“Don’t go home. Don’t even go near your house.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
Jackson’s thoughts ricocheted around in his mind, formulating a plan. Either he or Bear or both of them were going to need help shaking the people following them.
“Head for Rocky Mount,” Jackson said, “Try to lose them on the way. I’ll call you back.”
Jackson ended the call. He got back on State Route 40 and headed back out of town the way he’d came. By now, whoever was following him must’ve realized they’d been made, but it wasn’t fazing them. They kept following. Jackson switched the screen on his center console over to the truck’s navigation map so he could see the roads nearby and where they went.
He drove past the exit for the marina and headed for Rocky Mount, all the while looking for an opportunity. A couple miles later, he saw one in the form of an 18-wheeler.
Pulling up behind it, Jackson slowed down to the truck’s speed and followed it closely, waiting. He looked in his rearview mirror. The car following him had slowed down as well, keeping its distance. Jackson watched the oncoming traffic, waiting for the right moment.
Around a lazy turn, the road straightened out. Headlights appeared on the horizon up ahead. This was the chance he’d been looking for.
He waited until the car coming at them was closer, then swerved into the other lane and floored it. His Dodge Ram bucked upwards and charged forward as the engine revved past 6,000 rpm. Jackson drove right at the oncoming car, which was now frantically flashing its headlights. The car following him tried to do the same, but it was too late. Jackson had gotten the jump he was looking for. He got past the semi and dove back into the right lane. The car he’d just played chicken with honked at him, the driver yelling out his window as he drove past. Angry as he might be, the driver had served his purpose, cutting off the car trying to follow Jackson, who had to duck back behind the truck and wait to pass.
Jackson sped ahead, creating distance between him and whoever was tailing him. When he finally lost sight of the headlights in his rearview mirror, he took the next turn off the highway and then the first turn off that road. He continued to do this for the next several minutes, taking the first turn off of every road that wasn’t a dead end.
Convinced he’d lost them, Jackson pulled off the road and killed the lights. He looked at the navigation screen on his truck to see where he had ended up. It showed that he was north of a town called Glade Hill. Route 40 was the most obvious way to Rocky Mount, but whoever had been tailing him would likely be on there, hoping to find him again. Jackson looked for a different, less obvious way to get to Rocky Mount and put it in the nav system.
As he continued on, he reached for his phone and called Bear back.
“What’s going on, buddy,” Bear said.
“I lost whoever was following me,” Jackson replied, “What about you?”
“Nope, haven’t been able to shake these assholes,” Bear answered, “They’re not being subtle, either. They’ve run two red lights to keep up with me.”
Jackson had hoped Bear lost his tail, too, but it didn’t matter. He’d shaken his and now he had a plan.
“Is there a department store or something over there,” Jackson asked, “Something with a big parking lot that’ll still be busy?”
“Yeah, there’s a Walmart,” Bear answered, “People are there all hours of the day.”
“Great, drive over in the area of the Walmart,” Jackson said, “Still try to shake them, though.”
Jackson ended the call before Bear could respond. His navigation system said he was 14 minutes away, but as he raced down the backroads of southern Virginia, he shaved 4 minutes off that time to make it an even ten. When he saw the sign for the Walmart, he called Bear back.
“Are you near the Walmart,” Jackson asked.
“Yes, sir,” Bear replied.
“Okay, pull in to the parking lot and park around a lot of cars, but where you can still see what the van does,” Jackson said.
“Gotcha.”
“Tell me what they do.”
Jackson turned left across the road and pulled into the parking lot himself and scanned it, looking for Bear. Sure enough, there was Bear in his red Suburban pulling in from the other entrance. He watched as Bear took a right down a row of parking spots and pulled into one. A second later, the van rolled in.
“They’re looking at me, they just drove by the row I parked on,” Bear said.
“I see them,” Jackson replied, “Sit tight.”
“I’m missing The Bachelorette right now, just so you know,” Bear said.
Jackson ignored him. He watched the van amble through the walking shoppers as he circled it from the edges of the parking lot. The van turned off the main drag in front of the store and went down a row of spots two rows over from Bear. A car backed out of a spot and the van pulled through and parked with a perfect view of Bear’s suburban. Jackson moved closer in his truck.
He saw the car directly in front of Bear back out and leave.
“Bear, pull forward so you don’t have to back out when I tell you to go,” Jackson said.
Bear didn’t reply, but his red suburban rolled into the next parking spot. The set up was almost perfect. Jackson just needed the last piece to fall into place. He drove down one lane over from the van, buying more time. Just then, an old lady in a PT Cruiser pulled into the spot behind the van. They were boxed in on three sides. Jackson had his opportunity.
“Some old bag just pulled in behind the van,” Bear said.
“I saw,” Jackson replied, “I’m coming around now. When I tell you to, get lost.”
Jackson turned onto the row with the van. When the lane cleared itself of shoppers, he hit the gas.
“Get ready,” said Jackson.
He slammed on his breaks, all four tires screaming in pain as his truck slid to a stop in front of the van. The three Lokos from the bar – Mack and the Kerley brothers – were inside it, their eyes large and white.
“Now,” ordered Jackson.
He opened his door, and headed for the driver side of the van. The three men inside slid away from the door, frantically hitting the lock button. Jackson pulled a knife out from his belt and punched the front tire. He stood back up, and looked at them, the trio watching him from the passenger seat with fear.
“You boys have a good night,” Jackson shouted through the window.
He climbed back into his truck, taking the first exit out of the parking lot, and disappeared down the road.
Heading south, Jackson avoided the area he’d been around all day. As he drove, he noticed his phone was still connected to Bear. He picked it up off the passenger seat.
“Did you make it out clean,” Jackson asked.
“Yes, sir, buddy boy,” Bear answered, “Got nothing but darkness ahead and behind me.”
“Good,” Jackson replied, “Hurry on home. And get some extra sheets out for your couch. I’m sleeping over.”
55
Jackson opened the door to his and Nathalie’s townhouse in the Oregon Hill district of Richmond. Nathalie was sitting on the couch in the living room, nursing a glass of water, staring at the television. It wasn’t on.
The coffee table in front of her, the very first piece of furniture they had bought together at an urban flea market, was overflowing with envelopes, most of them unopened. The mail since Evan disappeared had become a chore in and of itself. On top of the usual bills and junk mail now came hundreds of letters from strangers. Most of them were well-wishers offering their condolences. A small minority were nasty attacks directed at either them or Evan. Those were the ones Nathalie couldn’t forget.
Jackson walked into the living room and sat down opposite Nathalie, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasping a stack of papers. He’d been reinvigorated with a sense of purpose.
“Nat, I found him,” Jackson said.
Nathalie looked up from the blank television. She didn’t look hopeful.
“I think I found who took him,” Jackson replied, “This guy, he was a seasonal worker at the park. He was in jail for—”
Nathalie stood up and walked to the kitchen, slamming her glass on the counter as she stared into the empty sink.
“What is it, Nathalie,” Jackson asked.
“So, what? You’re a detective now,” Nathalie asked, “You’re, what? Sherlock Holmes all of the sudden?”
“Come on, now,” Jackson replied, “That’s not fair. You told me to find him, I’m trying to find him.”
“No, what’s not fair is that my son is missing, no one seems to give a shit about it, and now I have to hear my husband’s cockamamie theories as to who took him.”
“Yeah, well, at least we’re doing something about it, Nat. I’d rather be out there and try and fail 100 times than sit around here and mope and do nothing like some people.”
“What am I supposed to do, Jackson? Hop in the mystery machine with you and the rest of the gang and pretend this is some big adventure?”
“No one here is enjoying this, Nat, least of all me. But you were right. We have to find him. We have to try. We can’t just do nothing. Or, at least, I can’t.”
A silence fell over the kitchen, bringing an intermission to the argument. Nathalie turned on the faucet, waiting a moment for the water to get cold, and refilled her glass. She took a long, slow slip, before putting it down, still staring at the sink. Jackson rounded the kitchen island and approached her carefully, placing the papers on the counter. When he spoke again, his voice was calm.
“Would you at least look at what I found, Nat,” Jackson asked, “Please? I really think there’s something here.”
“And what, Jackson,” Nathalie asked back, “What if he did it? What are you going to do, arrest him?”
“I’m going to get our son back,” Jackson answered.
“And what if he isn’t there, Jackson?”
“Then I’ll keep looking.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean, Nat?”
Nathalie began to laugh. Or, at least, Jackson thought she was laughing. She looked like she could be crying just as well.
“I mean, Jackson,” Nathalie said, her voice rising again, “What if he’s gone? Not from that guy or whoever you find next, but gone for good.”
“Nat, you can’t think like that,” Jackson answered.
“No, you see, Jackson, I do,” Nathalie said, “Because you and your friends and your little cop pals are all running around here like it’s only a matter of time before one of you saves the day. And none of you will say it. That he’s been gone for over a month. That if he were going to be found, someone would’ve found him.”
“What are you saying, Nat?”
“I’m saying he’s gone, Jackson!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, Jackson. Deep, down inside, I know.”
Jackson felt a rage build inside him. He knew he wasn’t just angry at Nathalie. He was angry at everything. At the situation. At life for being so cruel. But right now, all he had in front of him was her.
“If he really is gone,” Jackson seethed, “Then he went without his own mother doing a damn thing about it.”
Nathalie turned and stared at him in disbelief, her face stricken with utter shock. Shock and betrayal. Her mind seemed to be searching for the words to say, but nothing came. She marched past Jackson, brushing him sideways with her shoulder as she passed, and continued out into the hallway.
“Where are you going,” Jackson shouted.
“You want me to do something,” Nathalie screamed back, “I’m doing something.”
Jackson didn’t leave the kitchen as the front door swung open before being slammed shut.
Jackson flinched from the sound of the door slamming as if it happened in Bear’s living room and not just his head. His body jerked sideways, flipping off the couch. Jackson stuck his hands out, breaking his fall.
Bear leaned through the entryway from the kitchen, stirring something in a mug.
“You look just like a fish that landed on a boat of mine once,” Bear said.
“I thought you didn’t fish,” Jackson replied, peeling himself off the floor.
“I didn’t say I caught him,” Bear said, “Damn thing jumped right onto my boat.”
Jackson gave Bear a gratuitous smile, acknowledging the humor, as he sat back and plopped himself upright on the couch.
“You want some coffee,” Bear asked.
“Sure,” Jackson replied, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
He listened as Bear disappeared into the kitchen, cuing a melody of cabinets banging, mugs clanking, and a profanity-laced rant. There was also the sound of something sizzling on the stove, a fire had been started in the fireplace, and the coffee table now held an array of guns and spare magazines. Bear had clearly been awake for some time.
“I checked the wildlife cams I set up on the road and driveway last night,” Bear said as he came in with two mugs and handed one to Jackson, “No one came snooping around after we got in here.”
“We got lucky last night,” Jackson said, “They underestimated us. They won’t do that again.”
“What do you want to do,” Bear asked.
“I need to get back to the motel in Gretna, make sure they didn’t make the place.”
“Why would they? You didn’t go there, did you?”
“No, but I circled around Gretna. They could guess I’d set up nearby and get lucky. Plus, we don’t know who around here talks to them.”
“Might make sense for you to pack up and just work out of here. It’s private. And you know at least I’m not one of them Lokos.”
“No, I don’t think they have a t-shirt in your size.”
Bear let out a laugh that sounded more like a growl. Whoever nicknamed him Bear had done so appropriately. He stood up and walked into the kitchen.
“You want some eggs and bacon,” he shouted.
“Sure, thanks,” Jackson shouted back.
That explained the sizzling on the stove. As Jackson finished his coffee, Bear walked in with two plates of food, placing them on the table between Jackson and him.
“So, we’ll go round up your stuff first,” Bear said.
“Yeah,” Jackson replied, “And make sure they aren’t sitting on the place. Which reminds me. You’ve got other cars around here, right?”
“Buddy,” Bear answered, “What rural lifestyle do you know that don’t own a bunch of old trucks?””
“You’re the only one I know, but, good. You better ditch that Suburban now that they can make it. In fact, we should put it in that shed or tarp it over or something.”
“Done and done. So, we get you out of there, and then what?”
“They’re keeping Sara Beth somewhere. We need to find out where.”
56
It took Jackson and Bear the better part of the morning to do everything necessary to carefully retrieve what Jackson had left in the motel in Gretna. Knowing the Lokos knew to look for Jackson’s Ram and Bear’s Suburban, they hid the two under tarps behind a pile of scrap. Bear loaned Jackson the keys to the old forest service F-350 while he pulled out a black 1985 Dodge D100 he’d restored.
“That’s some pickup,” Jackson had said as Bear came around the shed in it.
“Built her back myself,” he said, smiling proudly and patting the dashboard, “My baby.”
When they got near Gretna, they circled the small town twice, checking for a tail, then surveyed the motel parking lot from across the street, looking for someone sitting on the room. As it turned out, no one from the Lokos had made the motel.
That hadn’t stopped Jackson from acting out of an abundance of caution, though. He entered his motel room through a small window in the bathroom that couldn’t be seen from the street, packed up his gear, throwing it out the same window, and left
the motel key along with a note for the housekeeping staff that he wouldn’t be back. Considering he’d paid for another week, he doubted they would mind his Irish goodbye.
Leaving Gretna, Jackson and Bear took separate routes back to Bear’s house, both retracing several stretches of road at least once to look for someone tailing them. Neither of them spotted anyone following.
Bear was now busy transforming his dining room table into something of a black-market bazaar, laying out only his most spectacular and illegal firearms in an array of potential carnage.
“Is that all really necessary,” Jackson asked.
“Hey, those Lokos come knocking around here,” Bear replied, “We’re going to knock back, Jack.”
Bear chuckled as he fed bullets into the .357 he’d had on him back at the bar.
“So how do you plan on finding out where the Parker girl is,” he asked.
“Not sure,” Jackson answered, “The obvious way would be to go in and find out for ourselves.”
“Ha,” Bear snorted, “Easier said than done with that group.”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. You haven’t checked out the place at night, have you?”
“No, but I’m sure they’ve got folks watching out.”
“That’d be my guess as well. They were on us just for snooping around the marina.”
“You think they think this is still about the girl, after you asked back at the bar in Rocky Mount?”
Jackson didn’t say anything. He’d forgotten he’d brought it up to the three Lokos there. Now he regretted that he had. What if he’d put her in more danger letting them know he was looking for her? The thought left Jackson feeling queasy.
“How do you think they made us at the marina,” Jackson asked, “We never asked the store clerk about Sara Beth.”
Bear shrugged his shoulders.
“Not sure,” he answered, “He’s a Loko, the guys at the bar were Lokos. Maybe they were on us just thinking us being there was suspicious. The guys on me were the ones from the bar. They could’ve ID’d either of us if they were sitting on the marina.”
The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1) Page 20