by Wes Markin
So Gabriel can use it as leverage and make himself a more powerful player in Blue Fall politics. “Have you thought about sending that directly to the Maine State Police?” Jake said.
“No. Would that be wise?”
“Well, it might bring a swifter end to the corruption in your town.” But would also lead them to Jotham and the people who work for him. He eyed Sean. Before you know it, you could be sitting completely alone in this house.
“I think I’ll leave it to Chief Jewell.”
Wise but disappointing. “With everything that’s happened, can you give us an update on the whereabouts of your daughter?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happened to Maddie, Mr. Thompson?”
“She’s with her relatives, as we’ve said all along.”
“Your wife seems to think your daughter is dead. In fact, she was so convinced she just murdered someone!” He could feel Lillian’s eyes boring into him. He ignored her. His patience was wearing thin.
“She wasn’t thinking clearly. In fact, she’s not been well for a long time. I don’t know what else to say, young man.”
“The truth?”
Devin appeared beside his father and brother, sporting his usual aggressive stance and scrunched face. “It is the truth. Now, we have to contact a lawyer, for Mother. So, if you don’t mind …?”
Jake took a deep breath, trying to prevent a sudden rush of blood. “Well, please get in touch if you can figure out why your mother suddenly thought your sister was dead.”
He looked up in time to see Blake’s solemn expression before Devin closed the door.
Once they were back in the car, Jake hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.
“Well, at least they’re alive,” Lillian said. “I can only imagine the firepower in those SUVs.”
“Yes, great, three selfish bastards survive while an innocent girl is left somewhere to rot. I’m over the fucking moon.” He hit the wheel again. This time, he felt the pain in his palm and welcomed it.
Lillian put her hand on his arm. “Jake, listen. You don’t know Jotham like we know him. He won’t care about politics, the law, or the Maine State Police if Blake betrays him. Jotham will move on his remaining children. Blake’s behaviour is not that of a selfish man, it’s the behaviour of a terrified one.”
Jake ran a hand through his cropped hair. “I know, I get that.” He turned to look at Lillian. “You think Gabriel will let you talk to Marissa in custody?”
“Unlikely, but I could try.”
Jake nodded and eyed the house. “I wonder how much those selfish idiots told Marissa. I doubt they went as far as saying where she was. Do you think she’s really dead?”
Lillian looked away. “I think that’s a new level for Jotham MacLeoid. He has a teenage daughter himself.”
“So, that’s a no then?”
Lillian looked at him but didn’t answer. She didn’t need to; he saw the answer in her eyes.
“You know I’ll kill him if he’s done the unthinkable?”
Lillian didn’t reply.
“How do you feel about that as a police officer?”
Lillian sighed, looked out the window for a moment then faced him again. “You mentioned before that you were getting somewhere with Ayden.”
“Yes, he was opening up.”
“You think he’ll turn on his father?”
“No. Because like everyone else, he’s shit-scared.”
“It’s one brick wall after another.”
“Not necessarily. I don’t think he’s scared for himself. From the way he was talking, I’m not sure he cares whether he lives or dies. Now, his mother on the other hand, he worships the ground she walks on.”
“Louise Scott?”
“You know her?”
“Yes. She’s an ex-sex worker in Sharon’s Edge who now runs a charity called Start Again. They work with prostitutes to get them off the game. We’ve done some impressive work with them. The idea is that instead of arresting the sex-workers, we help them kick drugs and ditch their pimps.”
“Wow! That’s quite forward thinking for this place.”
“True. Not all of my colleagues are fans, but locking up sex workers is counterproductive. It just drives them deeper into desperation, and it becomes harder to help them long term.”
“Makes perfect sense to me. I worked with similar charities back home. So, what is her history with Jotham?”
“Exactly how you would imagine. He paid for her services, except she gave him more than just sex; she gave him a child too.”
“I see. But Ayden is only around thirty. I doubt contraception was a foreign concept around the time of his conception.”
“He didn’t use contraception when he raped her. She makes no secret of it. She’s open and honest about her past.”
“But why would he rape her if he was paying for it anyway?”
“For the same reason he raped Marion Springs then sacked her. The man thrives on violence and aggression. I’ll never forget her telling me the story. His visits with her started normally enough, if you consider paying for sex normal, but over time, he became rougher and more forceful with her. At first, she consented, but eventually, it became too violent for her. This spurred him on even more. She said he raped her over ten times before he eventually grew bored of her.”
“Did she not have a pimp?”
“There is no protection from Jotham MacLeoid. He does what he wants. After she had Ayden, she left the job and set up the charity. She sees it as the good that came from her experience. He took Ayden when he turned eight, probably because he would be less effort at that age.”
“Did she try to fight it?”
“No. He offered her visitation rights and money. It was better than the alternative.”
“Dumped in the Stinson?”
“Precisely.”
“So, Jotham does not mind her shouting about her horrendous experiences with him?”
“It seems not. He’s probably happy to wear it, like a badge of honor. Just increases his fear factor.”
“You know that’s our way in, don’t you?”
“Louise? How so?”
“Someone who lost her dignity and her life? What more has she got left to lose? She’ll hold the answer to the end of Jotham MacLeoid.”
Drinking from a fresh bottle of Old Crow, Peter Sheenan waited half a mile from the MacLeoid property. In his rearview mirror, he watched the reflection of the Honda minivan’s headlights crest the hill behind him. He took one last swig from the bottle and threw it on the passenger seat next to the photograph of Prince. He reached to his back seat for his rifle and exited the vehicle.
Outside, surrounded by nothingness, a sharp wind bit into him. He was glad of the whiskey in his belly. It kept both his body and soul warm. He also felt no fear regarding what he was about to do; however, that could be due to his experiences in the jungles of Vietnam rather than the alcohol.
The Honda minivan drew to a halt behind his pickup. The driver wasn’t visible in the gloom. The headlights went off, and the minivan door opened.
Peter readied his rifle.
Oliver Sholes stepped from the truck and raised his hands.
Peter lowered his rifle.
“No, keep it up,” Oliver said. “Someone might drive by and see.”
“Good point.” Peter reraised it and edged toward Oliver.
Oliver shivered; poor lad didn’t have a bellyful of whiskey to keep him warm. “You’re going to get me killed, Mr. Sheenan. You know that?”
“No, Oliver. Look.” He nodded at the flat tire on his pickup. “I waved you over for help then ambushed you, exactly how we discussed.”
“Maybe … But maybe Mr. MacLeoid will just torture me for the truth?”
Peter sighed and looked down. Yes, it was a possibility, but it was a risk he had to take. He thought about Prince, and he thought of Nickel’s front leg snapping in that fighting ring; he couldn’t let this g
o on anymore. Peter moved closer to Oliver so he could see him more clearly, and his heart sank.
The boy—because that’s all he was really, a boy—was pale, his eyes were wide, and his pupils were dilated.
“I’m sorry, Oliver, but this has to happen.”
Oliver was Jotham’s driver. He picked up the women who worked the laboratory every morning and dropped them home every evening. He often drove Jotham out of town on business. Like Peter, Oliver was also part of the Abenaki community. His father had died when he was a child, and his mother, Janet, faced poverty alone and had sought sanctuary in their community. They were offered somewhere to live, financial support, and more importantly, the sustainable option of further education. Eventually, Janet worked her way into a secretarial position and steadied their ship.
Peter sat on a small council the Abenaki community had organized. He’d been a massive influence in ensuring the community supported families, such as Oliver’s, in times of crisis. Many, including Janet, revered him, and none of them would dream of refusing him a single request.
Initially, out of blind fear, Oliver had refused Peter. He knew he’d traveled to a new low in threatening to tell Janet that her son had turned his back on their family’s savior, but what choice had he been left with? Oliver would never disappoint his mother and so had grudgingly agreed.
“He’s out all evening then?” Peter asked.
“Yes, he’ll celebrate late into the evening with some of his friends and prostitutes in Sharon’s Edge. He’s routine with this. He drove himself there, as I had to return the workers, but he’ll contact me later, blind drunk, to collect him.”
“But at that point, you’ll be tied up, literally, and unable to answer.”
“You’ll have to do more than that. You’ll have to leave me practically in pieces for this to wash.”
Peter sighed and nodded. “Don’t worry. It’ll be convincing, Oliver, and you’ll come out of this just fine. I promise you. His son, Ayden?”
“At the Taps, which means he’ll be gone most of the evening too.”
“Good. Let’s get a move on.”
Oliver opened the minivan door, and Peter transferred five foldable cages from his pickup then climbed in. He lay on the floor and slid between two sets of seats with the rifle on top of him.
Oliver slid into the front seat and started driving. “All of this for some dogs, Mr. Sheenan?”
“Yes, Oliver. And call me Peter.”
“I love dogs too, but this … it just doesn’t seem worth it.”
“Have you been to that pit?”
“No, Mr. Sheenan— sorry … Peter.”
“Well, if you had, you might feel differently.”
“Maybe, but ultimately they’re just animals.”
“We’re all animals, Oliver. Would it be acceptable to torture us?”
“No ... but I’m worried you won’t get them out and all of this will have been for nothing.”
“Our plan is solid, Oliver.”
“Really? No disrespect, Peter, but it feels like Mission Impossible to me. Okay, we’re at the gates.”
“Remember to lure out the security guard. It’s the only way we can get a clear run at it.”
“I know.”
Peter listened to the electric window go down.
“Hi, Brad, just me returning the vehicle.”
There was a crackle of static and then, “No problems, Oliver. Just drive it into the lot, and I’ll let you out with your vehicle.”
Peter heard the hum of the gates opening.
“Thanks, Brad, but I’ll be staying on until Mr. MacLeoid needs picking up.”
“No need. He’s already back.”
The alcohol and experience of the jungle did nothing to fight off the sudden wave of fear that engulfed Peter.
“Oliver? You still there?” Brad asked through the speaker.
“Yes … Just surprised. He usually stays out late on fight nights.”
Snap out of it, Oliver! You sound terrified.
“Something came up … but not over the speaker. Tell you what; park and I’ll come out to update you.”
“Okay.” Oliver started driving again. “Jesus …”
“Calm down,” Peter said, trying to sound reassuring despite feeling nothing of the sort himself. “At least he’s coming out, as we planned.”
“Calm? How? You do realize we’re both dead, don’t you?”
“If anyone is dead, it’s just me. I’ve got you at gunpoint, remember?”
“This is ridiculous. All this for a couple dogs! Couldn’t you have just climbed over the fucking fence?”
“We went through this. How would I get them out without your vehicle?”
“You’re going to have to kill Brad.”
Peter took a deep breath. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I know, but it gives the whole thing more impact, and incapacitating him is too risky if Jotham is here.”
Oliver stopped the minivan. He jumped out, opened the side door and leaned in. “I can see him approaching. I’ll chat to him at the front of the vehicle so you can come up behind him.”
“We’re not killing anyone. I don’t want to go to jail.”
“What do you think will happen if you leave a witness to your breaking and entering?”
“Nothing. Because once I’ve got them, I’m leaving town. There won’t be a manhunt over a couple of stolen dogs, but if you throw killing into the equation―”
“He’s here.” Leaving the door open, Oliver walked away.
Their voices were muffled from the front of the vehicle, but Peter could hear most of the conversation.
“Bo’s dead,” Brad said. “Torn to pieces.”
“Shit.”
“The dog that did it was narced off its skull. Jotham disqualified it and then put it down.”
Listening to the conversation about the two dead dogs, Peter felt himself dying inside. What had gone so wrong in these bastards’ lives that they had to treat these incredible creatures in such an inhuman way? Peter slid across the floorboards to the open door, breathing as quietly as he could. He kept the rifle pinned to his chest.
“Shit. We best stay out of the old man’s way this evening,” Oliver said. “I imagine he’s emotional.”
“He’s emotional alright, and it’s not over. Him and Anthony brought the dog breeder back with them.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
It wasn’t good news to hear others were on site, but it was far too late for Peter to go back now, so he gritted his teeth and slid through the open door. His feet touched the concrete.
“At least you don’t have to worry about bumping into him,” Brad said. “They’ve headed out in the fields already.”
“To the pit?”
“Of course.”
Pit, Peter thought, what pit? Not another dogfighting pit, surely? Gritting his teeth, he crouched and crawled slowly to the front of the vehicle.
“Will he need me again tonight?” Oliver asked.
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. If you hang back with me, I’ve got a six pack in the surveillance room.”
“Sounds good.”
Peter stood and stepped in front of the vehicle with his rifle ready. Brad, a larger and broader man than Oliver, had his back to Peter and blocked Peter’s view of Oliver. He put the tip of his rifle against the back of Brad’s shaved head. “Down on your knees.”
“Fuck you!”
“Now!”
Brad lowered himself to his knees, revealing a wide-eyed Oliver.
“Hands behind your head.”
“What the fuck’s going on?”
Peter nodded at Oliver then cocked his head to indicate that the boy come alongside him.
He obliged.
“You don’t need to get hurt―” Peter felt a gun press against the side of his head.
“Really, Peter? Did you really think I’d be this idiotic?” Oliver said.
<
br /> Shit … “What’re you doing, Oliver?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He laughed.
“Think about this.”
“I’ve thought about it since the moment you came to see me. How could this ever have been an option, you stupid old man?”
“You lying little bastard.”
“Drop the rifle.”
Peter threw it to the ground.
Laughing too, Brad grabbed it and stood. He turned and pointed it at Peter.
“You’re Abenaki, Oliver,” Peter said. “This isn’t right.”
“Are you about to tell me about how my ancestors would feel about this? If so, save it.”
“No, I was going to ask you about how your mother will feel about it.”
“Why? She’ll never know.”
“She’ll know. Mothers know.”
“I’ll take my chances with my mother rather than with Jotham. It is ironic though, Peter.”
“How so?”
“You helped us get ahead in the past, and now you’ve helped us again. When Jotham realizes what we’ve done for him—me and Brad—he’ll reward us, I’m sure.”
“You’re delusional. The only reward a man like that gives is his permission to live―”
Brad shot Peter in the stomach.
17
MARK RILEY HAD, yet again, bitten off more than he could chew. It had been a recurring problem for him ever since he was a young man building his own online property business and studying law while playing football semi-professionally. Unbelievably, the house of cards had stayed standing, and although his football career had faded with age and knee injuries, he’d grown rich marketing and had also tinkered in freelance legal work to keep his lawyer mother and father happy.
Developing an interest in breeding and fighting American pit bull terriers though had proved to be one card too many, and while spending the journey from Sharon’s Edge to Blue Falls in Jotham’s pickup at gunpoint, he’d realized the house he’d kept steady for so long was shaking.
Outside the vehicle, Jotham’s soldier had gagged and blindfolded him. It’d been a ray of hope. Did they intend to let him live?
The walk to his fate had been long. Several times, he’d slipped over damp mud, and each time, his kidnappers had let him fall and struggle back to his feet on his own—a hard task with tied hands. They’d also stripped him of his windbreaker earlier so the fierce weather could wreak havoc on him.