“Leave it in until you get to the hospital. Otherwise you’ll lose more blood. If he’s Bruno, what’s your name?”
“Why?”
Jake shrugged. “I keep calling you Ponytail in my head. Your name has gotta be better than that.”
“Gunner.”
“Well, it’s definitely better than Ponytail.”
“What’s this favor?”
“Actually, it’s a question and a favor. What’s your little gang’s tie in with Shane Langston?”
Given Delbert Dunn’s cell phone number popping up in the house of the crooked guard who helped Shane Langston escape from a maximum-security prison and Bennett’s confession at the bar, Jake knew a tie-in existed. He just wanted to find out if the knowledge was contained at the top of the Blood Devil food chain or if it had filtered down to the rank and file. Gunner and Bruno had to know something, and Jake hoped they didn’t play dumb. He had things to do.
“Who?” Bruno asked.
Shit.
Jake tapped Bruno on the top of his scalp with the .38. Not enough to cut or bruise, but enough to hurt. “Come on, Bruno. I don’t have time to dick around. Give me a simple answer.”
“Then ask a different question,” Gunner said. “We ain’t sayin’ shit about him.”
“So, there is a tie-in.”
Gunner winced. “Like I said, we ain’t sayin’ shit. Since that’s outta the way, what’s your favor? I want to get this goddamn knife out.”
Jake squatted in front of the two bikers and cocked the hammer on the .38. He threw his eyes wide and flared his nostrils, the meanest expression he could muster, a look he’d perfected over the years collecting money from people for Jason Keats. A look which would burn a hole through steel and melt the resolve of the people he aimed it at. The cocked gun and the crazy eyes seemed good enough to cause the two bikers in front of him to freeze for a moment.
“Listen to me very, very carefully. You sold meth to my nephew. If you know me, you know who I’m talking about. I hear a whisper of you dealing to either of them and I’ll be back. And next time, I won’t be so nice. You’ll have to learn how to drink through a straw while in a full body cast. If you survive, and that’s a big if. That’s my favor. Sound like something you boys could handle?”
They didn’t move a millimeter until Jake waggled the barrel of the gun in their faces. They dipped their bloodied heads in assent. Jake backed to the door, his hand lingering on the wood. “Oh, one more thing. Where do you guys hang out?”
Bruno lisped his answer through his broken teeth. “Why you want to know?”
“Maybe I want to join the Blood Devils.”
Gunner lumbered to his feet. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t survive the initiation.”
“Sounds like it might be fun. Well, maybe I might want to stop in and buy you a drink.”
With Jake out of immediate range, Gunner’s swagger returned. “The Asylum. Come by anytime. We’ll make sure to have a welcoming party for you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jake quick-timed it back to Janey’s house, lobbing peeks over his shoulder to ensure his two new friends didn’t try to shoot him in the back. He emptied the shells from the confiscated .38 into his left jacket pocket and slipped the gun into his right. He’d give it to Bear when he arrived back to the station.
Janey met him at the door, her rail thin arms crossed. “Well?”
“We came to an understanding. They won’t sell meth to your boys, and I won’t gut them like a deer.”
“Jesus, Jake. If this falls back on me…”
“It won’t. It was weird, though. One of them knew me before I even went inside.”
“Lots of people know who you are, especially after your shootout with Shane. You also managed to snatch away the most eligible woman in the county in the process. Hell, you’re one miracle short of becoming an official legend.”
Jake did a double take. He liked his anonymity and hadn’t considered the fact people might know him from the showdown with Shane, much less jealousy he managed to snag Maggie.
“You think any more about bailing town?”
“I’ll talk to Luther, but don’t hold your breath. He suffers from an excess of self-confidence when he’s been drinking.”
“Catch him sober.”
Janey fingered her wedding band and drew out another cigarette from her jacket pocket. “Yeah, right. About as much chance of that as Shane Langston turning over a new leaf.”
“We square?” he asked his little sister.
“You sorry you broke Luther’s finger?”
“He sorry for smacking you around?”
She lit the cigarette and blew a series of smoke rings toward the porch. “Says he is.”
“You believe him?”
“I want to. I always want to. Not really, I guess.”
“Then I’m not sorry for breaking the middle finger he shoved in my face.”
“Well, you did take care of the meth issue with my boys. We’re half square. Put Shane Langston’s ass in the ground or back in prison and I’ll forget about Luther.”
She closed the door behind her, and Jake headed back to the police station.
* * *
Jake approached the police station, admiring the red brick. He always had a thing for brick buildings. Built in 1856 as Benton County’s first bank, a placard etched in stone at the station entrance memorialized the fact. However, no matter how many renovations or coats of paint they slapped on the interior, it couldn’t combat over a hundred and sixty years of stale air and sweat. The front door squealed as if on the original hinges as he swung it open and passed through.
He strolled toward Bear’s office. Haggard cops sagged in chairs at a handful of desks. All five feet three inches of Deputy Klages slouched in the corner near the closed door to Bear’s office. She gazed at a computer monitor with the glazed eyes of a zombie. McDonald’s wrappers and empty paper coffee cups overflowed from a wastebasket at the side of the desk. With the crap she ate, he wondered how she maintained her figure. Her long, black hair matched the color of the bags under her eyes.
“Hey, Caldwell,” she said with the enthusiasm of someone greeting their proctologist before their colonoscopy. “Please tell me you caught this guy. I can’t take much more of this.”
“Burning the candle at both ends?”
“There’s still a candle left to burn?”
“Where’s Bear?”
She jabbed a thumb over her broad shoulder. “Chewing Dwayne’s ass. He was supposed to be here relieving me so I could catch more than a couple hours sleep and instead chose to hook up with Sally Busey and ignore his radio.”
“Ouch. Bet Dwayne’s wife would be happy to know that little tidbit.”
“So would Sally’s husband. But it gets better. They’re going at it hot and heavy and hear Sally’s husband come in the front door two hours early. Dwayne jumps out the second floor window and sprains his ankle, and in his haste to get outta there before Mitch spots him, he scrapes the paint off the left side of his patrol car against the fence post at the bottom of their driveway.”
Jake liked Klages, a no bullshit kind of gal and who helped Jake’s wedding reception from turning into an all-out brawl. She did warn Jake an open bar in Warsaw was a bad idea. He’d listen to her next time.
“Anything on Langston?” Jake asked.
“Some wild goose chases. One to Casey’s where a clerk swore Langston was holed up in the bathroom taking a dump, another to Wally Umpton’s property where he saw someone slinking around in the woods. Turned out to be a deer. The latest was Mimi Howard’s trailer, but she was so stoned she was incoherent. Rambled on about some guy banging on her door. Place is a step away from qualifying to be on the show Hoarders. Don’t know how people live like that.”
“She give a description of the guy banging on the door?”
Klages’s eyes rolled up. “A werewolf wearing glasses. Helpful. No telling what she was on. We gave up and left w
hen she puked in the sink.”
The door to Bear’s office flew open and Dwayne stormed out, his face as red as a baboon’s ass on a hot summer day. His uniform wrinkled on his six-foot form, like he’d dug it out from the bottom of a pile of dirty clothes and slapped it on. His usual slicked back, blond hair hung in angry tendrils across his broad forehead. Jake noted the absence of his badge and the empty holster on his hip.
“Trouble in paradise, Dwayne?” Klages asked, a wry grin pasted on her pale face as Dwayne stopped in front of his desk. She enjoyed this a little too much.
Dwayne jerked a picture frame off the table, slammed a drawer shut and swiped his keys in his trembling hands. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Rhonda. You too, Caldwell.”
Jake tracked Dwayne’s path as he stormed away. “What did I do?”
Klages raised her shoulders. “I don’t even have a horse.”
Jake wandered into Bear’s office. Bear cast his dark, narrowed eyes at the gun and badge on his cluttered desk. “I need a new deputy. You want a job?”
“And work for you? Hell, no.”
“You sure? The pay sucks, too.”
“I thought I already was a deputy.”
Months ago, Bear ended up imbibing too much with one of the locals who made his own moonshine. Rather than get a DUI in his sheriff’s car, he called Jake. When Jake tried to drive Bear home, Bear stopped and said only a sworn member of the force could drive the sheriff’s car. So, he swore Jake in as a deputy. Bear said it technically counted, but Jake was skeptical.
Bear flicked the thought away. “You said yourself that shit doesn’t count. How’s Janey?”
“Still pissed.”
“You beat up Luther again? There’s blood on your shirt and knuckles.”
Jake inspected the specks of blood dotting his t-shirt and his jacket. Bruno or Gunner’s? Maybe both. The knuckles on his right hand were red and scraped. Probably from Bruno’s teeth. The cuts would heal over and turn white, matching the decades of similar trophies on his hands.
“Not Luther’s. Rousted a couple of Blood Devils.”
Bear growled. “I told you to stay out of trouble.”
“They sold meth to my nephew. Allegedly.”
“Did you come to an understanding?”
Jake slipped the .38 and the shells from his jacket pockets and set them on Bear’s desk. “I think so. They invited me to The Asylum. Said they’d even have a welcoming party.”
Bear drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Did they now?”
“I also asked them what their little gang’s tie in to Shane was given the facts of Delbert’s potential involvement.”
“We already know from Bennett what the tie in is.”
Jake nodded. “I just wanted to hear it hear it from someone other than that shithead Bennett.”
“What’d they say?”
“Nothing, but they didn’t have to. Maybe they didn’t fill the void Shane left.”
“You think the Blood Devils started working for Shane after he went to Jeff City?”
“Or they worked for him all along. Which means they could’ve been keeping tabs on us this whole time.”
“We would’ve noticed.” Bear stroked his beard, chewing on the thought. “Still, maybe we should go ask them.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. You got another hot lead to pursue? We already talked to Bennett, and the stupid Feds said they’re tracking down Willie. I called Snell and asked her to follow-up.”
Jake scanned the popcorn ceiling of Bear’s office for answers. “Waltzing into The Asylum is a bit risky; don’t you think? One, they won’t tell you shit about being tied into Shane, and two, if they’re working for him, we might not come out of there alive.”
“Garvan won’t do anything to me in his own place. Would bring down too much heat. On the other hand, I can’t predict what’ll happen to you.”
“That’s comforting.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Asylum was an ass-kicking bar, located off Highway M, in the less traveled part of the Ozarks, eight miles east of Warsaw as the crow flies—twenty-five miles if you weren’t a crow and had to snake your way along the narrow, winding roads. The bar sat a half mile from a lakeside community everyone called Forthview, even though there was no actual town by that name.
Jake and Bear cruised Highway M in Bear’s truck toward The Asylum, the late afternoon sunlight poking through scattered tufts of clouds. How many times did his father drive them down this road to Forthview so he could party with some guy who smelled like sweat and old cheese? Jake couldn’t remember his name.
Remnants of a white farmhouse flew by on Jake’s side, jumbles of rotting wood and shingles in a neat pile like a tornado picked the house up, shook it like a martini, and dumped it back on its foundation. His father took Jake and his brother Nicky there one time to check out an ancient Ford pickup for sale. While Stony haggled, Jake and Nicky wandered around the garage. Nicky knocked off a mason jar full of screws and nuts, which shattered on the dirty concrete floor and sent metal flying everywhere. Stony beat Nicky bloody with the belt to an old Lawnboy mower, then made the boys walk home ten miles in the dark.
“You still know anyone around here?” Jake asked.
“A few. There’s some good folks in Forthview. What was the name of the bar we used to crash? The one at the bottom of the hill with the boat docks near the Deer Creek arm?”
Jake scratched his head. “I don’t remember. Hell, half the scars on my hands come from fights at that place. The Hideout? Hideaway?”
“The Hideout. For a couple of sixteen-year-olds, we’re lucky we got out of there alive.”
“Their fault for serving us all the beer we wanted. The building still there?”
Bear jerked the wheel. A deer darting across the road missed an untimely death by inches. “Naw, once Wally Green died, the place went downhill and closed. Somebody bought it and finished what nature already started. Poured a new foundation but must’ve run out of money because the lot’s been empty for over a decade.”
“Speaking of places that went to shit, I’ve heard tales about The Asylum. Haven’t been there, but none of the stories are anything good. What are we walking into?”
Bear winced and shifted in his seat as if the mere act of discussing the bar caused him pain. “You’ve been there. Used to be the Odyssey.”
Jake envisioned a long, two-story stone structure in a clearing thirty yards from the road and ten feet below grade. L-shaped with a kitchen and bar area on one leg of the L, and a dance floor with a stage on the other leg. Unlike the Hideout, the owner of the Odyssey wouldn’t serve underage minors and kicked Jake and Bear out the front door before an ounce of beer foam touched their lips.
Jake narrowed his eyes as another memory popped up. “I also seem to recall you getting hot and heavy with Margo What’s-her-name in the back of that crappy van while I stood lookout for her husband.”
Bear cleared his throat. “Far from my best moment, and her husband still doesn’t know so shut the hell up. The Asylum still has the same basic setup as before, except it’s turned into the defunct clubhouse for the Blood Devils. There’s a few of their friends that aren’t part of the club who hang there, but no outsiders. They turned the old kitchen into a little convenience store we hear they sell drugs out of, but most of the folks from Forthview won’t even step foot in there.”
“How big’s the club?”
“Thirty members strong, give or take a few. They like to keep their ranks close.”
Highway M broke south and they crossed Mossy Creek, a trickling tributary feeding into the lake. Bear slipped a dip in his cheek and followed the bend, the sun descending behind a low hanging bank of clouds.
Jake broke the silence. “The more I think about it, the more I believe Shane was working with the Blood Devils all along pushing meth, even before he went away.”
“Possible. Devils like raising the occasional
hell and spilling a little blood. Leader’s a grizzled guy by the name of Garvan Connelly. He’s an ex-con with a rap sheet longer than my dick.”
“He’s pretty clean then?”
“That joke never gets old. No matter how many times you tell it.”
Jake grinned. “Maybe you should stop using that expression.”
“You’re hilarious. Garvan’s rap sheet is mostly assaults and petty shit. He did weasel his way out of a potential murder rap five years ago. Key witness against him disappeared.”
“Convenient.”
“Definitely. Never found the guy. Garvan isn’t a dude you want to mess with if you can help it. He’s mean as a snake and hates cops, especially me. I sent his little brother for a turn at the JCCC a few years back.”
Bear slowed past Boone Branch Creek, and a gravel drive split from the asphalt marked with a stenciled sign announcing Asylum Road. The drive dipped low into a bowl terminating at the bar. A hand-painted sign—white letters on a black board—hung over the front door. The painted letters reading The Asylum trailed down the board, like blood dripping from a wall. Were the dripping letters purposeful or the work of a sloppy painter? Either way, the ominous sign screamed “Go Away.” The stone buildings matched the sign with spaced red bulbs throwing an eerie light across its face. A faint glow emanated from dirt-caked windows as the sun dipped below the tree line and bloodied the sky.
“Jesus.” Jake leaned forward in his seat and studied the building as Bear rolled down the drive. “People go in there on purpose? I’ll give the owner credit for the name.”
Two scruffy bikers clad in Blood Devil vests over plaid flannel shirts smoked outside the front entrance, eyeballing Jake and Bear with hardened stares. One flicked his cigarette toward Bear’s truck and disappeared inside.
Bear grabbed his cell phone. “So much for the element of surprise. I’d better call in and let Klages know where we are.”
“Backup?”
Bear pulled up his favorites on his phone and punched Klages’s name. “Nah. We’ll probably be okay.”
Jake Caldwell Thrillers Page 87