my inner circle at this point. Let me call in Delbert’s name to Sheriff Benson.”

  Moving out of earshot of people entering Xtreme, they sat on a wooden bench at the end of the building. Jake picked at the peeling red paint on the bench, waiting while Benson searched for Delbert Dunn in the computer. Bear put the response on speaker phone so they could both hear. In addition to his recent B and E, Delbert was collared twice for possession of a controlled substance and earned a DUI on his rap sheet. They also contacted his parole officer who said he reported staying at a pay-by-the-week motel on the far edge of town called the Eazy Breezy.

  As they disconnected, an attractive woman in a red pickup truck slipped into an open spot in the front row and climbed out. Her reddish-brown hair spilled over the collar of a black leather jacket, both in stark contrast to her pale complexion. She moved her six-foot physique toward Jake and Bear, her boot heels clicking on the concrete.

  “One of you guys named James Parley?” she asked, flicking her eyes between Jake and Bear.

  “Depends on who’s asking,” Bear replied.

  The woman flashed a badge and held out her hand. “Katrina Williams, Detective with the Taney County Sheriff’s Office. I was down the road when Sheriff Benson called. Told me to stop by and offer my assistance.”

  Jake and Bear shook her hand and introduced themselves. Her strong grip was cool to the touch. She was a striking woman with intense eyes set off by a crescent-shaped scar above her left orbital bone. Bear laid out what they knew of Langston’s escape, the find in the guard’s house, and how Delbert Dunn answered the number from the matchbook.

  “You know anything about this guy?” Jake asked.

  She rocked on her heels. “He hasn’t popped up on our radar. Think he knows something on Langston and Harlan?”

  Bear filled her in on what Sheriff Bens
on related to them. “Let’s go talk to him and find out what he knows.”

  “Hold up,” Katrina said. “The guy does a stretch in Jeff City, and we find his burner phone number in a secret stash by the guard who helped Langston escape? That can’t be a coincidence. We talk to him now, we could spook him.”

  “She’s right,” Jake said. “I get more nervous for our families the longer Shane’s out, but maybe we sit on Delbert for a bit. Maybe the guard wasn’t the only one with the burner phone number.”

  Bear groaned. “Goddamn it. I hate stakeouts. But I agree with your logic. I’ll go talk to Fancy and tell him to call us when Delbert’s shift ends. Jake and I will find someplace across the road to hole up. I have a shitload of calls to make anyway.”

  Katrina twirled her keys in her hand. “I’ll head back to the station and do some more digging on his background. Maybe come up with something useful we can use as leverage on him. Given his rap sheet, shouldn’t be too hard. What’s his last name?”

  “Dunn. Two n’s.”

  They exchanged cards, and she headed back to her truck.

  “She’s sharp,” Bear remarked.

  Jake tracked her truck pulling out of the lot and merging into traffic. “She has haunted eyes.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That woman’s been through some shit somewhere along the way.”

  Bear narrowed his eyes at his partner. “And you know this how?”

  “I recognize it from when I look in the mirror.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jake had spent his share of time sitting in a car doing surveillance for his private investigator work with Jack Logan, but he did it alone by and large. As Bear took care of his sheriff shit, Jake checked in with the girls. Maggie said their daughter showed signs of going stir crazy.

  “It’s barely been a day,” Jake said.

  “What can I say? She’s like her father and doesn’t like to be cooped up.”

  Jake rolled his eyes around the tight confines of the truck cab. “I guess I can sympathize. At least you’re not stuck in one with an overweight fart machine.” Bear showed Jake his longest finger as he answered his vibrating phone.

  Jake stepped out of the truck to continue the conversation. “How you holding up?”

  “Fine, considering the circumstances. Mac’s really nice, but the Toby guy is a little intense.”

  “I’ll take intense as long as he keeps you guys safe. Listen, we’re making progress on tracking Shane, but it may be a few more days. Just keep your heads low.”

  “It’s not my head I’m worried about. It’s you and the big, dumb galoot with you.”

  They talked for another ten minutes. Jake wishing they were back in Jamaica on their honeymoon, wrapped up naked in soft sheets as the ocean crashed outside their bungalow. He remembered lying on his back with Maggie’s head nestled on his chest, counting the blades of the ceiling fan as it spun lazy circles. He could only marvel at how content he felt in the moment, and for the first time in years, the demons who screamed he didn’t deserve that level of happiness were quiet.

  Detective Williams called as the early winter sun dropped below the horizon and shot a wondrous hue of blood orange across the sky. Bear had spent the last two hours on the phone working with his crew in Warsaw. No sign of Shane or Grady, and Bennett was back in his trailer off Highway MM. Since Delbert had four more hours at Xtreme, they contemplated food choices.

  “If you want to travel a half hour up Highway 65,” Williams offered, “my Uncle Orson cooks a bad-ass steak and has cold beer in the cooler. Fancy promised to call if Delbert leaves, and I can have guys sitting on him in a matter of minutes.”

  She gave them directions and thirty minutes later they came upon a set of docks at Rockaway Beach on the banks of Lake Taneycomo. On the water along the dock planks, lights burned above a General Store sign and they spotted Katrina inside. The figure of a man glowed from the light of a nearby grill. As they clomped down the wood toward the store, Jake noticed it wasn’t a grill at all, but a fifty-five-gallon drum cut lengthwise. Redneck ingenuity.

  “You been in this neck of the woods before?” Jake asked Bear as they approached.

  “Been a few years. This is one of the best trout fishing lakes in the country.”

  “Howdy,” the thick man tending the grill said. He sported a good-natured grin that drew you in. “You must be the boys from Warsaw. I’m Orson.”

  Jake and Bear introduced themselves as Katrina backed through the door with beer bottles which she passed out. After they clinked and took long slugs, Orson announced the steaks were done and told them to head inside out of the cold. They followed Katrina through the general store and up to an apartment on the second level, where four place settings awaited them on a narrow table overlooking the darkened lake.

  Katrina tossed a salad in the kitchen. “Any movement from Delbert?”

  “Nothing,” Bear said, settling in a chair at the table. “We can trust the old man to call us, right?”

  “Fancy? Seems like a good man as far as I know. I did find out something quite interesting today after we parted ways. We know Delbert did a stretch in Jeff City before getting kicked for good behavior, right? Well, take a wild guess at who Delbert’s cellmate was at one point.”

  “No way.”

  “Yup, Shane Langston. Langston and Delbert shared a cell for seven months, but then Delbert gets released and Grady steps in. Makes that matchbook cell number a little more interesting, doesn’t it?”

  It was a rare moment when the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. Jake took a long pull from the bottle and sat opposite Bear. Delbert Dunn shares a cell with Shane. Shane escapes with the help of a crooked prison guard who happens to have Delbert’s cell number in a secret cubbyhole in his house. The good guys were onto something, and guilt jabbed at his brain from getting ready to chow on a steak when they should be sitting on their lead.

  Katrina read his body language. “Relax, Jake. I already have a guy watching across from Xtreme.”

  Jake cocked an eyebrow. “So, you don’t entirely trust Fancy, either?”

  “As my daddy always said, trust but verify.”

  Orson arrived with a steaming plate of meat, setting Jake’s salivary glands into overdrive. As they ate, Bear and Katrina shared stories of their county sheriff office work, and the two found they experienced similar challenges. Cryptic about her past, she wouldn’t elaborate much about her days in the Army. About all they could squeeze out of her was that she served in the military police, and it didn’t surprise Jake in the least. He wondered if an incident in her military days caused the thick seam of scar tissue peeking from the top of her shirt and the haunted look in her eyes. He didn’t press the issue.

  While they downed the steak and salad, Orson continued to feed them beers. Katrina kept pace with bottles of orange soda, eye-balling the condensation running down the side of Jake’s beer, both hands locked around her soda bottle. How long had Katrina been on the wagon? Orson, a retired gunnery sergeant in the Marines, launched into what sounded like a beer-induced tall tale. Half-way through the yarn, Katrina’s cell rang, and she headed to the deck to take the call.

  “Delbert’s holed up for the night at the Eazy Breezy,” she said as she stepped back in the room. “Got a couple of our guys sitting on it. If anything breaks, I’ll call you. Otherwise, we can go relieve them in the morning.”

  “Speaking of hotels,” Bear said, stretching his massive arms. “Is there a local one so Jake and I can catch some shuteye?”

  Orson waved his arm toward the window. “You aren’t going to find anything open unless you want to bed down with the hookers at the Passport truck stop.”

  “That a real thing? Truck-stop hookers?”

  “Ayuh. If there’s constants in this town, it’s too much damn traffic, hookers available at the Passport, and my gracious hospitality. You guys can crash on my houseboat.”

  “Naw, we don’t want to impose a
ny more on you.”

  Orson smacked away Bear’s statement as if it were an insult. “Oh, bullshit. Isn’t a problem at all. Plus, I make a mean huevos rancheros for breakfast.”

  Jake gave Bear a nod. It beat driving around and finding some crappy motel. “We accept.”

  Orson climbed to his feet. “Outstanding. And since you aren’t driving, we got time for another beer.”

  Bear grinned. “I really like this guy.”

  * * *

  The next morning Bear was elbow deep in a plate of Orson’s breakfast fare when Katrina displayed on the screen of his vibrating cell. He set the phone on the table and hit the speaker button. “Anything happen with Delbert last night?”

  “Nada. But you and Jake should probably come check something out.” She read off directions to some locale off the beaten path of Highway 65.

  “What is it?”

  She fell silent for a beat. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but you might hold off on eating Orson’s huevos rancheros.”

  Bear appraised his empty plate. “Shit, too late for that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  About ten miles from Orson’s place, they turned off Highway 65 onto Fairview Drive, a signpost they would have missed if Orson hadn’t given them better directions than Katrina. The pavement turned to packed gravel as the line of trees sucked in closer to the road, their baring branches creating a canopy like fingers of a thousand skeletons.

  When the trees swallowed the light from the rising sun, Bear flipped up his visor. “How far until the next turn?”

  “Half mile. Orson said to look for a trio of tree stumps.”

  The Suburban bounced across a series of ruts, the suspension groaning from the effort. “What do you think the surprise is?”

  “Given her breakfast warning, it can’t be good.”

  “I’d hate to lose those huevos rancheros. That Orson can fucking cook.”

  A minute later, they spotted the tree stumps marking the turn to a two-tracked dirt road with a stripe of dead grass splitting the middle. Jake hoped another vehicle didn’t come their way, because the heavy tree line wouldn’t give them any room to maneuver. After a rough quarter mile, a clearing opened to their right. Katrina’s truck was parked alongside a Taney County Sheriff’s cruiser in front of a dilapidated thirty-foot mobile trailer, a layer of grime covering it like a second skin. Katrina headed their way followed by a pudgy officer with wire glasses and chopped hair, sucking from a plastic drink cup as big as his head.