Hunting Dixie

by James, Harper

  Liverman had called him up with a special job this time. He didn’t like the guy at all. He was one of the ones who liked little boys. But he’d made Todd a proposition he couldn’t turn down. He’d be paid a lot of cash and get a nice fat—or skinny, up to him—bonus too. There was a downside of course. The target was a woman. A cop. And they didn’t just want her whacked—which was Todd’s bread and butter—they wanted her abducted in order to interrogate her first.

  That was going to be tricky. But no pain, no gain as his old man used to say as he pulled his leather belt out of the loops on his work jeans and wound it around his whipping hand.

  And now the situation had gotten even worse.

  Things started out fine. He’d followed her to a hotel where she picked up a friend before going to a bar where they sat and drank a lot of beers. At this point Todd was looking on the bright side of things. An intoxicated person is always easier to deal with. Slower reactions. And if they’re out on a real bender nobody expects them home early so they’re not missed until it’s way too late.

  That’s when it had all gone tits up in a big way. The cop and her friend had come out of the bar and been surrounded by a bunch of guys who looked like gangsters. They’d cuffed them and bundled them into the back of a van then driven off with them. The whole thing was so slick you’d have thought they were the cops, not the two they grabbed.

  So he’d followed their van to the nondescript office block that he’d been sitting outside for the last couple of hours. Two guys had driven off at one point, then come back with a suitcase. Apart from that it was completely dead.

  If it wasn’t for the promised bonus he’d have given it up as a bad job hours ago. He couldn’t see how he was going to get the cop away from her captors. But you’ve gotta be in it to win it, which was another of his old man’s sayings, although at least that one didn’t end up with him sitting on a cushion for a week. He settled back into his seat. He’d give it a little longer. Maybe God was smiling on him today.

  Chapter 61

  CHICO SET OFF FOR his ranch early the next morning in his new Mercedes SUV. Victor and José were up front in the van following, with Guillory bouncing around in the back. At least they hadn’t put the cuffs on her. It meant she could hold on as they threw it around trying to keep up with Chico. A third car brought up the rear.

  They’d been going for about an hour. She hadn’t bothered trying to count the number of left and right turns or estimate distances. The only detail she identified was they’d done some climbing a while back with a lot of twists and turns in quick succession.

  She was suddenly thrown against the side of the van. Her head slammed into the metal reinforcing struts. A bloody gash split her forehead as the van lurched violently to the right. The unmistakeable sound of automatic gunfire erupted around them from everywhere at once. The van righted itself. Then she was on her back, thrown off balance as it surged forward. Outside hot metal ripped into soft rubber. Tires blew out. The van spinning out of control, careening broadside across the road.

  The side of the van bulged, bowing inwards as the tail car smashed into it. The sound of metal on metal filled her ears, glass shattering. Hurtling through the air into the opposite wheel arch. A bone-jarring impact in the middle of her back. The wind exploded out of her, bloody face bouncing off the side.

  The rear doors twisted. Burst open. She scrambled to her knees. Large caliber bullets stitched a perfect line of holes through the roof. Diving through the open doors. Rolling in the air. Landed on the blacktop on her shoulder. Her head snapped backwards. Hit the ground with a sickening jolt. Vision blurring, in and out of focus. Little cubes of glass showering her face and eyes and chest as the windows of the tail car shattered.

  The driver jerked like an epileptic marionette, a sitting-down bone yard foxtrot, as automatic fire slammed into his body. His passenger threw himself out the door. Scrabbled on his belly under the car.

  Beyond them Chico’s SUV fishtailed crazily down the road.

  Guillory rolled onto her front. Got her knees and feet under her. Launched herself into the trees lining the side of the road. A burst of gunfire thudded into the tree above her head. Bark and woodchips sprayed her. In her hair, her eyes. She rolled behind the tree. Waited. The screech of panicked birds filled the void left by the silence of the automatic weapons. Then a sudden creak of hinges. The driver’s door of the van swung open.

  At least two automatic weapons started up. Punched hole after hole in the sheet metal. Reduced the door to something for straining vegetables. Guillory leapt to her feet. Ran for her life, her body burning its fuels and its poisons too. Bent double, zig-zagging crazily through the trees. A line of flying dirt and debris kicked up at her heels as one of the shooters diverted his aim. She dived to the right. Rolled with it. Feet under her again, running parallel to the road. Arms pumping, lungs on fire, God damn those cigarettes. Pain like an axe stuck in her side, sinking deeper with every step until she felt almost severed by it. Back the way they’d come. Working deeper into the woods. A final angry burst of gunfire as the shooter gave up, went back to find easier targets.

  Suddenly the trees ahead of her ended. The road was in front of her again. What the hell? She looked left and right. It came to her. They’d been ambushed after coming around a curve. She’d cut the corner, ended up on the road where it looped back on itself. And she’d thought she was working deeper into the woods. She jumped down the bank, turned left. Tore down the road, all the tension and anger and fear of the past days disappearing down the swollen river of her blood. They wouldn’t come back this way. Things had worked out better than she hoped. She’d make much better progress on the road. There was even a chance of hitching a lift.

  She’d have been better off keeping that thought and her thumb to herself.

  Chapter 62

  TODD WATCHED THE CONVOY of vehicles piling out of the office’s underground parking lot. There was an SUV, the van from the night before and a sedan bringing up the rear. He’d bet dollars to donuts they had the cop in the back of the van. Moving her to somewhere safer.

  It made his job harder still. He’d never be able to hijack them with that many guys, all of them armed. But you never knew. They might be taking her some place where they’d lock her up and leave her. It was a stretch but it was worth pursuing. So he pulled out after them, waited to see where today would take him.

  That was another thing he liked about his job. No two days were ever the same. He couldn’t imagine going to the same factory every day like his old man did for fifty years. Getting so angry as your life disappeared day by day with no let-up from the mind-numbing drudgery that you needed to fill your belly with beer and then take your belt to your boy to make yourself feel better again.

  He followed the mini convoy for about an hour, heading up into the hills. It was getting harder to stay inconspicuous as the traffic thinned to almost nothing. He dropped back a good long way. It meant they were out of sight a lot of the time, what with the twists and turns, the rises and dips. On the flip side, there weren’t many side turnings. He was confident he was still behind them.

  He was cruising happily, the window down, singing along with Are You Washed In The Blood Of The Lamb on the radio when he almost choked on his gum.

  He leaned forward. Peered through the windshield as if an extra two inches closer made any difference.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  The cop was running down the road towards him waving her arms in the air. Her face was streaked with blood. Maybe there’d been an accident. Todd slowed, his heart thumping so hard in his chest he felt a little lightheaded. All he had to do was play this carefully. She had no reason to suspect him.

  He pulled to a stop as she reached his window. She was so out of breath she couldn’t speak. She bent over with her hands on her knees. Drew in great lungfuls of air. Little drips of blood landing on the ground between her feet.

  ‘You okay, lady?’

  She nodded her
head several times. Gave a wheezy croak that might have been a yes.

  He opened the door and climbed out. She still hadn’t straightened up. It was too good an opportunity to miss. He reached around behind him. Took hold of the sap tucked into the back of his pants.

  ‘Been an accident,’ she wheezed, still talking to the pavement between her feet.

  Did the dumbass want to be hit over the head?

  Todd obliged.

  He brought his arm around in a fast swinging arc. Caught her on the back of the head, just behind the ear. She grunted. Dropped to her knees. Todd gave her another whack. She collapsed forward onto her face.

  He pulled some plastic handcuffs out of his pocket. Pulling her arms behind her back, he slipped them over her wrists. Zipped them up tight. She looked like a feisty one. He dragged her around to the back. Heaved her in. There was a roll of duct tape in the back. He tore off a couple of strips. Slapped them over her eyes and mouth.

  Then he jumped back in the front, made a U-turn and headed back the way they’d come. He made sure he took it very steady—he wasn’t going to risk an accident like the stupid wetbacks.

  Chapter 63

  ‘YOU GOT A BETTER idea?’ Evan said to Diego after he’d dismissed another suggestion as to how they might get Carly to come to Evan’s office.

  ‘Actually, yeah, I do,’ Diego said, surprising him and the guy in the passenger seat, Antonio.

  They both looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Tell her you’ve got proof she was the one who set Jackson up and sent him to prison. Tell her to bring a big wad of the cash she stole if she doesn’t want you to sell it to him instead.’ He met Evan’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘That’ll do it.’

  The parking lot was empty when they got to the office. In particular there was no sign of Tom Jacobson’s Volvo. Evan let them in. The three of them trooped upstairs towards his office in single file. Evan in the lead, Diego bringing up the rear.

  The bad feeling kicked in as soon as he reached the corridor.

  His door was ajar.

  Somebody was inside.

  He had a good idea who it was too.

  He took two fast steps forwards before the men behind him could react. Grabbed the handle. Swung the door open hard and fast.

  Jackson’s face grinned back at him from behind the desk. The exact same spot where his brother had sat a lifetime ago. Then the door bounced back on the closer. Evan dived to the side. Jackson’s face disappeared behind the closing door.

  Behind him, Diego and Antonio saw Evan dive. Thought he was trying to get away from them somehow. They leapt forward. Antonio in the lead, gun in his hand. The door banged shut beside him. He jumped. Turned towards it. The glass exploded. Then the sound of two fast shots mushrooming out into the corridor.

  Antonio slammed backwards into Diego. Knocked them both against the wall opposite, his chest a mess of blossoming red. Evan was already on his feet. He shoulder charged them. Flattened them. Jackson fired again through the hole where the door glass used to be. Two shots. Paint and plaster flying everywhere as the rounds buried themselves in the wall, inches from where Diego’s head had been a split-second before.

  Evan leapt over the jumbled mass of limbs. Heard his desk kicked over behind him. A bellowed curse louder even than the gunshots. He sprinted for the end of the corridor. Spun around on the edge of the wall. Leapt down the stairs three and four at a time.

  Behind him the sound of his door splintering, ripped off its hinges. Then Jackson’s voice high and loud and not completely sane.

  Don’t even think about it.

  Even with his blood pounding in his ears Evan would’ve sworn he heard the sound of a gun barrel forced between Diego’s teeth.

  He crossed the reception area in two bounds. Crashed through the doors. Out into the parking lot. Diego’s car was parked at the far side. He raced towards it. Took a running jump onto the hood, bounced off it onto the roof. Launched himself through the air. Flying over the shrubbery dividing the offices, legs air-pedalling like an Olympic long jumper. He landed in next door’s lot. Skidded on the loose gravel, stumbled, rolled with it. Back up on his feet. High-tailing it through the lot and down the street.

  Even if Jackson had fired at him the bullet would never have caught him.

  No matter.

  Jackson wasn’t paying him any attention. Back inside the office building he was far too interested in Diego to give Evan another thought.

  For now.

  ***

  EVAN SLOWED TO A walk after three blocks. It was clear nobody was coming after him.

  Yet.

  Guillory had been right. Jackson wasn’t going to give up. It wasn’t much consolation that they had a recording of Dixie putting the record straight if Jackson continued with his shoot first ask questions later policy.

  Because he couldn’t have known it was Antonio and not him on the other side of the door when he fired.

  At least he’d lost the minders. He needed to get hold of Carly. He put his hand in his pocket to pull out his phone. It wasn’t there. He patted all his other pockets. It wasn’t in any of those either.

  Damn.

  It must have fallen out during his acrobatic escape. He couldn’t risk going back there now. For all he knew Jackson had put a quick bullet in Diego’s head. Was already coming after him.

  Then an idea came to him.

  Back when Sarah first disappeared he’d contacted all of her friends. Carly had been one of the first. He knew he had her number from way back then on his laptop. Did she still have that number? Who knows? His number was still the same. But some people change phones and numbers like they change their underwear.

  There was only one way to find out.

  It wasn’t risk free. As soon as Diego failed to report back, Chico would come looking for him. The hotel would be the first place he’d check.

  And that wasn’t all.

  There was a better than evens chance Diego would give Jackson the address to save his own skin.

  He wasn’t sure which one was worse.

  Chapter 64

  BACK AT THE HOTEL he found the number on his laptop more quickly than he’d expected. It was a lucky break because, stupidly, he’d forgotten to charge it. The battery was about to die any minute. He had to search for the number sitting in the room, one eye on the screen, one on the door. Expecting it to burst open any second. Every minute he stayed there was a risk. Copying the number down he couldn’t say for sure if it was the same one she was using now. Once he was done, he threw everything hurriedly into his suitcase and checked out.

  Too hurriedly as it happened. And it wasn’t just his toothbrush he left behind.

  He bought a cheap pay-as-you-go phone, called the number.

  ‘Hello?’

  The voice was hesitant. Like you’d expect when an unknown number calls. But it was definitely her. He wouldn’t ever forget that voice again

  ‘Carly. It’s Evan.’

  ‘Evan?’ She couldn’t place the name immediately. Then it clicked. ‘Evan. How did you get . . . never mind, what do you want?’

  ‘I’ve had a busy couple of days—’

  ‘Look, Evan—’

  ‘—meeting some interesting people. Dixie’s brother, Jackson, for one.’

  On the other end of the line she stopped trying to interrupt him. He wished he could see the expression on her face. He bet there wasn’t any smugness in it now.

  ‘He’s an excitable sort of guy, isn’t he? Violent. Psychopathic. That sort of thing. Last time I saw him he was about to beat some answers out of Diego. You remember Diego?’

  He was rewarded with a strangled gasp. He’d never heard a sweeter sound. He closed his eyes, pictured her face, the look that would turn milk sour.

  ‘Jackson blamed Diego for the last two years he’s spent in prison.’ He paused. Put a smile on his face. They say the person on the other end of the line can hear it or feel it. ‘Then another name came up. Yours.’


  There was a rasping croak as she tried to suck air into her lungs. As if her throat had closed up tight. A bottle of Drano is what he’d recommend. He’d pay for the jumbo size. Help pour it down. Mr Helpful, that was him.

  ‘Things got a little confusing at that point. Diego said it was you, not him. The idea struck a chord with Jackson. He kept on saying . . . well, I won’t repeat it. But every other word was bitch. He kicked a lot of stuff too. Punched the wall a couple of times.’

  There was an awkward silence as if he’d told a questionable joke too loudly on the church steps.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  Her voice was cracking at the edges, the fear loud and satisfyingly clear.

  ‘Because I’ve got something you want. You just don’t know it yet. And I don’t mean the cash. Something Diego gave me. Something Jackson would very much like to get his hands on. As well as your neck, of course. But I told him he’d have to join the back of the line like everybody else. You’re probably wondering how come I’m so chummy with Diego. Chico, too. I’ve met him as well.’

  ‘How—’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that with all the stories Diego was telling him plus what I’ve got, there won’t be room for much doubt in Jackson’s mind about who set him up.’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Uh-uh. That’d be telling. Anyway, I’ve got a difficult decision to make. Who do I give this information to? Jackson seems like a nice guy. And after somebody murdered his brother’—he let that hang there for a long moment—‘I think he deserves some answers. Depends on what you’ve got to offer. And don’t give me any more of that crap about Sarah.’

  ‘You’re full of shit,’ she spat. ‘You don’t have anything.’

  ‘Jackson will be very happy to hear you’re not interested.’

  ‘You don’t have anything.’

  ‘Say it another six times you might start to believe it.’