Home Fires

by W L Ripley

  Who was shooting and from what point? From the delayed sound he knew the shooter was far off.

  He’d left his cell phone in his truck. His shotgun was shattered and useless. His sidearm would be useless against a long-range target. Jake belly-crawled along the hedgerow to get distance and cover from the shooter.

  He rolled over on his back and exhaled. Placed a hand on his chest and breathed out of his mouth to slow the adrenal rush. For the first time he felt a pain in his left wrist and a sensation in his left thigh. He looked down and saw it – a sprinkling of blood and shards of wood in his thigh. The bullet hitting the stock, shattering the stock splintered wood digging into his leg.

  Several minutes passed like hours before getting up. Distant sound of a vehicle starting.

  He stood and felt a twinge from the injured leg. The cuts were slight but annoying. Limping into the field, he retrieved his ruined shotgun. The stock was ripped up, the fragments white against the varnished veneer of the stock.

  He retrieved his dove and headed to his truck. Get his phone and call it in. To who? Doc Kellogg? That probably wouldn’t work. Remembering the late reports of the rifle before the bullets struck the ground and the tree. Had to be a 150 to 200 yards away. A shooter confident in his ability and Jake lucky to be alive.

  Someone wanted him dead.

  He heard the sound of a second vehicle starting and receding in the distance. He tried to look up to see if he could locate the disappearing vehicle. He did.

  It was his truck.

  Well damn.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jake hoofed it to a farmhouse and got a ride from the farmer he knew, man named Millen. Jake called Harper telling her where he was headed and asked could she give him a ride. He told Farmer Millen why he was afoot.

  “Did you see who was driving?” Millen asked.

  “No. Happened too fast. Formed an opinion though.”

  Millen pointed at Jake. “You’re bleeding.”

  Jake looked at his hand and said, “Yeah. You can drop me by the police department, you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  Millen dropped him off, Jake offered to pay, but the old farmer waved him off.

  Harper was waiting for him. He related the incident.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Harper said.

  “Makes me wonder why. Tommy that reckless?”

  “Tommy is one possibility,” she said. “I have a second candidate in mind.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “You’re going to say Pam Mitchell.”

  “And you’re going to dismiss it without consideration.”

  “There would have to be two people involved.” He shrugged. Two people. A shooter and a driver to hotwire my truck. “Could be anyone. She’s as viable as anyone, I guess. Either way, they’ll abandon my vehicle at some point.” Thinking, the same way they abandoned Gage’s SUV. “I’ll report it to your dad and see if he can locate it.”

  When Jake related the incident, Cal shook his head. “I’d like to help but there’s not much I can do.” He explained that the location of the incident was out of his jurisdiction, but he would attempt to glean what he could.

  Cal said he would look into it and report it to Kellogg.

  Jake said, “How far you think that’ll go? He’ll only be sorry they missed me.”

  Cal said, “I have little choice. I wouldn’t like it were the situation reversed. It’s something Doc can’t just sweep under the rug. He’ll have to at least take a look at it, and I’ll see if I can tag along when he checks the site of the shooting.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “You think this has anything to do with Gage Burnell?” Cal said.

  “What do you think?”

  “Same as you,” Cal said.

  Cal located Jake’s truck behind an abandoned blacksmith shop, a landmark from the past, just inside the city limits. The driver’s side window was shattered. Wires hanging down beneath the steering column. Jake and Cal walked around the pick-up and checked underneath. No explosives or unusual wires. Jake opened the gas cap cover and white residue around the cap. Sugar. He had the truck towed to a garage where they could remove the gas tank and check for damage to the motor. Someone didn’t like him enough to shoot at him and vandalize his truck.

  The killers or Tommy?

  Jake couldn’t be without transportation, so he called a rental agency and they had nothing available until the next day. He remembered his old project car. The Lincoln he never finished. It would at least run, that is if it would start after all these years. Cal gave him a ride out to his place and asked him if he needed anything else. Jake said if he needed a ride to the rental car agency, he’d call Leo or Buddy, and thanked Cal.

  Jake walked out to the garage where the old car sat preserved like an art exhibit under a light fabric tarp.

  It was a 1969 Lincoln Continental Mark III he tried to restore before he left for Texas and then lost interest. No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to be at home with Alfred. Alfred had bought it for him in a good time and they had worked on it together until the drinking started and Jake could no longer tolerate his father’s drunken rages.

  Jake tugged at the dusty cover on the vehicle. When he uncovered the car, he was staggered by what he saw underneath.

  It was gorgeous. The primer coat was covered with several coats of a deep jet-black lacquer gleamed from multiple waxings shining through the thin film of dust. The chrome dazzled and the tires were new Michelins. He opened the door and smelled the aroma of the black leather seats. There was a new stereo radio with a CD player in the dash, a departure from the vintage restoration.

  It looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor decades ago from a time of big block Detroit power. Actually it may have never looked this good, even new.

  He sat for a moment and let it wash over him.

  Son of a gun. Alfred had finished the car. Alfred, his father.

  Jake turned the key and it started up, the engine a whisper. There was an old Temptations CD in the glove box and when Jake played it his head flooded with a million thoughts. What could have been, what never was, how he would be able to reconcile this new vision of a father he didn’t allow in his life.

  “Jake, you are an unforgiving asshole,” he said aloud.

  He rolled the convertible top down and backed out of the garage onto the raw graveled lane, regretting having to subject the pristine vehicle to dust. When he hit the highway, the ancient luxury car swept away the miles like a cloud.

  Thinking of Alfred as Dad again. Could he do that?

  Okay, that works. Thanks, Dad. Sorry I waited too long.

  Since Jake’s truck was found in town making it a city police matter. Cal could examine the vehicle for hairs, prints, and request information from Sheriff Kellogg. Good luck with that.

  Jake didn’t hold much hope finding anything. It had been a cool day and the driver could’ve been wearing gloves. Definitely wearing gloves if they were the same people who had set up Gage’s “accident”. Two of them. One to hot-wire and drive Jake’s truck; one to drive the other vehicle. The Mitchell clan could shoot. All of them. Pam also if he remembered right.

  But most of the people in and around Paradise could shoot. This was Midwest farm country and every farmer and his kids learned to shoot and hunt early on in life.

  It was time to go right at the Mitchells. Keep the pressure on. Saturday morning, Jake had breakfast with Buddy and Leo to tell them what he had in mind. What he had in mind was driving out to the Mitchell place and confront them about Gage and his truck.

  Leo looked around the diner. “Got a team meeting to go over game film. Sorry, you know I’d love to go out there and risk my career and serious injury but not today.”

  Buddy was off-duty and agreed to go along. “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  “Could hurt your election chances,” Jake said.

&nbs
p; “How many votes you think I’ll get from the Mitchells and people associated with them? Also, I’m with you that Gage didn’t die in an accident. Besides, sounds like an interesting afternoon.” Looking at Leo staring at him now and Buddy saying, “What?”

  Leo looked at Buddy and said, “You find this interesting because you and Texas here are seriously disturbed individuals.”

  “Well, vote for me.”

  Leo pointed at him, like shooting a pistol. “Soon as your check clears.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was an unusually warm afternoon, as Jake and Buddy drove out to the Mitchell place: the sun glorious, the air smelling of agriculture and autumn. The vintage Lincoln rolled majestic and silent, radial tires singing its highway song to the Motown beat. They passed by Pam and Alex Mitchell’s house -- that’s what it said on the mailbox – Pam and Alex Mitchell. There was a horse stable behind the place with a white rail fence surrounding the stable. It wasn’t one of those plastic rail fences you saw anymore; it was real wood and it gleamed in the sunshine with a fresh coat of paint.

  “Smells of money, doesn’t it?” Buddy said. “Where’d you get this car?”

  “Long story.”

  “Meaning you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “Dad restored it for me.”

  “’Dad’ now?” Buddy chuckled. “Welcome home, Jake.”

  Jake smiled.

  They drove until they reached Vernon Mitchell’s place. The two Mitchell ranches were contiguous to each other, only a paved road separating them. Jake noted that the pavement stopped about one hundred yards past Mitchell’s driveway; a testament to Vernon’s influence as county commissioner. Moreover, it demonstrated his contempt for anyone who might think to complain about it.

  The Mitchell compound was large and sprawling with a long, paved lane leading back from the road. Double M Farms read the sign as they entered the drive. The house was a large rambling ranch with a wrap-around porch and three-car garage. There was a free-standing metal garage building for more vehicles. South of the house was a metal building not quite large enough to house an aircraft carrier where the combines, tractors and other implements would be. There was a bulldozer used to build terraces and dig out ponds alongside the building.

  Jake heard music coming from the back of the house. The two friends walked around the house, and in the back there was an impressive swimming pool, covered for the fall.

  When they saw Jake and Buddy the music played on, but the voices stopped.

  Pam Mitchell could not believe it.

  Jake Morgan.

  Surprised Jake would show up. Here. Like this. But, thinking about it she knew it was so like him. Jake only knew one way. Straight up and right at you. Buddy Johnson was with him in street clothes which made him look even bigger than when in uniform.

  She could not suppress her inner satisfaction at his appearance. She nibbled the inside of her lower lip anticipating the dynamics of his appearance and how it might liven things up. This is what she had always liked about Jake Morgan.

  He was a danger zone with legs.

  She was getting bored anyway.

  All the Mitchells were there except Tommy, the person Jake most wanted to see. There were a couple of beefy guys among them, along with Fat Boy Haller. Pam was sitting in a lounge chair, resplendent in white shorts and a pink sleeveless blouse. There was a small dog, a Yorkie, yapping energetically when it saw Buddy and Jake.

  Pam shushed the dog and smiled at Jake. Alex didn’t. The two beefy guys and Fat Boy didn’t. Vernon seemed amused.

  “Hello, boys,” Vernon said, the good host. “Sit down and have something to drink. There’s beer in the cooler. Bourbon and ice on the table. Help yourself.”

  Jake shaking his head. “I’m here about other things.”

  “Why ruin a beautiful afternoon?” Vernon asked.

  “You wouldn’t do that would you, Jake?” Alex said. “You’re usually the life of the party.” He got a look from Pam, so he changed his tone. “Just kidding. Sit down and have a beer, Morgan. You too, Buddy.”

  The Yorkie started barking again and Pam placed her hand around the dog’s mouth. “Be quiet, Muffy.”

  Jake fishing for a reaction saying now, “Maybe you should have Tommy and Fat Boy quiet little Muffy. They know how. Isn’t that right, Fatty?”

  “Watch your mouth,” said Fat Boy.

  Jake looked at Haller, then at Vernon. “Where is Tommy, today? Like to speak with him.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “You’ll do.”

  “There’s no reason for you being here,” Vernon said.

  “Really? I’ve been shot at and had my truck stolen.”

  “That doesn’t concern anyone here.”

  “Maybe. Never hurts to look into things. Also, I’m not very happy about Gage’s death. Not buying the accident angle.”

  “You’re in the wrong place for that,” Alex said.

  “Why are you like this, Jake?” Pam said. Vernon glared in her direction. It wasn’t for approval. Pam was unmoved by it.

  Jake looked around. “Gage was intuitive. One of the reasons I liked him, and I liked him a lot. He saw something or knew something and now he’s gone. Why’d you fire him, Alex?”

  Restlessness and hard looks around the pool. Good. Having Buddy there didn’t hurt.

  “Had reasons,” Alex said. “And they were my own.”

  “A week later he’s dead. Called it an accident.”

  “And you don’t?” asked Alex.

  “Too convenient for some.”

  “I don’t care for your insinuations,” Vernon said.

  “Kellogg or someone here called my cCaptain. Somebody is afraid. If you accept the premise Gage didn’t die in an accident it opens up possibilities. I’m thinking Gage made the mistake of associating with people who would give no more thought to killing him and kicking his dog than what they have for breakfast.”

  The two beefy guys got up from their lawn chairs. One of them with a rust-red buzz-cut said, “Had enough of your mouth.”

  Buddy knew the redhead and said, “Barb, sit down so you’ll be able to stand tomorrow.”

  “Not afraid of you, boy,” said Barb. Steve Barb was his name.

  “Takes brains to be scared,” Buddy said, smiling. “Call me ‘boy’ again, though. I love that.”

  “You want boys want some shit. Who’re you?” said the man sitting by Barb, a curly headed young guy with thick arms sticking out of his Tee-shirt. He threw down a cigarette he’d been smoking and stood. Both Barb and Curly head wore work clothes. Mitchell employees.

  Vernon made a slashing motion with his hand. “Stay out, Robby.” Guy’s name was Robby. “You too, Steve. We’re not going to have any of that here.” He pointed at Jake. “You don’t have any respect for a man’s home, do you? You arrive uninvited yet I extend hospitality and you repay it with insults and allegations. I don’t understand you, son. Why can’t you just sit down and have a beer and a neighborly visit? You seem determined to make me dislike you. We play a round of golf together and you use the occasion to aggravate the sheriff.”

  “Doc only has two emotions. Pissed-off or constipated.”

  Vernon said, “I have tried to be gracious. I think anyone here would agree.”

  “I’ll allow you’re doing better than I would the way things are shaking out.”

  “Believe I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Jake nodded. “Calling my captain won’t stop this.”

  “Nobody here called your superiors,” Vernon said.

  “Superiors?” Turning to Buddy, Jake said, “Do I even have an equal?”

  Buddy shaking his head and smiling, “Not for conversation anyway.”

  Pam leaned forward from her lounge, started to say something and held it.

  Jake saying now, “Understand that I’m going to keep kicking over rocks until I find out which one of you is under it. There’s damage and it’s been s
loppy. Mistakes were made and they’re going to cost someone. Maybe someone here.”

  “Be careful you don’t overvalue your abilities,” Vernon said. “No one here had a thing to do with Gage being murdered.”

  “Didn’t say he was murdered. I’m saying he didn’t have an accident.”

  “Leave. Now.”

  “Well,” Buddy said, as they walked back to the car. “Nobody can say you weren’t polite. That is, nobody who was born before the Lord Jesus Christ. You ever even read any books on etiquette?”

  Jake shook his head. “I wanted a reaction.”

  “You got that and here comes the second wave.”

  He heard his name. “Jake.” It was Pam. “Wait up,” she said.

  Jake and Buddy stopped and Pam walked over to them. She looked at Buddy for a moment, saying nothing.

  Buddy nodded at the Lincoln and said, “I’ll...a...warm up the car.”

  Pam brushed a wisp of hair from her face and said, “Why are you so angry?”

  “Thought I explained that.”

  “No,” she said. “Why are you angry at me?”

  “I’m not. Unless, you’re mixed up in this.”

  “Since you returned you’ve been sardonic and sullen when you’re around me.” She lifted her chin an inch. Her face softened and she said. “Except for one brief moment.”

  “How’d you get in that night?”

  “The door was unlocked.”

  “It wasn’t. Why did Gage have your cell phone number?”

  “He used to work for us,” she said. “What are you saying, Jake? Is that what has you creased? You think something was going on between Gage and me? You have a sick mind, Jake Morgan.” Her face changed.

  “You know, Pam, I’ve seen your act before. Do you ever experience real emotion or are you always on?”

  Her mouth fell open as if she had been slapped. “Why? Why do this to me?” She took a deep breath and her cheeks turned a rose color. “I never got over you. Did you know that?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said. “That’s why you married the yuppie and later hooked up with Junior and the Clanton Family.”