by Jay Heavner
Belle read the disappointment on his face. "But Mike, I've got lots of other girls to meet your every need."
"No, I don't think so," Mike said. "Me and Flossy kinda got a thing goin' on, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I know what you mean, but I've got lots of other girls here that can make you happy. I know they'll take care of your fantasies."
"No, I don't think so," replied Mike. "It just wouldn't be the same. Tell her I was here, and I will see her next weekend at the usual time."
"Okay, Mike," said Belle. "I'll pass that on to her when she gets back. Take care of yourself. See you next week."
After that, Mike left the bar, got in his truck, and got back on the interstate.
Well, he thought. If I can't get that need satisfied, I'll at least get me a good meal.
Soon he was sitting at the Park and Dine Restaurant in Hancock, eating a hot turkey sandwich smothered in brown gravy, and washing it down with a cup of coffee, black. And it was all good. Well, I got one of my basic needs satisfied.
Before long, he was turning off of I 70 onto I 68 toward Cumberland. He passed by the welcome center at Sideling Hill with its displays and information on the geology of the area. Someday I should stop there, he thought, but this wasn't the day.
He stopped for gas in Flintstone, and 30 minutes later, he was crossing C and O Canal in south Cumberland. Then he crossed the Wiley Ford bridge back into West Virginia, and 15 minutes later, he pulled up to the gate of the old house he called home now. He got out to unlock the gate but found it already open. I must be slipping. He drove through the gate, and then locked it behind him. It’s been one crazy day. I wonder how the rest of it will work out? And he started the drive up the country lane to the farmhouse.
Chapter 42
Alan couldn't believe his luck. Mike would be gone all weekend. He could get a big head start on his plan of escape from The Voice and his minions. He could get his Momma and little brother and be long gone before they knew what had happened. By then, the trail would be cold. Alan would get the missing information on the gold's location out of Tom, tie him up, and use his vehicle for his escape. It was about time his luck changed.
He opened the little trap door that went to the crawl space in the attic. There he found the .223 Remington rifle and a half box of ammo that Uncle Michael had hidden. He took it out of the old carrying case and loaded it. Alan hoped he wouldn't have to use the gun, but he needed it to make sure he had Tom's full cooperation. He hid the weapon in his room until he needed it. And then Alan made a pot of coffee. He had to be a good host. Alan went out on the porch and waited. He saw the spider waiting patiently on her web. Two wasps wrapped in her silk hung from the web. Soon she would suck the life out of them. "Stupid spider," he mumbled to himself.
About ten minutes later, Tom's old Chevy truck came up the farm lane and stopped in front of the house. Alan rose to his feet from the old chair and greeted his guest.
"Hello, I guess you're Tom, the Tom Kenney I just talked to?"
Tom replied, "That's right, and you must be Alan?"
Alan nodded and said, "That is correct," as they shook hands.
"Have a seat," Alan said. "Would you like coffee?"
"Yes, I take mine black," answered Tom.
Alan left and returned with two cups of coffee. He gave one to Tom, who thanked him for it.
Alan said, "I'm excited about this. I know I've found Fort Seller. It's right out there in the field. Look at the odd grass pattern. See the box shape about 100 feet square? That's where the walls were. And look at each point of the square. See a smaller diamond sticking out there? Can you see it?"
Tom strained his eyes. He looked in the area Alan was pointing. "No, I don't. Can you show me?"
"Sure," said Alan. "Come with me."
They got up from the chairs. Tom followed Alan, who stopped at a slightly darker spot of grass in the field. "Let me walk it out for you. Here’s a bastion. See the diamond shape?"
Then Alan walked about 100 feet in a straight line. "And here was a wall. There is another bastion here."
Alan made a ninety-degree turn to the right and walked another 100 feet or so. "Here was another wall and another bastion on this corner. Can you see it yet?"
Tom shook his head no. Alan took another right-angle turn and walked another 100 feet. Alan eagerly asked, "Can you see it yet?"
Tom said nothing. He studied the boxed area Alan had walked. Was he on just another wild goose chase after an old tale that wouldn't die? He stepped forward and rocked his shoulders from side to side to see things 'not as a flat picture, but in 3 D. Slowly, his eyes began to see the difference in the grass color caused by the old wooden timbers buried in the ground. Yes, there it was, the old fort, Fort Seller. Tom began to visualize the walls and bastions. In his mind's eye, he even could see a few Colonial soldiers going about their daily chores.
Tom smiled. "Yes, I see it. I can see it now. There're the walls, " he pointed. "And right here where I'm standing was a corner bastion," and with his finger, he drew it out.
"That's it! You can see it!" Alan cried. "I really did find it! Wow!" and with that, he did a little victory dance.
Tom was impressed. "Yes, you found it. It's quite an achievement. The location's been lost for more than 200 plus years. Now I bet you'd like to find the gold if it's still here?"
"You betcha, the sooner, the better. I can't wait," Alan said eagerly.
"My sources tell me the gold was buried in a swivel gun somewhere here at the old fort."
"A swivel gun?" Alan questioned. "What was a swivel gun, and what did it look like?"
Tom started, "A swivel gun was a small frontier cannon used as an antipersonnel weapon. They were made of brass or iron though a few brass ones were produced, but those were too expensive. They even had budget problems back then. The few left are in museums."
"How big were they?" Alan asked.
Tom replied, "About three feet long and about six inches in diameter."
"Are there any iron ones left?" Alan inquired.
"Very few, iron rusts away over the years," Tom replied.
"What would one of those left in the ground all these years look like today?" Alan asked.
"Like a piece of junk," Tom answered.
Alan questioned, "Like a rusty old pipe?"
“Yes, have you seen something like that here?" asked Tom.
Alan nodded. "Come with me."
They walked to the house, and Alan told Tom to wait outside. He had something to show Tom. He'd be right back.
Alan could not believe how things were falling into place. He knew where the gold was, and soon he could take his Momma away. They would escape and start over somewhere new. Alan got the gun and walked out of the front door. He pointed the gun at Tom and said, "Come with me," in the best commanding voice he could conjure up.
Tom's eyes grew big. "Whoo, now! No need for guns."
"Shut up, and do what I say, and no one gets hurt, understand?" Alan growled. "Get that shovel, and come with me."
Tom did so, and Alan walked him around the two old trailers. They continued over to the edge of the bank. Alan motioned down to the grave-like pit where the old swivel gun lay buried. Just past the pit were the cliffs that protected this site and below that were the two sets of well-used railroad tracks.
"Get in that hole and dig," commanded Alan.
Tom looked at the grave shaped hole about three feet deep. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Dig," was all Alan said, and he motioned Tom to the hole.
Tom walked to the hole, looked in it, and then jumped in. So this is how I die thought Tom. He had not seen it coming. How long would it be before they found my body? Would they find my body? He began to dig through the trash and dirt.
At about this time, Mike was pulling up to the gate to the farmhouse. He found it unlocked. Strange, I knew I locked that. He drove up to the house and saw Tom's truck. As he neared the structure, a long eastbound coal trai
n destined for a powerhouse rolled noisily toward the scene. Mike saw Alan standing at the cliff bank with his back to him. And he could tell he was carrying a rifle. Something was definitely wrong. Mike got out of the truck and walked around the trailers. He had his pistol in his hand, and the coal train roared loudly by below. He called out, "Alan!"
Startled, Alan swung around and fired the rifle as he turned toward the shout. The bullet from the .223 Remington caught Mike in the rib case. As designed, it tumbled through his body, and he fell still to the ground. Alan turned the gun back toward Tom. "Dig," was all he said to Tom.
Tom went back to digging. He knew he was going to die. The noise from the train faded into the distance. He looked up at Alan and the gun. "Son, it doesn't have to end like this," he pleaded.
“Dig," Alan said, and Tom did. From the east, the sound of another train came. It carried limestone and freight. It whistled as it neared the little-used farm crossing. The noise from the train grew louder. Then two shots rang out. Tom looked up from the hole. Alan fell to the ground and didn't move. Mike walked over, looked down at Alan, who was bleeding heavily from his wound. Mike looked at Tom and said, "I thought I might have to kill him."
With that, he pointed the gun at Tom and fired one shot at his head. Tom fell into the hole and lay still. Satisfied Tom was dead, Mike staggered ten feet forward toward the old farmhouse, stopped, went to his knees, and fell to the ground never to rise again.
Chapter 43
It was a beautiful day in Mineral County, West Virginia. A large, dark blue, almost black Chevy SUV traveled down Dans Run Road about two miles from the little town of Patterson Creek. It rounded a turn, and in the distance, the driver noted a West Virginia State Police car blocking the side road that went to an old farmhouse. The blue lights on the patrol car came on, and it pulled onto the main road, Dans Run Road, blocking it. The SUV slowed and stopped at a respectable distance.
For what seemed like an eternity but was less than one half a minute, the two vehicles faced each other. Then two box truck ambulances, one with Fort Ashby Volunteer Fire Department on the side and the other with Patterson Creek Volunteer Fire Department painted on the side, slowly rolled down the old farm road and turned right onto Dans Run Road. They headed toward the town of Patterson Creek in no hurry.
The patrol car remained to block the road with its blue lights still flashing. Soon a red fire truck from the Patterson Creek Vol. Fire Dept. came down the old farm road, and also turned right as the two other emergency vehicles had. The patrol car remained to block the way for a short time more. Then, it backed up and blocked the lane again. The officer in the car turned the lights off.
With this, the dark Chevy SUV continues its journey toward Patterson Creek. As the driver rounded the turn before the low water bridge over the creek, he noticed the fire truck parked on the gravel by the stream. The firemen had a hose from the truck ran to the water, and were filling up the big tank of the fire truck.
The SUV stopped by the truck, and the dark shaded electric window rolled down. A voice yelled out to the firemen by the truck, "Hey Bob, how's it going? Long-time no see."
Bob Bradshaw looked to the SUV, but could not see who was calling him. He walked to the window of the truck in his bulky fireman's gear. "Oh, hello, Mr. Godfrey. I'm doin' fine. How about you?"
"Oh, I have had better days, but there have been worse. I saw the ambulances and your fire truck come down from the old farm. What has happened? Did the old place burn down? Anybody hurt?" he asked.
"There was a shooting up there. Two guys shot each other for some reason. Kind of strange circumstances," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I can't say much more. There's a police investigation going on. You can read all about it in the paper tomorrow," Bob replied.
The two men made a little more chit chat, said goodbye, and the big SUV drove off.
The next day Mister Godfrey did read the report in the Cumberland News-Times. He could tell the cub reporter had written his piece directly from the information in a police report. In the old days, the reporters always hunted details often left out of the official release for various reasons. And he knew essential information was missing from this one. The details would surface eventually. He was sure of that.
***
The Voice sat in his chair. In his hand was the police report of the double homicide that had occurred at an old farmhouse near Patterson Creek. He had read the account of the slayings from the local newspaper. Both reports lacked details as he knew they would. Just what really had happened on his operation there? He needed to know. Had his two men got into an argument and killed each other? He knew there was more. The report had no mention of the marijuana grow house. He had people in his pocket that could get him the details if this had happened in Maryland, but he had little success penetrating the West Virginia government people. One man he'd compromised had been brought down by his greed and gone to jail. Another like to drive fast, too fast on the crooked WV roads in his car. He and his wife were both killed while racing around on US 50 east on Romney near Gore just outside of Winchester.
He knew the silence indicated the cops did not know who was behind it and would be going over things with a fine-toothed comb. He could see no way they could trace it back to him. The cheap phones the men carried from his organization were untraceable. He had been careful, but there was always the chance of a mistake. All plans had flaws. The ones you could see, you could deal with. Others were only visible with "Xrays." Still, others could remain hidden until they appeared with disastrous results. Perhaps this was one of them. Maybe not, but of this one thing, he was sure. He was disappointed, very disappointed, and it was not good to disappoint The Voice.
Chapter 44 Tom at the hospital
Oooooh, my head hurts. Tom slowly opened his eyes. He looked around. Where am I? This place looks like a hospital. What happened? Why am I here? An IV was in his hand, and he was lying in a clean bed with sterile white sheets. Just then, a nurse came into the room. Tom spoke to her, "Nurse, what am I doing here?"
She was surprised. "Just a minute, I get you a doctor," she said.
She quickly returned with a woman in a white doctor's clothing. "Hello, Mister Kenney. I'm Doctor Fletcher. You gave us quite a scare. Your wife is in the cafeteria eating. We are getting her. You're at the VA Hospital in Cumberland."
"Thought this place looks vaguely familiar," Tom said, "but what am I doing here?"
"Two days ago, you were shot. A bullet grazed your skull. You are lucky to be alive," the doctor said.
Tom was startled. "I don't remember what happened," he said.
"We'll call the police and let them know you're conscious. They can explain everything. And I know the police want to talk to you badly. A Sheriff Wagoner has been calling every other hour asking about your condition," the doctor said.
At that moment, Tom's wife, Joann, came into the room. "Oh, Tom! We thought we'd lost you!" She cried as she hugged him.
"I love you too, honey," Tom replied. "What am I doing here?"
"You were shot with a pistol. The bullet creased your head. Down at Patterson Creek, at the old farm," she said.
Tom shook his head. "You really don't remember, do you?" Joann asked.
Again Tom shook his head.
"Okay," the doctor said. "We need to back up. Mr. Kenney, two days ago, you were brought in here unconscious with a gunshot wound to your head. You have lapsed in and out of sleep and semi-consciousness. Besides the gunshot wound, you've had an acute stress reaction, probably related to the PTSD you were treated for here in the past. Your wife's been here the whole time. She can tell you about it. And a big black priest was here all day yesterday. He asked to be notified as soon as you regained consciousness. And a host of others did too."
Tom smiled. He was so fortunate to have so many friends.
"Are you feeling okay?" asked the doctor.
Tom nodded, yes.
"Good, I was worried about
you," the doctor said. "I'll leave you two alone for a while. I'll check on you later." With that, she turned and was out the door along with the nurse who followed him.
"Oh, honey, I thought you might never awake. I love you," Joann cooed.
"I love you too," Tom said. "What happened to me? I just don't remember."
"Sheriff Wagoner said he found you sitting on the porch of an old house near Patterson Creek with blood running down your head from the bullet wound," she said. "When he asked you what happened, you pointed with your left hand to two dead men about one hundred feet away. You called Doug on your cell phone. All he could get out of you was 'help me' and 'Patterson Creek.' Lucky for us, you forgot to take that little map with directions there. Doug found it at your desk and called 911. The sheriff was at Linda's Restaurant when he got the call. He found you and the others about 10 minutes later. "
Tom said, "The last thing I remember was leaving the office. Everything from there to here is a big blank space."
"The doctor said with acute stress like you've had, you may never be able to fill in the blanks. You scared us. You were back fighting in Vietnam. You relived Sarah's death," she said. She lowered her eyes. "And Brian's."
Tom could say nothing. He had seen so much death in his life: friends in Vietnam, Sarah, his first wife, another victim of bloody Route 28. And Brian. It had been he who found Brian. Tom could feel all the pain again. Oh God, he thought, is this how You felt when Your son died? How did you survive the pain? Oh, God, how?
"Tom," Joann said, "You kept repeating 'why?' over and over."
Tom lay there and said nothing. Why? He wished he knew. The pain in his heart was far worse than the pain in his head.
At that moment, a voice said, "I hate to break this up, but I need to talk to you, Tom." Sheriff Wagoner had walked into the room.
"Sheriff, I'd offer you coffee, if I had some," Tom said. "Grab a chair."
"And donuts, can't forget the donuts," said the sheriff with a grin.
Joann looked at the sheriff. "Sheriff, when you two are done, let me know. I'll be waiting at the cafeteria." And with that, she was gone.