Sandbagged: A Theo Ramage Thriller (Book 2)

by Edward J. McFadden III

  Thompson’s face went red, eyes blazing, but he said nothing.

  The guy’s learning, Ramage thought. “No need to answer, I’ll just call you Jackass. It’s endearing and I think it fits, don’t you?”

  Marie sighed loudly, stroking her snake.

  “Am I boring you?” Ramage asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “This is all very interesting, but I don’t see—”

  “Shut it,” he said. “You’re right. What you don’t see is that these two dumbasses are stalling, waiting for Mr. Pepper to return and save the day. Thing is, that’s what I’m waiting for also, so we might as well wait together, no?” Ramage flashed a smile.

  Maverix said, “If they’re trying to kill you, why would you wait for them? Let’s get out of here.”

  Ramage shook his head no. “Don’t think so. I’m settling this here and now. Life for truth. Vitam impendere vero. All family business. I don’t want this garbage following me around, it cramps my style.”

  “How long do we have to wait? We’ve got an important—”

  Ramage pointed the Magnum at Butch and said, “Not anymore you don’t.”

  The room settled into an uncomfortable silence.

  “What shall we talk about while we wait?” Ramage said.

  Chapter Seven

  The group sat in silence, the light on the table between the beds the only illumination, wind pushing sand and grit against the motel, the faint scent of chimp urine still hanging in the air.

  “What did the law have to say when they got here?” Nobody answered, so Ramage said, “Spencer?”

  Spencer looked up from a carpet stain that was holding his interest. He glanced at Maverix, who made no sign. He sighed. “None of us talked to him. From what I heard, the general report was some nut was drunk and shooting a shotgun. Nobody was hurt, and the shotgun and its owner were gone when the sheriff arrived.”

  “As were you,” Butch said. “I heard the manager tell the cops about who was in each room, and they came looking for you. Cop goes by the name Queensbury.”

  Ramage chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Marie asked.

  “Nothing really, it’s just the last lawman I had to deal with was named Kingston.”

  Noah and Spencer laughed, and Butch said, “That’s not that funny.”

  Maverix said, “It’s a little funny.”

  “Kingston loves you,” gurgled Shelly. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but had swollen to twice its normal size, black puffy bags forming at the inside edges of her eye sockets. The woman showed no signs of the pain that had to be coursing through her. Then again, she was on Ride, and that made its user feel all kinds of immortal. At least that’s how Anna had described the feeling.

  “Shut it,” Ramage said. “What happened? The law just left?”

  “I told him you ran off in my car, so, he might be looking for you,” Marie said.

  “Yeah, I ran off with the car,” Ramage said as he shot the boys a sideways glance.

  “Made Mav and Spence do it, I mean,” Marie said, her gaze shifting to the boys, neither of whom met her eye.

  “He took a report and left. Price is a small town, Ramage, and a drunk putting some buckshot in a couple of cars isn’t going to earn you Wanted posters in the local Post Office,” Maverix said.

  “Why are you helping this guy?” Butch said.

  “Because I want him to leave,” Maverix said.

  The night’s activities had drained Ramage’s natural reserves, his muscles aching, mouth as dry as a popcorn fart. He reached into his backpack, pulled out a power bar, and tore it open.

  “Didn’t your mom ever tell you if you don’t have enough to share…” Marie said.

  “Who says I don’t have enough?” Ramage said. He sighed and tossed a bar to Marie, and one to Maverix. It was up to them how they divided their take. While they ate, Ramage slipped off the rifle, leaned it against a wall, and stripped off his jacket, shirt, and pants. They were still damp and smelled.

  The snubby .38 was gone, his picture of Anna, but his clothes and power bars were apparently deemed of little or no value and had been left behind. There were four extra bullets for the .38 loose at the bottom of the backpack, but he ignored them as he pulled out fresh socks.

  Ramage felt Marie watching him in the half light as he slipped on clean jeans, still holding the Colt, his half-eaten power bar on the dresser beside him. He said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

  “Give me back my phone,” she said.

  “Would you two like us to leave the room?” Butch said.

  “Yeah, we could—” Spencer said.

  Darth Vader’s marching song rang through the room and Ramage stared down at the six cellphones laid out on the dresser as he pulled on a clean t-shirt. It was Jackass’s phone and the incoming call window read Rolly. He considered tapping the answer icon, then thought better of it. Best to let him stew if he wanted to draw Pepper in.

  “Was that Rolly?” Shelly squeaked out.

  Ramage stared at her outline in the dim light, but said nothing as he slung the rifle over his back.

  Shelly’s phone rang a moment after her partner’s stopped, but he let it go to voicemail. Both phones now flashed with new message icons. Ramage imagined the voice mails in his mind, “Why aren’t you picking up the phone? If I get back and find you two screwing, or worse, drunk, I’m going to bust some ass.” Or something like that.

  He pulled out his own cellphone and tapped it alive. He put in his code and swiped through a series of screens until he got to the app he was looking for, FindMeKey. Anna had given him the device for Christmas because he was constantly misplacing his truck keys. The keychain was a rabbit’s foot died blue and encased in the metal end with the chain on it was a tracking device, so all Ramage had to do was call up his app and it would tell him were his keys were.

  The app said ‘no internet signal’ and the history box read ‘device out of range.’ The keys were most likely hanging from a hook in Manny’s office.

  Ramage glanced up at the ceiling tile he’d removed to hide his laptop. He’d decided it was best to leave it where it was for the present. He didn’t want the current collection of dingdongs to know about it. Who knew what these people might say to the cops to save their asses? His thoughts strayed to Ralph and Alice. He said, “Do the chimps need to be fed, water, or something?”

  “Soon,” Maverix said.

  OK, touchy subject. “Who are you selling them to, Marie?” Ramage asked. No sense beating around the proverbial sagebrush.

  “What? Who told you that?” Marie said.

  “Why, the boys here? Funny how the chimps were in the car when I commandeered it. No?” If Maverix and Spencer weren’t going to help him, he saw no reason to maintain their secret.

  “Ralph and Alice find the car soothing,” Spencer said, a slight edge in his voice. “We were just trying to get them to sleep. Didn’t you ever do that with an infant? Or pet?”

  “No,” Ramage said. The word infant made his hackles rise, the memory of his unborn child he hadn’t known existed still an open wound. “So, about the sale?”

  “That’s none of anyone’s business but mine, Mav. I’d expect stupidity like this from Spencer, but you? Telling a stranger about…”

  “That you deal in exotic animals, and that you live at a place called the Zoo,” Ramage said.

  Marie gasped, but said nothing.

  “No worries,” Ramage said. “I’m no cop, and based on what I’ve seen of you and your lot, I don’t see how Ralph and Alice wouldn’t be better off with just about anyone other than you.”

  “Can I call m—” Marie got out.

  She was interrupted by Vader’s marching song. Rolly calling Jackass. Ramage wanted to pick the phone up, tell the guy where he was and to come and get it. The urge was so great he reached out, a finger hovering over Jackass’s phone.

  The heavy brass ensemble ended, a second slipped away, and Shelly’s phone came to
life.

  Anger surged through Ramage, that tingling feeling that ran the length of his body, sending a side helping of ice to his stomach and sprinkles of pain down his back. He tapped answer. “Hello,” he said, using his best comical old lady voice.

  “Who is this?” a gruff male voice said.

  “Rolly, who the hell do you think it is?” Ramage said. “I’d heard you’re a dumb shit.”

  “Where’s Jack and Shelly? You murder them like that little girl?” Rolly said.

  Ramage’s eyes went wide. Wow, no foreplay. “They send they’re regards. They the best of what’s left, ‘cause if that’s the case you might want to head home and go back to stealing sand. Now that’s something you can handle, at least until I get home.”

  “Home?” Rolly laughed. “There ain’t gonna be no home by the time you get there.”

  That made Ramage pause in his sarcasm, his red flag rising for the second time in twenty-four hours. “That’s smart, make threats. I’m going to wipe the parking lot with your face, and when I’m done, we’re going to have some fun with battery acid. You know what I mean, right?”

  Rolly said nothing, only harsh breathing filtering across the connection.

  “You remember that? It was one of the Sandman’s favorite tools. Too bad I buried him alive and killed his boy. Carl Jr. squealed like a baby armadillo,” Ramage lied. He’d shot the guy in the back of the head. Details.

  Jackass and Shelly were squirming and pulling at their bonds as if emboldened by their boss from afar. Jackass yelled, “Boss, we’re tied up. And there are others. Don’t…”

  Ramage smacked the guy across the face with the Colt. He tossed Jackass’s gag to Spencer, pointed the gun at him, and said, “Bind his mouth.” When Spencer looked at Maverix and didn’t move, Ramage yelled, “Now!”

  “Sounds like you’ve really got shit under control there, Ramage,” Rolly said.

  “Why don’t you come and find out,” Ramage said. So there it was.

  “Maybe I’ll do that. See you soon, Ramage.” Rolly killed the connection.

  Ramage slammed the phone down. He punched it and cracked the screen. “Sorry, Jackass, well, not really.”

  Ramage got his stuff together, which wasn’t much. He ate his last power bar and drank a bottle of water. Dawn was approaching like a bad hangover, and he hadn’t slept since a catnap that afternoon. He was in decent shape, but his body was starting to complain. Loudly.

  He needed a plan. He was outnumbered, Rolly knew where he was, and Ramage had no way of knowing exactly when he’d come at him, but he knew enough to make a few guesses. Rolly would reason things out, plan, but not for long. He’d arrive before sunup thinking he’d take care of the problem before daylight. Ramage glanced at the six people crowded in his room.

  As if on cue, Marie said, “Can I call my appointment? Tell them—”

  “No,” Ramage said. “Whatever bullshit you’ve got going can wait until morning.”

  Marie stood up and he swung the Magnum around. She said, “Butch, go get Ralph and Alice and our things. We’re leaving.”

  “No you most certainly are not,” Ramage said, but even as the words left his mouth he knew that wasn’t the smartest course of action. What did he have to gain by holding on to this crew any longer? Use of the Mustang? If it even ran? He could obtain alternate transportation.

  “What are you going to do?” Marie taunted. “Shoot us all? There are guests on both sides of these thin walls.” Her four husbands gathered behind her.

  Jackass and Shelly watched, saying nothing, waiting for their chance to do whatever the hell it was they thought they could do.

  “Listen,” Ramage said. “I don’t care about any of you, but…” Ramage sniffed, the faint scent of chimp urine hanging in the air from his discarded pile of clothes. “I don’t give an armadillo turd about any of you, whether you live or die, but Ralph and Alice are a different story. Despite Alice’s lack of love for me, I feel an affection for the animals.”

  Maverix couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide, and Spencer looked up, but snake lady didn’t appear to notice. “You two.” Ramage pointed the Magnum at Maverix, then Spencer. “Go tend to the monkeys. Get shit ready. Be quiet about it and load everything into the Mustang and come back here. Got that?”

  “What? Who the hell—” Marie said.

  Ramage put the tip of the pistol in the woman’s face. “This close there’s no chance of a stray bullet, so shut your piehole.” That wasn’t true, Ramage had seen bullets bounce around inside skulls only to emerge at the oddest angles.

  The Prairie Home stooges watched, saying nothing.

  Maverix and Spencer headed for the door.

  “Oh,” Ramage said. “Where are the keys to the Mustang? Wouldn’t want the boys getting cold feet and running… to the cops.”

  Maverix looked around, worry lines streaking his face.

  “They took them,” Marie said, pointing at Jackass and Shelly.

  Ramage hadn’t found the keys when he’d searched the thugs. “Where are they?” he said.

  Shelly turned to Jackass, who was butt inching forward.

  Ramage grabbed Jackass by the hair, and jerked him to his feet.

  The blow drove the air from Ramage’s lungs, the gut punch from Jackass a surprise he didn’t see coming. A bungie cord fell to the floor as the guy pressed forward, driving Ramage into the room’s closed door.

  Butch laughed, Spencer and Noah shrieked, but Marie and Maverix made no sound as Ramage struggled with Jackass, clawing at the man’s face and trying to bring up the Colt. The guy was strong, and he held Ramage’s back to the door. “How you doing now, big man?”

  Ramage kneed the Prairie Home stooge in the balls, and he was on Butch before Jackass hit the floor. He delivered a massive blow to the side of Butch’s head, a roundhouse that knocked the man from his feet. He leveled the pistol at Jackass’s head and said, “Next person who moves or makes a sound gets shot. Try me. Please. I’m ready to bail at this point anyway.”

  Panting, whimpering, and low cries of pain.

  Ramage pulled back his leg to kick Jackass in the head and Shelly wailed, “Wait!”

  He thrust his foot forward and the man screamed, Ramage stopping his strike an inch from the man’s right ear.

  “They’re in the top drawer there, with your gun,” Shelly said.

  “Shut the hell up, Shelly,” the ungrateful ass said.

  Ramage kicked Jackass, a glancing blow, but it still rocked the guy’s head to the side like he’d been hit with a bat. Ramage collected the Mustang’s keys and stuck the snubby .38 in his pack.

  “Will you let us leave now? Please,” Spencer squeaked.

  Ramage opened the door. “Get on with it. Now.”

  Spencer and Maverix left, and Ramage closed the door behind them. “Do I need to tie you all up?” he said as he bound Jackass’s hands behind his back and secured Butch’s using the man’s shoelace.

  “You can tie me up anytime,” Marie said, pushing out her ample breasts. The glowing snake eyes between them killed the moment.

  Butch shook his head, like he was chasing away a memory and failing. Ramage pounded him again, a weak jab like a period at the end of a long sentence.

  “That was pretty slick untying Jackass like that. I mean, it’s dark in here, so I’m probably giving you too much credit,” Ramage said as he got close to Marie, her beachie perfume irritating his nose. “This is some crew of husbands you’ve got. Two who like each other more than you, a loser who’s so stupid he thought he was better off with these dipshits than me…” Ramage motioned toward Shelly and Jackass. “…and Noah."

  There was a tap at the door.

  Ramage peered through the peephole and opened the door, a cold blast of winter air pushing into the room like a bully. The boys stood there, and he tossed the keys to Maverix, and said, “Hope I never see you again.”

  The boy’s heads nodded in unison.

  When Marie and the others
made no move to leave, Ramage said, “Go get your stuff and make like a tree.”

  “What about our phones?” Marie said, and the snake hissed in reinforcement of the question.

  Ramage gave Marie and her crew back their phones, and the pathetic pseudo family slipped from the room like a line of prisoners heading to the guillotine.

  Butch said, “See you around, Ramage.”

  Ramage punched him on the shoulder, hard, and the guy cringed.

  When Marie and her four husbands were gone, Ramage flopped onto the bed, eyeing his two prisoners. The clock on the nightstand read 3:01AM.

  He needed a plan that amounted to more than waiting for Rolly and his helper to arrive and ambush him. The element of surprise was all he could control, and if used judiciously... He got up, pacing around the room, twirling the Magnum on his finger when he walked by Shelly and Jackass. Ramage checked his bag again, drank a second water, and fished his laptop out from above the dropped ceiling. He put it in his bag, cinched it up, and peered at the parking lot through the curtains.

  The packed Mustang turned on RT-6 and went west, popping and farting like it might breakdown at any moment, the front fender dragging on the road and shooting sparks.

  Ramage opened the door and checked in both directions. Everything was quiet. He retrieved more cords and bungies from the Volvo, leaving nothing holding the tangle of skis and boards in place, but he’d left the ski as the marker. He reinforced Jackass and Shelly’s bonds, and on his way out of the room he grabbed his backpack and fished a wire hanger from the closet.

  “Have a nice day,” Ramage said. He closed the door behind him, intending never to return.

  The Ford pickup he’d hidden behind drew his eye, but it was too obvious because the open bed would cause Rolly to be cautious. He needed an old car with no alarm, one with lock pins that stuck above the window ledge.