Blood Bought: Book Four in The Locker Nine Series

by Franklin Horton

  With the pill kicking in, Debbie had less fight in her than she did last night. She folded her arms across her chest and nodded without making eye contact.

  The congressman smiled. “See? She understands.”

  22

  Muncie sat in the front yard of the church watching the road from a camping chair, his rifle laying across his lap. Disheveled, bandaged, and slouched in the chair, he looked like a drunken Fourth of July reveler who'd lost a couple of fingers to a fireworks accident. His role as a security guard was mostly symbolic at this point. He couldn’t even imagine that he provided much of a deterrent in his injured condition. Several folks walked by along the road and looked glumly at him as if they found him unworthy of comment or greeting.

  "How's the hand?"

  Muncie was startled and jerked around in the chair, staring at Johnson, a younger member of the security detail. "It’s throbbing," Muncie growled. "Every time my heart beats it feels like somebody is pounding the damn thing with a meat hammer.”

  “That sucks,” Johnson said.

  “You got no idea. Don’t happen to have any Demerol do you?”

  Johnson chuckled. “Sorry. Fresh out.”

  “These guys managed to put back antibiotics so my arm wouldn’t rot off but no pain medications to make it more tolerable. We better hope nobody gets shot.”

  Johnson shook his head sympathetically. “Sorry, man.”

  “I wish I’d thought this out more carefully. I don’t know if these guys know what they’re doing or not. They could end up getting us all killed."

  "So why’d you take him up on his offer to begin with?”

  Muncie shot the kid a look to see if he was being a smart ass but it didn’t look like it. He just looked curious. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was led to believe that the congressman had an arrangement with some compound that was going to admit us. I thought this was all worked out in advance. Nobody told me we were going to have to fight our way into somebody else's place, drive them out, and steal their stuff. That little detail was conveniently left out and it’s a big detail."

  Muncie's face grew red as he spoke, the byproduct of a toxic cocktail of anger and pain. The more he talked, the more he thought about the situation, and the angrier he got. If he had known all the details in advance he certainly wouldn't have signed up for this. He had friends in the country he could have thrown in with. If he had, he probably wouldn’t be sitting there nursing a missing hand.

  "Yeah, I didn't get all that either,” Johnson said. “I’m not sure what I think about it all but I don't quite know what to do now. I feel committed, like I’m in too far to back up. If I could, I don’t even know where I’d back up to.”

  Muncie stared off at the road. "Maybe the problem isn't with the group. Maybe the problem’s with who’s running it.”

  Johnson frowned. "Um, just what you talking about? I think the congressman is doing the best he can under circumstances."

  Muncie laughed derisively. "The congressman is doing what's best for him. That’s all he'll ever do. Every one of us is expendable as far as he's concerned. I got the impression that if Bradshaw hadn’t stood up for me today I would have been sent packing this morning. You guys should take note of that. If we get injured, if we can't pull our weight, we’re no longer welcome here, regardless of the effort we’ve put in. Regardless of the sacrifices we’ve made." He held up his damaged hand to emphasize that last statement.

  Johnson reached in his pocket and drew out a packet which he tossed into Muncie's lap. "That's a triangle bandage with a safety pin. The medic asked me to give it to you. He said it can be worn as a sling. If you keep your hand up it shouldn't hurt as bad. The higher the better."

  Muncie nodded, flushed with anger, and didn't make eye contact with Johnson. He was too pissed off to say anything. If he opened his mouth again he didn't know what would come out of it. Probably something that would only get him in trouble, but he couldn’t stop himself. “We should probably do something about it before he gets us all killed.

  “Are you proposing we kill the congressman or run him and his family off?” Johnson asked, his tone indicating just how absurd he found the idea.

  Muncie had said all he was going to say about it. When Johnson realized this, he left the injured man alone to his thoughts.

  Johnson went straight to the congressman, who was slouched in a chair outside of Jacob’s camper with a paper plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  "Sir, can I speak with you?"

  The congressman nodded, his mouth glued shut at the moment by peanut butter. He gestured an empty camp chair.

  "Sir, this information is sensitive and I'd rather not be seen out here talking with you. Can we go somewhere more private?"

  The congressman instantly looked concerned. He swallowed his bite of sandwich with the aid of a cold sip of Heineken, then licked his lips. "Whatever you say."

  He rose from his chair and pulled open the door to Jacobs’ RV. He climbed in, balancing his plate of sandwiches and his beer, Johnson at his heels. A napping Jacobs rose up from the sofa.

  "Can he stay?" the congressman asked, gesturing at the dazed Jacobs.

  Johnson nodded. "Fine with me."

  "My own place is packed with family,” the congressman said. “I can hardly get a moment’s peace there."

  He slid into the dinette booth and Johnson joined him on the opposite side. On the couch, Jacobs rubbed his eyes and began pulling on his boots.

  "So what’s got your panties in a wad?" the congressman asked.

  "I had a conversation with Muncie that I don’t feel right about. Some of the things he said concerned me.”

  The congressman took another bite of his sandwich. He was listening but he was a man used to working lunches. He could pay attention and eat at the same time. He chewed for a while and took another sip of Heineken. "What did he say? He going to run off and leave us? Go AWOL? I'm not so sure that's a bad thing. One less mouth to feed around here."

  Johnson shook his head. “I don't think that's his plan, sir. I don't think he has any intention of leaving. He said that our problem is who is in charge. I got the impression he thinks we should do something about that."

  The congressman had been preparing to take another bite of his sandwich but dropped it on the plate before him. A worried look crossed his face. More than worry. Betrayal. "He said that?"

  Johnson nodded. "He feels like you want rid of him because he was injured. He says he joined this operation under full false pretenses. He’s very angry and says you lied to us. I got the impression that this was more than just regular bitching. I got the impression he wants to do something about it."

  Congressman Honaker gave Johnson a long stare, measuring his sincerity. This was very concerning news. The congressman finally pushed his plate away, raised the sweaty green bottle to his lips, and drained it. "Johnson, I appreciate you bringing your concerns to me personally. How do you feel about comments like that?"

  Johnson shrugged, not prepared that he would be put on the spot. “Well, I guess I feel like it's dangerous talk. That's why I came and told you. It's not good to have people going around saying things like that."

  The congressman leaned forward in his seat and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. "Let me ask you something else. Do you believe in what we’re doing here?"

  Johnson was taken back, as if this were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever been asked. "Of course, sir. I think you've gone to great pains to try to provide for this group. The last thing we need is someone undermining that."

  "What do you think I need to do, Johnson?"

  Johnson's eyes flickered with mild excitement. The congressman appeared genuinely interested in his opinion. Maybe this was an opportunity for advancement within the group. "I think we should run him out of here, send him packing. A little taste of what other folks are going through will probably make him wish he’d sung a different tune."

  "You think he would go quietly?
"

  Johnson considered then shook his head. "I doubt it. He’s pretty riled up. He likes to talk. He’d probably make a show of it."

  The congressman sat back, hung an arm casually over the back of his seat, and regarded Johnson. "So he makes a big scene and gets the opportunity to vent all his poisonous ideas to the good people of this camp. I'm not sure I should allow that."

  "What do we do?" Jacobs asked. “How do you stop it?”

  The congressman stood from the table and rested a meaty hand on Johnson’s shoulder. He leaned down as if imparting a secret of the universe. "I think a sickness like that must be surgically removed. It has to be excised carefully so that it cannot spread to other people."

  "Surgically removed?" Johnson repeated. “How?”

  The congressman raised his other hand and tapped Johnson on the chest. The young man’s eyes grew wide.

  "Me?"

  The congressman nodded seriously. “Lives could depend on it.”

  “Really?”

  “Indeed. Perhaps the future of this entire endeavor.”

  Johnson was silenced by the weight of it, the seriousness of this burden being imparted on him.

  "The time is now. The place is here. Can you answer the call?"

  Johnson considered. How could he say no? He couldn’t easily refuse the congressman after coming to him with this information? It was not entirely surprising that he was called into action as part of the cure. Perhaps he should have thought this out better.

  “What would I need to do?"

  The congressman pulled his eyes from Johnson and glanced at Jacobs. He was looking for an answer. This particular field was not his specialty.

  Jacobs rose and unhooked an old machete from the walls. "This is a vintage Collins machete. They say the company built these old ones out of railroad tracks. There was something about the effect of the train passing over those rails that did something to the grain of the steel. I can tell you it’s razor sharp. It’s tasted blood before and liked it."

  Johnson looked nervously from the machete to Jacobs, then to the congressman. “I might…can’t I just shoot him?"

  The congressman shook his head. "Oh no. A shot that close to camp would draw the attention of anyone in the area. It would also alarm the families. They might fear we were under attack. I'll come up with a reason to send the two of you away from the camp. You just have to do what needs to be done."

  Jacobs handed the machete over. Johnson pulled the machete partially from the oiled leather sheath. He stared at the patina of the old blade, the light reflected off the honed edge. He looked terrified. "I haven't ever done anything like that before."

  “I certainly haven’t either,” the congressman said. “But to save this camp? To save all these folks? You better believe I would.”

  “It’s my duty,” Johnson said, though it sounded like more of an affirmation he was using to bolster his own fortitude rather than a statement to the other men in the room.

  "These families are depending on you. I'm depending on you."

  The congressman saw the young man's ownership of this responsibility wash over his face like a revelation. His resolve hardened. He was a believer now. “Yes sir. I can do it. When?”

  "Now."

  23

  Muncie heard the steps approaching but didn’t turn around to look at who it was. He didn’t care. All he cared about was his throbbing hand. It was the center of the universe.

  "Jacobs said to grab some lunch and meet him at his camper."

  When the owner of the voice finally walked around into Muncie’s line of sight, he could see that it was another of the security detail. "You here to relieve me?"

  The man nodded.

  “About damn time,” Muncie grumbled.

  "Looks exciting. I can hardly wait."

  Muncie stood and slung his rifle over his shoulder. He wished he had a snappy comeback to the man's comment but all he could think of was the blinding pain in his hand. Nothing was working. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. There had had to be something that would help. If not …he just didn’t know.

  Muncie wandered back toward the main camp. He went to the tiny camper he’d shared with Asbury to find something to eat. The camper was stifling hot, otherwise he might have found it difficult to resist laying down for a nap. But Jacobs was expecting him.

  He tried to open a can of barbecued Vienna sausages but found it extremely difficult to hold the can still while he tried to pop the top open. There might be a time when the damage hand could be used for such tasks but now it was way too sensitive. He tried to pinch the can between his knees while he peeled the lid off but he couldn’t get enough grip. Enraged, he slung the can as hard as he could. The impact popped the lid open and barbecue sauce splashed the wall like blood splatter.

  Muncie settled for the old standby, beef jerky. It wasn't what he wanted. He’d had so much jerky walking back and forth to town that he couldn't imagine ever craving it again. It was easy to open though, and easy to eat with one hand.

  He started to sit down at the dinette but the heat drove him outside. A reclining lawn chair whispered to him seductively, but lying down would lead to sleep, and Jacobs was waiting on him. His relationship with the congressman was already strained and he didn't need to push his luck. He just needed to get it over with. He needed to go see what they wanted, and he could rest later.

  Jerky dangling from his mouth like a cheap Swisher cigar, hand held aloft like he was being sworn in as president, Muncie walked down to Jacobs’ RV. The congressman, Jacobs, and Johnson were sitting in camping chairs with serious looks on their faces. Muncie took in the scene and felt an immediate tension. He’d interrupted something.

  "What did I miss?" he asked.

  "Nothing worth repeating," the congressman said. "Just lamenting the general state of things."

  That sounded like a load of crap to Muncie. He didn't believe a word of it. Jacobs and the congressman had excellent poker faces. It was a skill they’d both developed in their chosen careers. Johnson looked terrified though. Something was definitely up between those three. Muncie didn't feel like he had any reason to be confrontational about it; it may have nothing to do with him.

  He took a seat and gnawed off a hunk of the jerky. It was the cheap kind and tasted like an old leather belt. “You wanted to see me?"

  Jacobs nodded. "We’re not sure how many more days were going to be here. Whether we go into town or engage the Hardwicks, this location is likely to be our base of operations for a little while longer. Bradshaw and I thought it might be wise to position a couple of concealed outposts away from camp. One up the road to the east, the other down the road to the west."

  Muncie held up his damaged hand. “I’m not sure how much help I can be.”

  "We understand you’re injured,” the congressman said. “I realize you can't do any heavy labor, but Johnson can do the work of clearing the locations if you can help him figure out where to put them.”

  "Are you looking for sniper hides or what?" Muncie asked.

  Jacobs shook his head. “Doesn’t have to be. We just want to find good spots that are off the road enough to conceal the observer but close enough that he can get a good look at what’s going on. Make them comfortable and cut out any branches that might be in the way, camouflage them a little bit. Nothing fancy. Nothing that’s going to stick out to someone on the road.”

  Muncie thought this over. Something about it didn't ring authentic. There were several men among the group with military backgrounds. With those kind of resources available why would Jacobs, a military man, trust a cop with no military background to pick his outposts? It didn’t make sense. Beyond that, there was something about the congressman's delivery that wasn’t right. It was missing the smug, condescending tone that he’d used with Muncie lately.

  Unsure of what else to do, Muncie played along. "I'm assuming you want us to go now?"

  "No time like the present," the congressman said, a
plastic smile glued to his face.

  "Fine,” Muncie said, rising from his chair. “Just let me get my gear and I'll be ready to go."

  The congressman cut a look at Jacobs. "He won’t need any gear, will he?”

  Jacobs shook his head.

  “Johnson will be doing all the work. You just grab a water bottle or two and you’ll be fine,” the congressman said.

  Muncie met the cold eyes and nodded. "Good enough."

  Johnson stood up and threw a nervous glance at Jacobs and the congressman. It seemed to be an acknowledgement of some sort but Muncie had no idea what it was about.

  “I’m going to go get my water bottles and I’ll meet you at the road,” Muncie said.

  “You can have some of mine,” Jacobs offered.

  Muncie was already on his way back to his camper. “Thanks but I have some Gatorade and I’m a little dehydrated. I’d prefer that. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Muncie’s heart was pounding when he entered the trailer. He thought he was pretty sure he knew now what was going on. They’d somehow manipulated Johnson into killing him. That was the plan. Johnson was going to get him away from camp and deal with him. Muncie was not going to make it easy. He was not going down without a fight.

  They’d told him he wouldn’t need any gear but he was taking it anyway, though he’d have to travel light to keep Johnson from being suspicious. The kid was nervous enough already. Muncie didn’t want him to figure out that he was onto him.

  He grabbed his Go Bag and hastily opened it. It was a little challenging with one functional hand but he got it done. He crammed in what food he could fit as well as several boxes of ammo for his pistol. There would be no way he could take his rifle without Johnson becoming suspicious. That was okay. He couldn’t fire it with a single hand anyway.

  He shoved the Smith & Wesson Bodyguard .380 in his left pocket. It was not a shooting hand but it would be from now on. He might as well accept that and start depending on it. Johnson wouldn't be concerned about the Sig still holstered on his right hip because he probably assumed Muncie couldn't get to it in time with his gun hand messed up. Johnson was right about that. He couldn’t imagine what this young, scared kid had in mind for him but he would not go down without a fight.