“You do realize they were going to kill you too, don’t you Chief? They didn’t wait to see if you were successful before shooting at us. You notice that? Damn, Chief. You had no leverage. What the hell were you thinking?”
Browbeating the Chief was a waste of time, and I knew it. I walked into a trap just the same as he did. A pretty clever trap at that. Convince the Chief to double cross me, then double cross him and remove both threats. Jackson was smarter than I had expected. I had underestimated him.
Only the Chief failed, and they were down one man. And somebody shot the dead man’s foot shortly before I shot him. Maybe Estes and Strasser called off their apparent truce.
I spotted one of Strasser’s goons approximately 50 yards away moving toward the cabin. Hitting him from that distance seemed unlikely, so I grabbed the .357 and quickly fired off two rounds through the front window, forcing him to rush back into cover. Better to waste rounds with the unfamiliar gun.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone in here, would you, Chief?”
“No.”
“And your radio is in the car?”
“Yep.”
‘And you came alone?”
“Uh-huh.” My look said of course. “Doc, I can help.”
“”Forgive me if I don’t hand you a gun. You want to help, watch the back of the cabin. Let me know if anyone is coming.”
Chief Parker moved to the back window and peered out. “Doc, did you shoot Tyler Shriver? I don’t remember you firing out the back side.”
“That’s because I didn’t. Why, what do you see?”
“Tyler’s on the ground about 40 yards out. Looks like someone blew a big damn hole in his leg. He’s bleeding like a stuck pig. That boy ain’t looking so good. It looks like Jackson is trying to wrap a belt around his leg.”
“They must have turned on themselves out there. Funny I didn’t hear anything. These walls are thick enough to stop bullets, but it seems we still would have heard something…unless…”
Boyd. He must have come back. It would explain the foot exploding on the front porch without an apparent rifle report. It also explained why the men outside were whipping their heads around looking for something they couldn’t find. Apparently, he finally got to shot someone.
“Unless what?” asked the Chief.
“Nothing.”
“You were going to say something. What was it?”
“You don’t think a bunch of rednecks would be using silencers, do you?”
I let Chief Parker mull over that one while I looked for a way to see if Boyd was out there. I didn’t know why he didn’t just shoot a couple of more guys so we could all go home. But I did know why. Even though Boyd was a former Marine, he had been an MP. A cop, basically. Not a soldier. Not really. And cops don’t draw first blood. It’s just not in their nature, or their training.
I glanced out one of the back windows. The Chief was right; Tyler was bleeding profusely while Jackson tried to place a tourniquet in the wrong place. Tyler was going to die. Too bad. He had poor taste in friends, but I never felt he was truly an evil person.
An idea came to mind. One that might save Tyler’s life and forfeit Jackson’s instead, which was okay with me. Jackson was the brains on the Estes side of this little battle and cutting the head off the snake seemed like a smart move.
Moving the kitchen table only took a few seconds. Carefully, and while still in cover, I slowly pulled the back door open. No shots were fired. A good sign. From the doorway, I spotted Jackson still trying to figure out the tourniquet. Now or never. I bolted through the front door sprinting toward Jackson and Tyler like my life depended on it, which it probably did. I extended my .45 as I ran, ready if needed. Jackson spotted me at the last moment, dropping the belt he was using as a tourniquet and reaching for the rifle at his feet. His hands never reached the rifle; the concussive force of two successive .45 caliber bullets knocked Jackson onto his back. Center mass once again.
Tyler’s eyes were wide with fright. Or maybe pain. His hands went up to his face, seemingly hoping it would protect him from me. He need not worry; I was there to help. Two rifles were sitting on the ground. Hunting rifles of an unknown caliber outfitted with simple 3 x 9 scopes. I popped the magazine out of one of the rifles and threw it into the woods as far as I could before examining Tyler’s gunshot wound. It was bad. Blood littered the ground all around him.
“Tyler, I’m here to help.” He seemed doubtful. Who could blame him; I had just killed his friend. “Hold still man.” Once he complied, I wrapped the belt around his thigh in the proper place to compress the femoral artery. The belt was obviously not the right size for his thigh, so I tied the belt in place, then stuck the barrel of the empty rifle under the belt and started twisting it. It took 3 revolutions of the rifle to tighten the belt around his thigh to compress the femoral artery properly, but the blood flow finally slowed down. “Tyler, listen to me, I can’t stay here. You will have to keep this tight yourself. Do you understand?” He nodded. “Good. Good luck.”
I grabbed the other hunting rifle and sprinted back towards the cabin hoping Boyd would cover my retreat. The back door of the cabin was closed. I didn’t remember closing it. It was also dead bolt locked. Damn it, Chief; I’m on your side. I could hear furniture crashing and breaking on the other side. Someone breached the interior. Maybe I should have left the Chief a gun. The door was thick; the deadbolt was strong. In the movies, all it takes is a shot at the lock and the door just flies open. Yeah, that’s the damn movies, because after two shots from my Glock, the door was still locked. More crashing emanated from inside. Apparently, the Chief was putting up a fight. Hopefully, the door frame was not a solid as the rest of the house. I lowered my shoulder and hit the door with my full force. The jolt traveled through my body. My shoulder hurt but the wood splintered enough that I was able to kick the door open the rest of the way.
Chief Parker was yelling at someone on the other side of the kitchen wall, apparently near the hallway barricade. The meaty thuds of fists repeatedly hitting flesh echoed throughout the cabin. Rounding the corner, I found Junior straddling the Chief while throwing repeated punches toward his face. He was also pistol whipping him with a small handgun. Chief Parker was blocking some of the blows, but the lacerations on his face were evidence that more than one blow had landed.
“You stubborn son of a bitch, Chief, for the last time, where the hell is the fucking doctor?” yelled Junior.
I grabbed the hunting rifle by the barrel and prepared to swing it. “Right here, asshole,” I yelled. Junior whipped his head around just in time to see the wooden stock of the rifle smash into his face. I never played baseball. Never had the temperament for it, but I understood what batters meant by the sweet spot when the rifle struck Junior’s face.
Junior’s body slumped forward atop Chief Parker. Glancing around revealed the front door barricade was still intact. As I guessed, Junior came through the hallway and crashed through the barricade. Obviously, while I was outside killing his brother.
“Are you going to get this asshole off me?” asked the Chief.
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“We on the same side yet?”
“Yes.”
“Then you shouldn’t have locked the back door. Damn you, Chief. You keep screwing this all up.”
“I know, I know! I’m sorry!”
“Sorry enough that you are willing to do something about it?”
“Sure. What?”
“This is a hunting cabin, right? So, you’re a hunter. Think you can hit a couple of Strasser’s men with this rifle? Honestly, I’m not much good with these things.”
I pushed Junior’s limp body off Chief Parker and held out the rifle I took off Jackson. The Chief grabbed the rifle, and I used it to pull him to his feet.
“I’ve never shot anyone. Over 35 years in law enforcement and I’ve only pulled my gun once in the line of duty.”
“You’re say
ing you can’t do it?”
“No. I’m saying give me a second to wrap my head around this.”
“Wrap your head around it later, Chief. Better to ask your conscience for forgiveness than for permission. Besides, if you were right about Strasser having seven men, that means he still has six outside the cabin. Tyler is outside hopefully not bleeding to death, and Jackson is dead, or will be soon.” The Chief’s eyes bugged open. “He pulled that rifle on me,” I said in a matter of fact tone. “So I shot him.”
His shoulders slumped as he weighed the ramifications of my statement. “Should you check on Junior? Make sure he’s not dead?”
I bent over and picked up the .22 pistol Junior dropped on the floor when I hit him with the rifle. I crammed it into my back pocket. “He’s breathing. I’ll look at him later if we make it through this. You ready for this? Or am I going to have to save your bacon again?”
Chief Parker’s face transformed from fear and worry to dogged determination in the blink of an eye. “Give me that damn rifle, McCain.”
He studied the rifle, narrating to me that it was a Remington semi-automatic 30-06 hunting rifle. He had the same model at home. I stopped him from walking up and simply pointing the rifle right out the front window. Sniping was not in my skill set, but one thing I knew was don’t stand in the window. Stand back in the shadows if you can. From a safer distance, Chief Parker started scanning outside the cabin with the rifle scope.
“Chief, take the dog out of the fight or the fight out of the dog, that’s up to you.”
“Speak English!”
“Kill them or wound them. But shoot enough of them that the rest lose the will to stay and fight, got it? And pick your shots wisely because we got no more bullets after for the rifle.”
“Got it. Now shut up and let me do this.”
More than once, the Chief lowered the rifle without shooting, rested his arms, and then started scanning again. It was never going to work. He was too unsteady. Probably from all the blows to his head. “Hold on, Chief; I got an idea.” I dragged Junior’s body over to a spot in the middle of the floor in front of the door. The A-hole was still breathing. Labored, but I didn’t give a damn. “Over here, Chief. Use this dipshit’s body as a gun rest.”
Chief Parker complied without reservation, lying alongside Junior with his rifle across his chest while I opened the front door. “His breathing is too ragged. I found a guy out there, but this gun is bouncing too much.”
“Don’t waste the shot. Let me think of something.” I scurried around for a few seconds before getting an idea. “Here, couch cushions.” Chief Parker smiled; he liked the idea. I threw one to the Chief and was carrying the other over to him when a shot fired out. Instinct caused me to duck even though the thick exterior logs protected me. When I looked up, Chief Parker was patting himself down. Blood splatter covered his face, but there were no obvious injuries. It took a second or two to realize what happened. Someone had fired a shot through the open door and shot Junior in the chest. Blood was oozing from an entrance and an exit wound. It was Junior’s blood on the Chief’s face. Somehow, the bullet completely missed the Chief.
“Oops, maybe not such a good idea,” I said.
“Junior just got shot, and you say ‘oops.’ What the hell is wrong with you?”
They say timing is everything in comedy, and Chief Parker obviously did not appreciate my sense of timing.
“What are you waiting for, Chief? Shoot the SOB. Now!”
The rifle came up across Junior’s body while Chief Parker went prone. He tucked the stock tight against his shoulder, took aim, and released the safety. After a long sigh, he fired, moved the gun so that he was aiming a little more to the left and quickly fired again. Probably too quickly. I was getting ready to remind him there was no additional ammunition when he sat up and said, “There. Two down.”
“Good job, Chief.”
“Yeah, well, excuse me for saying so, but fuck you, McCain.”
I took the rifle from him before he changed his mind about shooting me and then used it to look for myself. Two different men were lying on the ground, completely immobile. Apparently, he decided to take the dog out of the fight and not the other way around. Good for him. A faint cracking sound from outside caught my attention. Followed by someone yelling that they were getting the hell out of there. Another man yelled his agreement. Through the trees, I observed three men running back towards the road. Assuming Boyd just shot another one of Strasser’s men, that left four shot, presumably dead, and three retreating.
“Chief, you sure there were seven of Strasser’s goons out there?”
“Yes, I’m positive. Why?”
“Because I think we did it. We made it through this in one piece.”
CHAPTER 40
I doubt anyone in their right mind celebrates after something like what the Chief and I just went through, but I would be lying if the thought did not cross my mind. Outnumbered ten to one, eleven to one if I counted the Chief as an adversary, and I was still in one piece. Not even a scratch. Just a bruised shoulder. Of course, I had not been alone. Thankfully, Boyd disobeyed my wishes and returned to help.
The body count was high enough that the State Police showed up to help the tiny Emmettsville police department process all the evidence. Chief Parker and I practiced our story that we were ambushed by both Strasser’s men and the Estes brothers, which was true. In fact, everything we told the State Police was true. We simply and conveniently left out the part about the Chief attempting to double-cross me. If anyone doubted our story, they never let on. Chief Parker and I proved to be very adept at lying just enough.
Boyd managed to get away unseen. If the Chief suspected Boyd’s presence, then he never mentioned it to me. He shot three men total, not killing anyone. The crack I heard near the end of the standoff was the sound of a shot proficiently placed into the calf musculature of one of Strasser’s men. Boyd opted to take the fight out of the dog and did so with complete efficiency.
Jackson died exactly where I left him. Junior was killed by the shot that came through the open door, although an autopsy implied he might have died anyway from the blow to the head I delivered with the rifle. Tyler was the only survivor from the Estes gang, and he kept the leg.
Unfortunately, with both Junior and Jackson dead, we never knew for sure why Junior had killed Paul. Tyler verified that Junior had told him he did not plan to kill Paul. Apparently, Paul, still upset from being decked by Eric in the parking lot, had decided to get mouthy with Junior. He even put up a fight. Junior became enraged and shot Paul. The story did not make sense, but Tyler’s story never changed, so it became the official story nonetheless. It also helped that ballistics proved that the .22 pistol I took from Junior in the cabin was the same gun used to kill Paul.
Strasser. He was a different story. Four of his men got away, although one of the men was obviously missing a huge chunk of calf muscle. He was apprehended nearly a week later trying to get medical care for his injured leg. Despite the lack of structure within the Dixie Mafia, there still existed a strict policy against snitching that all members were expected to follow. He never peeped a word about the other three men.
Which meant Strasser remained the one loose end. Although he was basically scot-free, neither Chief Parker nor I trusted that he would let things drop. Evidence gathering and questioning lasted until the wee hours of the mornings. More than once we managed to steal some time away together on how best to handle Strasser.
Our planning turned out to be a waste of time and worry; Strasser was found dead inside the hotel near Falco’s the next day. Room 119. Killed by a .22 to the head. Days later, forensic experts proved that ballistics matched the gun belonging to Junior Estes. Apparently, Jackson planned on double-crossing everyone involved. I had to admit to myself that Jackson outsmarted me. He had covered nearly every angle and managed to get both Strasser and the Chief to come after me. Boyd had been the great equalizer. I shuddered to think what might
have happened if he had gone back to Huntsville as I had advised.
Sometime around three in the morning, Chief Parker and I found ourselves sitting on the sidewalk outside the police station. Chief Parker was sure his career was ruined, yet it was worth it to save his son.
“Don’t worry about your career, Chief; I’ll never tell anyone you planned on double-crossing me.”
“I don’t deserve to wear the badge.”
“Maybe, maybe not. My advice, though, is to wear it proudly until this is all over. Spin everything that happened here tonight in your favor. If the indignity you are feeling right now won’t let you be an effective lawman again, then let someone else take over.”
“You know what?” I looked at him to continue. “You’re alright…for a damn Yankee.”
***
Chief Parker gave me his office so I could take a nap around 3:30 a.m. At seven, he woke me up and told me that I was no longer needed. I could go home. He would call me when I could pick up my Glock 21, which was being kept temporarily as evidence.
The ride home gave me time to reflect on the last couple of weeks.
I did it. I found Paul’s killer.
There would be no trial. No confessions. Because the killer was dead. Shot by one of Strasser’s men as we used him as a rifle rest. An anti-climatic end, if I said so myself, but still an ending. One I could live with. Justice had been served.
Whether or not Ellie would be happy with my success was a mystery. She was never a fan of my involvement in bringing Paul’s murderer to justice to begin with, and when she did help me, it was admittedly self-serving. Time would tell, I guessed. Not to mention I would have to explain killing two men. I was not looking forward to that conversation. It was the same reason I avoided telling her any more than I had to about my time in the Navy.
When I arrived home, I unplugged my phone, turned off my pager, and went directly to bed. I slept for twelve hours and still woke up groggy. It was a little after nine in the evening before I had showered and cooked a bite to eat. Something flashing from the kitchen caught my eye. It was the message light flashing on my answering machine. Weird, I thought, I had unplugged the phone. But it was plugged in, and one of my apartment keys was sitting next to the machine.
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