“This is my daughter Samantha.”
It was difficult for Ruth to smile but she honestly tried. Looking down at a skinny tomboy, she made the obvious observation.
“My, aren’t you a skinny little thing. You look like you would lose a fight with a wet hen.”
Sam was insulted. She knew if she had a fight with a wet hen feathers would fly and a naked chicken would be running for its life.
While Ruth and Gloria spent the time talking about the terrible things happening up in the Factory, Hanz and Rick walked the long hall on the top floor checking the names of English kings identifying each suite. Rick commented,
“Boy, I didn’t realize there were so many kings in England.”
Hanz snidely commented,
“I prefer Kaisers.”
Finally Rick pointed and said,
“Here it is. The King Edward suite.”
Before breaking the door down and charging in with guns blazing they donned their ski masks and pulled on leather gloves. It never once dawned on Rick why they were only now bothering to hide their identities.
With masks in place and guns with the silencers at the ready, Hanz looked to Rick and said,
“You got it straight now, right? I get the girl and you get the boy.”
“Yeah, yeah. And just for fun, I’m gonna kill the old woman too.”
Hanz shrugged and said,
“Sure, who cares?”
After a gentle knock and announcing that they were room service, they waited with itchy trigger fingers for the door to open. It didn’t and so with patience spent, Hanz laid a heavy size twelve boot to the door. As the door gave way splinters flew in all directions. They charged in with guns sweeping left and right searching for their targets.
It only took a few seconds to realize that something was seriously wrong. Not only was nobody in the room but neither was anything else. It was empty of all furnishings. Defeated, Hanz blamed it on Rick and snapped
“You got the wrong room.”
Defensively he responded to the accusation,
“Like hell. The stupid clerk must have got it wrong.”
After a quick search of the bare rooms there was nothing left to do except retreat. Walking side by side down the hall, Rick had it in mind that maybe he should have given the sleazy clerk the five dollar bill.
As they approached the elevator and pulled off their masks, they heard a bellowing command from behind.
“Both of you freeze right there. Hands high were I can see them.”
Rick was ready to concede to the command but Hanz was not as quick to give up. He dropped, spun around, and got off two quick silent shots before hitting the floor. Rick ran for the door with the sign ‘stairs’. When Isaac saw the man drop, he hugged the wall and both shots missed. He fired back and hit Hanz in the leg. While hobbling for the stairway door he fired blind desperation shots behind him. The door slammed shut and both were gone.
If Isaac was going to chase after the attempted assassins, it would have been an easy task. Drops of blood from a leg wound on the steps pointed the way. However, knowing where the stairs led, Isaac instead ran off in a different direction. At the bottom of the stairs, Rick kicked open the last door and escaped into the alley. It was a narrow canyon of tall concrete walls lined with a long row of giant garbage containers. Hanz, although bleeding badly from his leg wound was not too far behind. When he had caught up to Rick, he said,
“I’ll never make it with this leg. Help me get to the truck.”
Rick turned to him and with a sneer hissed,
“What was the plan huh? Were we going to kill the kids and then blame me?”
Although that was the plan, Hanz was quick to deny it.
“No, no. Of course not. Hurry, help me to the truck.”
With a casual swing of his arm, with no conscience attached, Rick turned the pistol on Hanz and pulled the trigger. Gray brain matter spewed out the back of his head. It was not a revenge killing. At least in Rick’s mind he was now pointing blame for the botched job onto the Factory.
At the end of the alley, he carefully looked both ways down the street. Seeing only light traffic and the truck just down the street, he started a casual innocent stroll toward it. He was now across the street and near the truck when he heard, “Drop it Rick. Hands high.”
He slowly turned around, saw Isaac just ten feet in front of him, and braced in the standard police arrest posture, knees bent and both hands on his gun. Rick saw something else. The rookie cop was slightly trembling. One side of Rick’s mouth twitched and he said,
“Okay, you got me.”
Isaac knew his effort to sound strong and determined was weak. This was his first major crime arrest and he hoped his shaking knees were not as evident as he felt they were. With strong determination and perhaps a touch of inexperience he repeated,
“Drop the gun.”
It happened faster than Isaac could react. In a flash, Rick raised his handgun and fired repeated shots at him. Of the five quick shots he got off, three hit Isaac dead in the chest knocking him backward to the ground. With indescribable pain in his chest, he lay on the sidewalk staring straight up into the passing clouds. For an unknown reason a strange thought occurred. The clouds were beautiful. Why had he not noticed the beauty of nature before? He felt his wounded heart slowing down. Slowly his eyes closed and the beauty of nature faded to black.
Rick ran back to the truck and with amazing speed borne of panic, put it in gear and raced down the street quickly disappearing around a corner. While driving over the Great Swanson River Bridge he should have tossed the gun into the river but at the last second thought better of it. He thought there might be a security to owning another gun.
By the time he got back to the Saddle Bar and Casino only an hour or so had passed. He knew all he had to do was claim that he had been here all the time. Parking the truck in the same spot, he eagerly opened the glove compartment and pulled out the thick envelope. Although the mission failed, it felt good getting his hands on fifty grand.
Excited hands tore the envelope open only to discover that it was filled with blank paper. Euphoria quickly turned to anger. Rage spewed through him like hot lava after an eruption. Not only was he used as a patsy but also cheated out of his money. It was then that something happened inside Rick. It was as if he could not handle the ecstatic feeling of being rich and then suddenly dropping down to the bitter disappointment of being poor as fast as a needle puncturing a balloon. After many quick short breaths, revenge bubbled to the surface. Regardless of the impossibility of success, pushing caution to the side, he put the truck in gear and raced toward Copper Mountain and the Factory.
Back at the Riverside Hotel, because the 5th floor of the hotel had been shut down for renovation, nobody heard multiple shots fired in the hallway. When Rick killed Hanz, his silencer guaranteed that nobody heard that shot in the alley either. Nobody even heard the shots that tore into Isaac’s chest. Two security guards followed the blood trail down the stairs eventually leading to the alley. Out in the ally they discovered Hanz laying there with the back of his head splattered in all directions. They were hotel security, not trained hard core police officers and that excused one of them for quickly turning from the gruesome site and barfing.
From their position at the edge of the alley, because of the parked cars across the street the two guards were not able to see Isaac lying on the cold sidewalk. However, a young couple walking nearby did. When they saw the security guards, they frantically pointed and waved at Isaac. Running over and seeing the body it was clear by the one who barfed that it had not been a good day for Isaac either.
Looking down at Isaac, the one with the stronger constitution noticed that three bullet holes had torn open his shirt but there was no blood. Quick to understand what happened, he knelt and slapped Isaac across the face repeatedly while forcefully commanding,
“Wake up! Open your eyes!”
Slow eyes opened and instead of seeing t
he beauty of floating clouds, Isaac saw the determined face of a security guard come into focus. After one more slap, Isaac managed to utter,
“Stop that. It really hurts.”
After helping him get to wobbly feet, he thanked the men for their help. Looking at his torn shirt, he was glad that Walter had insisted he put on a bullet proof vest. The one with the stronger constitution enlightened Isaac on what happened in the ally and how they located him. He added,
“We have surveillance cameras everywhere. Come back to the hotel and we can run the videos and identify the killer.”
After thanking them for their assistance he added,
“That will not be necessary. I already know who it is.”
Back in the hotel suite, Sam felt like testing the patience of Room Service once again. Apparently, it was fun to have snacks and pizza delivered to them. In a proud and smug manner she looked to Gary and asked,
“I’m going to order more ice cream, do you want anything else?”
Gloria took the phone from her and said,
“It’s lunch time. Because we have been instructed not to leave the room, let’s order lunch instead of junk food.”
She dialed and ordered from the menu on the desk. She then said,
“No, that will be all. Make sure that the bill goes to the Twin Rivers Police Department.”
And then,
“Yes, that’s right. We are in the Queen Anne suite on the main floor.”
Chapter 51
While Lincoln, the front desk clerk at the Riverside Hotel was deliberately giving Rick the wrong room number and then calling Isaac to report that they had arrived, Walter was in his cruiser driving through Twin Rivers on his way to see Judge Clemens about a search warrant. He drove past the hospital and the still damaged bus stop where Ruth had been standing waiting for the bus to take her home. Just down the street was an empty lot that the good citizens of Twin Rivers had adopted as the local garbage dump. Tall weeds tried their best to cover rusted shopping carts and mattresses but it was a futile attempt. The garbage was evident to both eyes and nose. There were only two gas stations in town, both on Maple Street but had the common sense to open their businesses on opposite ends of town. After passing the Shell station, Walter turned right onto Samuel Avenue and in doing so heard a groan of pain from his passenger.
Stopping for a light, he heard Gordy again moan and so looked to him.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Painful eyes looked to Walter. It didn’t take much to understand that Gordy was in excruciating pain. In a hurtful voice that Walter hoped he would never hear again, Gordy said,
“I can’t control what happens to me. It’s either unbearable pain or a blissful feeling when it is gone.”
Walter swore he could feel his pain. He said,
“I can pull over for a second if you want.”
After deep gasps for air, Gordy struggled to say,
“No. What I want is for this all to end. My wife was right. I have to do something and this is it. Keep driving.”
A few minutes later Walter finally pulled up in front of the County Courthouse. The building was typical of courthouses almost everywhere. At the top of the long marble steps, two crouching stone lions guarded the massive entrance doors. Inside, while walking toward Judge Clemens’ office, the enormous foyer echoed their footsteps. At least for now Gordy was walking tall and straight. If the truth were known, Walter did not want to see that. He wanted to present a different survivor of the copper mine to the Judge. As cruel as it seemed, for effect and to punctuate the deadly effect of the Factory he was hoping Gordy would suffer a massive relapse in front of the judge.
Judge Clemens’ office reflected well the status of a County Judge, rich in decor and station. There was an air of sophistication about the Judge as well. He sat tall and walked proud. A stylist immaculately attended to silver hair every morning before meetings. It hinted at either his vanity or determination for perfection in all matters. He sat behind a massive desk watching Sheriff Walter Cornwall approach along with a pale withdrawn man who was scanning the impressive surroundings as if he had never seen an office this grand before.
Sheriff Cornwall and Gordy Jackson sat in the two leather chairs across from the Judge. By the way Judge Clemens was looking at Gordy it was clear that he was waiting for an introduction as well as explanation. Walter pointed to Gordy and said,
“Judge Clemens, this is Gordy Jackson, a respected citizen of Twin Rivers and victim of the copper mining operation.”
The Judge slowly turned a suspicious eye to the Sheriff and said,
“Is this what the meeting is about Walter, another lawsuit brought against a defunct mining corporation?”
With defiance Walter interjected,
“No Roy that would be like flogging a dead horse. However, it is about that phoney so-called Department of National Satellite Weather Research Station now occupying the old mine.”
The Judge sucked in a deep breath and after collecting his thoughts said,
“I have official government documents stating that it is a weather research station. What happened to make you think otherwise?”
“Well for one thing, if it is a legitimate research station, then why is the government saying it is guarded and run by the Department of National Security?”
The Judge replied in a calm and comfortable manner.
“I was told that the research and experiments they are doing pertain to National Security.”
Walter was having none of it and countered with,
“Does National Security allow goons to destroy an old lady’s house and steal a little boy’s electronic toy?”
Although that was news to the Judge, with a dismissive hand he shook it off and said,
“Yes Walter, if what they were after is deemed a danger to National Security. With these new laws confronting terrorism, they are. However, I’m sure that didn’t happen. If it did I would have been informed and I have no record of it.”
Walter then reached into his jacket pocket and brought out his cell phone. Thanks to Isaac’s tech savvy, Mr. Crow’s video was now on the phone and shown to the Judge. When it was finished, Walter saw clear cracks in the Judge’s resolve to deny it. Walter strongly added,
“Those men were not from the Department of National Security.”
Roy raised his hands in a defensive manner and said,
“Look Walter, I have no control over that. If you want to sue the Federal boys for wilful damage and a misdemeanor theft you will have to see the Attorney General.”
Putting the video away, Walter added,
“I’m not suing or charging anybody with anything. I’m just showing you that the Factory is not a weather research station. I have proof that whatever illicit activity is going on up there involves the kidnapping and torture of three children from my jurisdiction and that means all of Twin Rivers. What I want from you Roy is a search warrant to get those kids out of there. Then whatever charges you can muster up against the so-called National Security boys will be up to you.”
Judge Roy Clemens laughed and bellowed,
“Now just hold up there Walter. Those are serious charges and even if they were true, I can’t just sign papers allowing you to barge up there without substantial proof.”
A smirk flashed across Walter’s face. He was hoping to hear something like that. Pointing to Gordy, who had sat silent through the whole meeting, Walter said to him,
“It’s ‘show and tell time’ Mr. Jackson.”
Gordy slowly raised painful eyes to the Judge and in between deep breaths started telling him everything about the operation and experiments going on up in the Factory. Studying his reaction to a most unbelievable story, Walter never took his eyes off Judge Clemens. It was plain by the frowns and shaking of his head that Roy did not believe so much as a word. When it was finished, an exhausted Gordy closed his eyes. Roy was trying hard not to laugh but a few chuckles snuck out. He looked at Walter and said,
“Jesus Christ Walter, that’s one big truck load of bullshit you are dumping on me here. If I gave you a search warrant based on that fabrication, I would be drummed out of the legal profession. Now, if that’s all, I got a meeting to get to. Thanks for coming and wasting my time.”
Walter was not finished. He looked at Gordy and although he was exhausted, said to him,
“Okay Gordy that was the ‘tell’ part. I know you are tired but now it’s time for the ‘show’ part.”
Gordy nodded his understanding of what he was supposed to do next. Struggling to stand, he started to undo his jacket. When Roy saw Gordy’s midsection looking like a cosmos of exploding suns and orbiting planets, his eyes practically shot out of their sockets and slammed into his glasses. Gordy was not finished. He took off his glove and showed that his hand was in the similar condition. Walter added to Roy’s stunned look.
“That’s on a good day. You don’t want to see him when that effect is all over his body.”
Then, as if to emphasis a point, Walter said,
“That, Roy, is what is going on up there and what they are doing to three innocent kids.”
Then loudly and laced with anger he added,
“It is not a National Security operation. Now sign that goddamn warrant so I can pull those kids out of there.”
The Factory Page 27