The Dead Peasants File

by L. Craig Harris

  “You're kidding me.”

  “No, and when Dillon McGee found out about it, they tried to kill him too. That's what really happened at the store last Friday.”

  “But Joseph Wilson. Why did Dillon confess to that murder?”

  Christopher shook his head. “He didn't confess to the murder. He just confessed that he saw the killer push the truck over the cliff. He never murdered anyone.” He paused to see if she was following him. “Walter Gray made him go down there the night Joseph was murdered. It's kind of a long story, but the bottom line is Walter wanted Joseph dead to collect his life insurance.”

  She closed the folder. “If what you're telling me is true, this is a huge story.”

  Christopher could feel his knees shaking. “Oh, it's true. I can promise you that.”

  “But why did you come to me? Why not take this to the police?”

  Christopher crossed his arms. “We did. We took it to officer Goodman, but when he heard that Dillon knew where Joseph Wilson's body was, he lost interest in everything but that.”

  She opened the folder again. “How did you get this?”

  “Those lists cost a man his life. He worked at Morgan Headquarters in Denver. He was the one who made them. He told my friend Travis Reed about it and Charles Morgan found out about it. He – well – he murdered him. He threw him off his balcony.”

  She turned to her computer screen. “I saw something about that.” She tapped on her keyboard and studied the monitor for a moment. “Was his name Merrill Brandeis?”

  “Yes. Yes, that's him.”

  “The Denver media says he fell off a balcony at the headquarters.” She read to herself a couple of seconds. “It says it was an accident or suicide.”

  Christopher shook his head. “No, it was no accident and it wasn't suicide. I was there.”

  She looked back at him. “You saw it happen?”

  “No, but I was right outside the door. I saw his body on the floor and my friend Travis saw the whole thing.”

  “Where is Travis? Is he here in town?”

  “No. The Morgan body guards got him.” He paused. “Look, I know this is a lot for you to follow, but what I'm telling you is true.”

  She set the manila folder on her desk and stood to her feet. “I need to talk to my news director about this. I can't just start accusing these people – ” She walked past Christopher and disappeared into an office at the back of the room.

  Christopher watched as she pointed at him out the door of the office. The news director looked out at Christopher and went back in. She stayed in there for more than fifteen minutes. Christopher felt out of place and uncomfortable, sitting at her desk.

  She came back with the news director in tow. “Chris, this is Tom Ashton, my news director.”

  Christopher stood up and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “This is a huge story,” Tom said. “This is national news – international news. You understand that.”

  Christopher nodded.

  “I can't have one of my reporters accusing the biggest company in the world of murdering its people without very good proof. I can't accuse Charles Morgan – or anyone else – of murder unless they are indicted. We'd get sued so bad we'd have to close this whole station.”

  “I understand,” Christopher said. “But what I'm trying to do is stop the company before it kills any more of the people on this list.”

  “I'm with you.” Tom shook his head. “Wow, this is just such a big story.” He rubbed his temples. “I've got to get our lawyers in on this. I've got to tell my station manager.” He paused. “Look, can we call you, maybe tomorrow?”

  Christopher could feel his face turning red. He didn't know if he had tomorrow. “Yes, whatever you need to do.”

  Tom looked at Jayna. “Get his number.” He looked back at Christopher. “We'll call you. It may be late this afternoon or maybe tomorrow, but we have to do this right.”

  Christopher gave Jayna his cell phone number and Jim's number. He told her where he was staying and she walked him out to the lobby. “I have another story I have to do for tonight's newscasts,” she said as she stood at the front door of the lobby. “But I appreciate you bringing this to us. We're going to check into all of this and get back in touch, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Here,” she said, handing him her business card. “Call me if anything changes.”

  He put the card in his front pocket and got into Jim's car. He didn't want to complicate her life any further by telling her what peril he was in at that very moment. He didn't tell her that he was staying with an elder from his church, but that he really needed to get far away. But now he knew he couldn't leave Jim's. He had to stay to wait for her call. So much for heading to Texas. He had to go back to Jim's and wait. He had no choice.

  He drove back into the country. At least he had told his story. He had given someone else the folder. Now, he would just have to wait to see if she came through before Morgan got to him.

  The afternoon was agony for Christopher. He paced the floor. He checked his phone for bars and was only getting two. He hoped it would ring if she called. He picked up Jim's phone several times to make sure it had a dial tone.

  “You sure seem nervous, Bro. Chris,” Jim said.

  “I am Jim. I'm hoping all of this trouble is about to end. But I just don't know.”

  “Well, you can stay with me as long as you need to, just know that.”

  Christopher smiled at him. “Thanks Jim.” He took a deep breath. “And I want you to know that I appreciate all you've done for me. Letting me stay here and eat your food and use your car. You just don't know how much you've helped me.”

  “I'm glad to help,” Jim said. “You've sure helped me with your good sermons.”

  Sermons! Christopher had forgotten that he had to preach Sunday. He didn't dare show up at the church and bring the wrath of Morgan on his people. He hadn't prepared anything anyway. “Jim, I need you to call John and tell him I'm still out of town and can't preach Sunday. Don't tell him I'm here with you.” He glanced over at him. “Will you do that for me?”

  “Sure. I'll call him right now.”

  Christopher spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring. It was a helpless feeling. At the church, he was in charge. He led the meetings and the worship services. He jumped in and took care of problems when they arose. He planned ways to reach people. He prepared and preached the sermons he thought best. Now, everything was out of his hands. All he could do was wait. Isaac Goodman should have called him by now. And surely Jayna had more questions. But no call came. Rain began to fall around five. He went out on the front porch and watched it for a few minutes, but he got chilled and went back in.

  At six o'clock, Jayna had the lead story again. But it had nothing to do with Dillon or Morgan or him. It was about one of the area school boards. Christopher found it hard to pay attention. After supper, he sat on the couch and put his feet up. He listened to the rain hitting the roof and his eyes grew heavy. After a few minutes, he dozed off.

  The dog woke him up. Christopher was confused for a couple of seconds. Then he oriented himself. The dog didn't really bark, but had lifted his head and made a single “woof” sound. But it was enough to wake him. He looked over at the easy chair and Jim had his feet elevated and was sound asleep. It was dark outside and the rain had stopped. Headlights shone through the big, living room window and illuminated the wall above Jim's head. Someone was coming up the long driveway. Christopher's heart began to race. He dropped down to the floor and crawled over to the window. He lifted the curtain so he could see out. It looked like four cars had arrived. Men with handguns and rifles were getting out of each car. Morgan body guards. They had found him.

  “Jim,” Christopher cried out in a whisper. “We've got company. Jim, bad people.”

  Jim opened his eyes and sat upright. He was dazed from being awakened, but he put his feet on the floor and st
ood up. “Did you say 'bad people'?”

  “Yes. These guys will kill us. We've got to get out of here.” Christopher gestured for him to get down.

  Jim dropped to a crouching position, but didn't stop his forward motion. He headed for the front door and picked up the shotgun that was leaning against the wall. He cocked it, opened the front door, and peeked out. Christopher was watching out the window. The guards were standing beside their cars.

  “Don't come up hyere,” Jim called out.

  “Come on out, Reverend Forrest,” one of the men yelled back. “You don't want anything bad to happen to this old man.”

  “I'll show you old man,” Jim yelled back and shot the gun over the heads of the men outside. The blast was deafening to Christopher's ears. The men ducked. One of them shot his own weapon into the air. Jim reloaded. Bo jumped down from the couch and slunk down the hall.

  “We need to make a run for it,” Christopher said.

  Jim shook his head. “There's nowhere to go. They'd catch us in the woods behind the house before we could get to my back fence.” He peeked out again. “No, we've got to hold them off.”

  Christopher knew they could not keep them at bay all night. They would eventually lose patience and come and get him. Jim would run out of ammunition. He sat down under the window, beside the couch. Suddenly someone outside fired a shot. The bullet shattered the old, thin glass in Jim's front window and lodged high on the wall on the opposite side of the room.

  “Now, they done it,” Jim said. He stuck the barrel of the shotgun out the front door and shot the windshield out of the closest car. Several of the men shot back at the house, bullets whizzing into the living room.

  “I don't think we can win a fire fight with them, Jim,” Christopher said. “They've got us outnumbered.”

  Jim fired again.

  “Stop firing that thing.” Christopher's ears were ringing and he couldn't hear anything else, but he could feel his pocket vibrating. He reached into it and pulled out his cell phone. “Hello?”

  “Chris?”

  He could barely hear his name. He moved the phone to the ear that wasn't ringing quite so bad. “Yes.”

  “This is Jayna from KTXI.”

  He couldn't hear her. “Who?”

  “Jayna. Are you okay?”

  He could tell she was yelling and thought she asked how he was. “Not so good. I'm under attack! I told you this was going to happen.” A bullet zipped just over his head and glass showered him. “If you want a big story, come out here.”

  “Are you at the house you told me about?”

  He couldn't hear what she said. “I can't hear you,” he said. “Call Isaac Goodman. Call 911.” He didn't hear her respond and looked at the phone. It was dead. He wasn't sure how much of that she had heard. He threw the phone to the floor and looked over at Jim. “Stay low.”

  Jim nodded and said something, but Christopher didn't hear it. Someone was unloading an automatic weapon on the front wall. The bullets were zipping into the house and shredding the wall opposite the window. Foam from the couch began to fly in the air. Christopher put his hands over his head and lay flat on the wood floor until the onslaught stopped.

  “We don't want to kill anyone,” a voice yelled from outside. “Mr. Morgan just wants to talk to you.”

  Christopher heard the part about Mr. Morgan. He looked up at Jim. “You okay?”

  Jim nodded.

  “Stop shooting,” Christopher yelled toward the window. “I'll come out.”

  “You're not going out there,” Jim said. “I can hold them back.”

  “I don't think so,” Christopher said. He was finally able to hear the words from his friend. “Not for much longer.”

  “I'll hold them as long as I can,” Jim said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out and loaded another shell.

  It grew quiet outside. The firing stopped. After a few minutes, Christopher peeked out the window and saw that the men had moved back several feet. He guessed Jim's shotgun was keeping them at bay after all. But that's not what it was. He suddenly heard the sound of a helicopter overhead. It was hovering just above the roof. Then, it made a sound that was more like an electric saw than a gun. The helicopter had some sort of Gatling gun. As it spun, hundreds of bullets shot down through the roof and ceiling, splintering rafters, ceiling tiles, furniture, and the wooden floor. The sound was terrifying. He kept his eyes closed, but he could hear that the house was being torn apart by the weapon. He knew that any one of the bullets could end his life. He put his hands over his head and waited for the end to come, getting as close to the wall as he could. Splinters stung as they pierced the skin of his arms. He prayed that God would let it happen quickly and without pain and he prayed that Jim would be spared.

  After a few seconds, Jim grabbed his arm. “Come on!”

  Christopher kept his head down and crawled behind him as he led them into the kitchen. They both crawled under the big oak table. Just as they got beneath it, bullets banged into it and shattered some dishes that were left there, but could not penetrate the thick wood.

  After several minutes, Christopher noticed that he was smelling ozone, then smoke. A bullet had cut an electrical wire, causing it to arc and spark. The house was on fire. “We've got to get out of here,” he yelled above the din. He looked up and could see flames lapping at the ceiling directly above them. He grabbed Jim by the arm and pulled him out from under the table. They crawled to the door, crouched, then ran outside with their hands in the air.

  “Bo!” Jim yelled and ran back into the house. In a couple of seconds he came back out onto the front porch holding Bo by the collar. The dog had apparently escaped the barrage under Jim's feather bed.

  Christopher stood on the grass in front of the porch with his hands held high. The body guards were watching the helicopter and the flames lapping through the roof of the house. Jim lifted his shotgun and squeezed off a round, hitting one of them square in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The other guards ducked behind the cars. One of them shot at Jim with a pistol and hit him, but the bullet only grazed his torso, under his arm. He fell backward to the ground and Christopher jumped on him to cover him. Bo tucked his tail and ran behind the house. When Christopher looked up again, a guard was standing just feet from him with an automatic rifle pointed straight at his face.

  “Don't shoot,” Christopher said, rising to his feet with his hands in the air.

  The man reached down and took Jim's shotgun from him and tossed it back between two of the cars. Another guard was tending to the man that Jim had shot, but it was clear he was dead. Christopher felt completely trapped and defeated as he stood with his hands in the air. The house was crackling and roaring as the flames leapt high into the air. Everyone began to step back from its heat. The helicopter stopped firing, circled around, and landed a couple of yards from the cars.

  As the rotors came to a stop one of the car doors slammed. Christopher could see in the dim light that one of the guards was bringing a woman up the driveway. As they got closer, Christopher could see that the woman was Rachel. They were bringing her up to him. Suddenly, she broke free from her captor's grasp and ran up and grabbed and hugged him. “Oh Chris, I'm so frightened,” she said.

  “It's okay,” he said, hugging her and burying his face into her hair.

  “They came and got me. They said you needed help and asked me to take them to you.” She sobbed. “I didn't know this was going to happen.”

  “Of course you didn't.” Christopher knew he should have never called her and told her where he was. Now they had found him, and if that wasn't bad enough had brought her out there too. He was picturing what it was going to be like for his sons to grow up without parents. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run. He held Rachel close.

  The guard came up behind her and pointed his gun at the back of her head. “You've messed with the wrong people, and now it's going to cost you.” He pushed the gun closer to her head.

  Down at the road, a
siren caught Christopher's ear. He looked and saw emergency lights turning into the driveway. A guard grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Rachel. “Come on, you're going back to Denver.”

  Christopher tried futilely to resist. “What?”

  “We came here to get you,” the guard said. “Mr. Morgan wants to see you.”

  Christopher wondered why, if Mr. Morgan wanted to see him, had they just fired thousands of rounds at him and burned the house down around him. He fought against the guard, but the man was strong and pulled him away and led him to the helicopter. Rachel looked frightened. She clawed at the guards and tried to break free but could not. She cried out to him as they took him away.

  The blades were already spinning when Christopher got into his seat and the craft immediately took off. He didn't get to tell Rachel goodbye. He hadn't been able to tell Jim how sorry he was. He looked down at the burning house. He could see Morgan's guards jumping in and behind their cars. They were shooting at the sheriff's vehicles that had come up the drive. He could see officers in khaki clothing firing back.

  The helicopter circled around and a guard fired down at the sheriff's car with the Gatling gun. It sounded like he was sawing metal with a skill-saw inside the cockpit. Christopher held his ears. He could smell the gunpowder and hear the clinking of the shells falling to the floor. Then the helicopter turned to the west and headed toward Denver in the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty

  Christopher tried to keep up with where they were as they flew. Occasional city lights twinkled down below, but it was mostly blackness. He had never been crazy about flying and this trip wasn't helping. He was nauseas and his heart wouldn't stop racing. He tried to lean back in the leather seat and relax, but his whole body was on edge. He tried not to think about what awaited him. He tried not to think about his last vision of Rachel, standing near the burning house in the middle of a gunfight.

  He had hoped this adventure would be happily over when he went to the police station, but it had gotten worse. He felt alone and couldn't imagine Charles Morgan spending more than one minute with him. Charles would simply tell someone to shoot him and that would be that. He reasoned that this was the same helicopter that had taken Travis back to Denver. It was a luxury craft and they were using it to ferry Morgan's enemies to their deaths.