Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  “I’m already on it.” He loved being right, and his heartbeat picked up at the thrill of the chase. “How far from the main road with the bridge I crossed?”

  “How the hell do I know what bridge you crossed? This isn’t exactly mapped out, and I’m no expert flying this drone.”

  “If you drew a straight line from The Asylum to the road, how far away is he from that line?”

  “Hard to tell. Maybe a half mile? You want me to track the drone to you?”

  Jake gulped in air. He hated talking while jogging, though Halle gave him plenty of practice over the summer when they went out together. “No. Stay on him. If he deviates from the road or stops, buzz me back. Is there anyone there with a car?”

  “Just me right now. Everyone else is either at The Asylum or combing Forthview for Blood Devils.”

  “Can you break someone loose and send them my way? I’m gonna try and catch up to Shane, but he has a hell of a head start.”

  “Good thing you’re in shape. I’d be dead from a massive coronary by now.”

  Jake shoved his phone in his pocket and slid his Sig Sauer in his hip holster, freeing his hands. If Shane cut straight across and was on a run a half-mile further east from that point, it would put Jake maybe a half mile behind. He turned his jog into a run, chewing up the gravel and closing the gap.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Shane Langston spied the houses and trailers slumped off the road to his right, and a surge of hope rolled through his tired body. While he lifted weights with muscles cut hard as a diamond, the years of smoking cigarettes and the lack of cardio made his lungs burn and legs ache. He vowed to get in better shape if he escaped out of this alive.

  The darkened first house had no car outside. He ran a flashlight beam along the cream-colored side of the home, a two-room shack at best. Potential signs of assistance faded with jagged glass from broken windows covered by grungy, tattered sheets and the lack of a front door. While possible someone lived there, whatever they may have inside wouldn’t be of any help.

  Moving along the rutted dirt path, he continued to a mobile home, pale yellow with intact windows and a cheap wood-paneled door covered in long scratches. Probably from a dog clawing to get inside. Shane climbed the cinderblock steps and tried the front door. Unlocked. He held the AR-15 low, finger near the trigger and pushed inside.

  The beams from his flashlight sliced through the darkness, revealing nothing but a threadbare couch and a swarm of buzzing flies from the kitchen, hovering over soiled plates and an overturned trash can. Rotten garbage spilled over the linoleum floor toward a hallway leading back to what he assumed was a bedroom. If anyone lived here, they had a pretty strong constitution. No indications of anything helpful in his escape. He headed back toward the front door when something rustled and growled behind him. Spinning, he raised the rifle and shined the flashlight toward the sound. A figure in a stained wife beater shirt with a gnarled beard and crazy eyes holding a raised baseball bat charged down the hall. Shane fired a quick three-round burst, and the figure crashed to the floor, sliding across the kitchen, the bat thunking to the linoleum.

  He threw the light across the figure, watching the blood pool seeping across the floor. Moving to the face, he thought he recognized the man. The name Otto came to mind. Maybe one of his customers? Well, the guy wouldn’t be buying from him now. He stepped over Otto and did a quick search. Nothing.

  As he emerged back outside, he gulped in cleansing breaths of the Ozark night, his internal clock warning him only the last few grains of sand in the hourglass remained, and he’d better get out of Dodge. The round of shots he’d fired might attract the wrong attention.

  He rounded a bend in the path, and lights flickered through the trees ahead like a beacon. As he drew closer, lit windows from a doublewide trailer threw a glow on a beat-up, but serviceable green Ford Taurus. Throwing open the driver’s side door, he checked the ignition, sun visor and floorboards for keys. Nothing. Peeking through the open blinds of the trailer, he spotted a woman with stringy black hair asleep on a couch, an empty bottle of vodka curled up in her thin arms like a child would cuddle a teddy bear. Light from a television strobed across her figure. An overflowing ashtray and a set of keys rested on a table at the end of the ratty couch near her head.

  He crept up the steps and opened the unlocked door, wincing at the screech of the hinges. Four steps later, he hovered over the woman’s sleeping form, taking in the odors of stale smoke and desperation. He could take the keys and be on his way, but she could wake up at any time and report the car missing. The one way to ensure more lead time would be to make sure she didn’t wake up. Sliding the hunting knife from the sheath on his belt, he moved in.

  * * *

  Klages called. “He’s off the road, moving around a bank of trailers, a quarter mile ahead of where you are.”

  “Any people?”

  “A few lights. If he finds someone and gets desperate—”

  Jake slowed to a fast walk. “Shane doesn’t require desperation to kill someone. But we need an element of surprise. I’ll call you on the radio and hope he’s still listening.”

  “What are you going to say?”

  “A little diversion to relax him. Since he may have heard the drone, you’re maneuvering it on this side of the river, but you have no idea where he is. Understand?”

  “10-4. By the way, Bear nabbed a car and is on the way. Should be there in ten minutes. Shit. I’d say wait for them, but Langston went in a trailer with lights.”

  Jake keyed the radio. “Klages? You have anything?”

  Klages crackled through. “Had him at one point, but now nothing. Been flying this damn drone all over the other side of the bank, but I can’t see shit. Where are you?”

  He feigned exasperation. “Combing the bank trying to find some sign of him, but it’s too dark. Son of a bitch is long gone by now. I’m heading back your way. Give the drone a few more passes and call me if you can spot anything.”

  “Few more passes is the best I can do anyway. Battery is almost out. State patrol reinforcements ought to be here in twenty minutes or so.”

  Jake smiled. Nice touch, Klages. Give Shane the appearance of a bigger window. “Catch you in a few.”

  Jake replaced the radio on his belt, resumed his jog and called Klages back on his cell. “Academy Award performance.”

  “I did a bit of acting in high school.”

  “Anything I’d know?”

  “Little Shop of Horrors.”

  “Were you Audrey?”

  Klages grunted. “Are you kidding? I was the killer alien plant who stole the show. Heads up, the turn to the trailers is a hundred feet ahead of your position. Shane’s still in the lighted trailer fifty yards to the south. Be careful.”

  Jake silenced the phone and the radio. The phone went in his pocket and his gun took its place in his hands. This would be over soon, one way or the other.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Shane was an arm swipe away from ending the life of the passed-out woman, when the conversation of Caldwell and some cop named Klages played out over the radio. It bought him some extra time. Still, he couldn’t have the woman waking up and realizing someone took her car.

  “Who are you?”

  Shane snapped his head toward the high-pitched voice from the hall. A boy, maybe five years old and clad in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas, which were white a decade ago and worn by someone much shorter. The kid clutched a teddy bear in the hallway and ogled Shane with wide, curious eyes. Dirt crusted the boy’s face and sleep-mussed, brown hair tangled on top of his head.

  Shane snaked the knife back into the sheath on his hip and took a step back from the woman on the couch. “A friend of your mom’s. Why don’t you run back to bed?”

  Instead of retreating from where he came, the kid took a few steps forward, unfazed by a stranger in his house. Was probably used to it. “What are you doing here? Did my mom call you?”

  Options fl
ew through Shane’s mind. Lock the kid in his room, kill the mom, take the keys, and hope for the best. “She called but she must’ve fell asleep.”

  The boy cast sad eyes to his mother, tears brimming. “She’s passed out again, isn’t she? She promised she wouldn’t do that anymore.”

  It didn’t happen often, but Shane’s hardened heart broke a little for the kid. He’d need a calculator to tally up how many times he’d walked into their Chicago apartment to find his own mother dead to the world in a booze-induced coma. Still, given the forces on the hunt for him, he didn’t have time to screw around.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  Two salt-laden drops drew tracks on his filthy cheeks. “Stevie.”

  Shane knelt, his internal clock blaring. “Look Stevie, I’ll take care of your mom. You have to go back to bed. Big boys like you need their sleep.”

  Shane’s brother Danny used to tell him that and it worked with Shane. If the kid didn’t go, Shane would be forced to lock him up somewhere and he didn’t want to do that. He’d spent too much time locked in bedrooms, closets, or the basement with the rats and would hate to make Stevie’s shitty life any worse by hanging those phobias on his psyche.

  Stevie cast a sad appraisal of his mother. “I don’t wanna go back to bed.”

  Shane gave one last thought to killing or tying up the mother but decided to roll the dice she’d be passed out long enough for him to get out of Benton County. And if Stevie didn’t want to go back to bed, maybe he could serve as an insurance policy. Snatching the keys off the coffee table, he threw open the front door, hoping the car would start. He flung open the door to the Taurus and tossed the AR-15 inside, when a familiar voice sounded.

  Gravel crunched behind him as a familiar voice boomed. “Freeze, Langston.”

  Shane craned his head and found himself on the wrong end of the barrel of a rock-steady pistol, with Jake Caldwell’s finger on the trigger. The nice thing about insurance is having it when you need it. Partially hidden by the door, Shane slipped the knife from his pocket and turned, holding the blade against little Stevie’s throat.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Langston smirked, and then chuckled. Not quite the reaction Jake expected. “You never fail to impress me, Caldwell. You must be part coon dog.”

  Jake took a couple steps forward into the glow thrown by the trailer’s porch light, fifteen feet from his man, the barrel of his pistol wavering as Shane turned, the blade of his serrated knife pressed against the throat of a pajama-clad boy. The past tends to repeat itself with annoying frequency. Eighteen months ago, Jake found himself in this same predicament—Shane holding a knife to someone’s throat, while Jake aimed his gun sights on the center of Shane’s forehead. Only this time, it wasn’t Maggie, but a little kid. If he shot Shane, that knife could slice through the boy’s jugular. An unsettling image rose of blood pouring through the boy’s fingers as he held his gashed throat, and Jake had to forcibly shake it off.

  Jake grasped his Sig Sauer with both hands, solidifying the wavering barrel. “Let him go, Shane. Even you aren’t low enough to kill a little kid.”

  Shane smirked. “Under normal circumstances, you’re right. But, I’m a desperate man. A caged animal. There’s no telling what I might do.”

  Jake’s nostrils flared. “You touch that kid and I’ll put holes in places you never even thought of.”

  Shane kept the knife at the boy’s innocent neck, dropping to his knees so they were cheek to cheek. The boy’s eyes were as wide as the pale moon overhead, his chest rising and falling like a piston. “He’s a good-looking boy, isn’t he? So full of life…and I was going to say promise but look at this place. But I won’t do to him what I’m planning to do to Maggie.”

  Jake pressed the gun forward, crushing the grip. “You don’t get to say her name, asshole.”

  “I was toying with who to kill first. Your little Halle or your new bride…she who cannot be named. I thought I might just shoot them both and let them bleed out, but now I think this little knife might do the trick. Sneak up on them, slide the knife to the hilt with a little twist, and watch the light fade from their eyes. Gut them. Up close and personal. What would happen to you if I did that? If I shattered your perfect little family? The one I never had.”

  Rage flowed through Jake, noisy breaths coming hard and fast as unwelcome images rolled through his head like a horror movie. He edged forward.

  Shane grinned as he drew the knife tight enough against the boy’s neck to cause the kid to whimper. “Easy, Jake. That’s close enough. You don’t want me to have an accident, do you?”

  Jake ground his teeth, wanting to squeeze the trigger but knowing he couldn’t live with the consequences if something happened to the kid. White knuckling the pistol grip, he forced himself to breathe through his nose to calm his thudding heart, blinking rapidly to clear the red hatred clouding his vision. Kid first. Langston second.

  “I didn’t know you were such a chickenshit,” Jake said. Maybe poking Shane’s pride would force the scumbag to turn the knife on Jake and away from the kid. “Hiding behind a little boy in his pajamas kind of takes away from your mystique. What would the Blood Devils say?”

  “They would say whatever I want them to say. But, let’s not change the subject. The real question is, are you going to try and shoot me and risk me slashing little Stevie’s throat, or are you going to toss your piece into the woods and back the hell up.”

  Goddamn it. Should he shoot? Jake had zero doubt he could plug a hole in Shane’s forehead from this distance. But what if he moved at the wrong time? “Tell you what, let the boy come to me, I’ll toss my piece and let you drive away.”

  Shane’s brows rose in surprise. “Seriously? You’d let me go just like that?”

  Jake nodded. “Then the kid won’t be on my conscience or yours. You and I can settle things up later.”

  Shane pursed his lips, seemingly considering the offer. “Tempting, but I think I’ll take him with me.”

  “You son of a—”

  “But, if you toss your piece, I swear I’ll drop him off at the end of the road.”

  The scenario flashed through Jake’s head, and he liked his chances of blowing out the back of Shane’s head right here rather than trusting Shane to keep his promises. Jake’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  Shane must have sensed Jake’s thought process, because he pressed the knife harder against the kid’s throat while drawing his head behind the kid. The boy whimpered, tears streaking down his terrified face. “Take it easy, now. I swear I’ll let him go if you do the same with me.”

  Jake held back the frustrated scream threatening to burst from his chest. His window of opportunity slammed shut and he had no choice. He lowered the gun and hurled it into the woods across the driveway.

  Shane grinned. “That’s a good boy. Your cell phone and that radio you’ve been talking to that bitch Klages on.” Once Jake complied, Shane stood. “Now, back up. You so much as take a step toward this car before I’m gone, and I’ll carve this kid into a thousand pieces.”

  Jake stepped back to the corner of the trailer, watching as Shane picked up the boy and sat him on his lap as he lowered himself to the front seat of the car. Shane set the knife on the dash, in easy reach. A second later the engine fired up, black smoke belching across the lights from the trailer. Jake gripped the side of the trailer, ready to move.

  Shane leaned his head out. “See you soon, Caldwell.”

  Jake’s lip curled. “You’d better hope not.”

  In a flash, Shane shoved the kid to the passenger side and reached across the front seat. The sudden movement tensed every muscle in Jake’s frame. The second he spotted Shane swing the rifle barrel out the door, Jake dove to the ground and rolled behind the trailer. The AR-15 spit rounds into the night, slamming into the side of the trailer and spraying the gravel at Jake’s feet. Jake scrambled for cover, running along the opposite side of the doublewide in case Shane came after him. As
he reached the far end of the boy’s home, rocks flew from the sedan’s spinning tires, plinking against the aluminum trailer siding.

  Jake peeked around the opposite corner in time to spot the sedan’s taillights disappear around the corner. He yanked the flashlight from his pocket and darted across the road to the woods to find his gear. He had to call Bear before Langston got away.

  A few minutes later, the lights from Bear’s truck bounced toward the trailer, sirens wailing in the distance. Jake emerged through the door; jaw set tight from unsuccessfully trying to rouse the kid’s mother. She reeked of booze and he knew from experience she wouldn’t crack her eyes open until daylight blasted through the sheets covering the trailer windows.

  Bear dropped from the truck and trotted to the other side. Jake jogged over to meet him, arriving as the boy climbed down, rubbing the bloody line on his neck.

  Jake let loose a sigh of relief. “Thank Christ. I didn’t know if he’d keep his word or not.”

  Bear watched the kid bolt toward the trailer, jaw trembling with anger. “You had him. Why in the holy fuck did you not shoot him?”

  Heat rose up Jake’s neck. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d truly been pissed off at Bear, and this was one of them. “Because he had a damn knife at the kid’s throat. One wrong move and the kid was toast. You weren’t there. So, if you can tell me what you would’ve done different, I’m all ears. Otherwise, you can shut the fuck up, Sheriff.”

  Bear’s face softened and he rubbed the knot on his forehead. “Gah, I’m sorry, man. I know you would’ve taken the shot if you had it. Don’t worry, we’ll get the son of a bitch. He can’t have gotten far, and every cop in the area is on the lookout. He’ll turn up.”

  Jake patted him on the shoulder. “I sure as hell hope so. The next time I see Shane Langston, he’d better be in a body bag.”