The Light at the End of the Tunnel

by James W. Nelson

  Their early evenings were spent in book learning about private investigation. For questions they had Riley himself and all the other men for answers. Finally, toward the end of the eight months, Riley told them, “You can take your private investigator test right here, as this is a bona fide school. I’m recognized not only by the state of Arizona but by the US government. And you’ll want to at least own a handgun—“

  “Just one?” Nicole cut in, “I want my own gun.”

  Riley smiled, “Of course, and you should have your own. What would you like?”

  “I want a gun like Sean Connery used in the James Bond movies.”

  Riley increased his smile, “A Walther PPK. It uses .380 ammunition and should fit your feminine hand quite nicely.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at Riley, then grasped the chaplain’s arm and smiled even bigger for him.

  “Kind of an interesting story about that little gun,” Riley said, “After WWII Europe kind of wanted to believe in peace on earth, I guess, so Carl Walther, of Germany, and later some company in France—I don’t know all the details, and now they’re also manufactured here by Smith and Wesson—but, what I was getting at, Europe wanted that gun to be tough, yet smaller than what the military had. I guess they figured if the military had the slightly bigger gun they could control the masses.” He sobered, “Maybe in Europe they can pull that off, but good luck at ever doing it here.”

  Riley then turned his attention to, “And you, Radford?”

  “I’d like a Colt .45, just like the one I learned on.”

  “Good choice, my man, and good choice for you too, young lady. You both have quite often filled that target with entire loads, so you’re both qualified. I can also take care of your gun licenses right here too. And now I have an offer to make you.”

  Both the chaplain and Nicole perked right up.

  “As I told you earlier, we do certain jobs here for certain people, and right now there’s a really rich guy down in Phoenix—one of the suburbs—who wants us to have a talk with a certain drug dealer. It’s worth $20,000 each for you two, just to—mainly—tag along.” He hesitated, obviously waiting for some kind of response.

  “‘Mainly?’” Nicole asked.

  “Well, of course, you both will do something that will guarantee you both graduate.” Then he added, “And that $20,000 will take care of your training here, your guns and both licenses, plus you’ll have quite a bit left over.”

  “A ‘talk’ though? ” the chaplain finally asked.

  “Yes. A ‘talk.’ The rich guy wants this puke to stop shipping drugs up to the local kids, and to stop selling, period, and even to leave town if he has a mind to, but of course we can’t just stop the guy on the street and tell him that.”

  “Because he won’t listen….” Nicole said, her eyes wide.

  “That’s correct. So we have to…for lack of a better word, kidnap him. Sadie will make the first contact.”

  “Sadie?” Nicole asked, “Won’t that be dangerous for her?”

  Riley nodded and sent a sober smile, “Sadie has decided to join our trainers here, and, she’s tougher than most of us realized. At least as tough as you, Nicole, but yes, it’ll be dangerous for her, but at least two of us will have her in sight at all times.”

  “‘Kidnap’…him, though?” the chaplain barely mouthed the three words, “Isn’t that…against the law?” He kind of chuckled.

  “Yes. We could go to prison, but this guy isn’t likely to run to the law after we have our talk, and of course, you two, just by being along, well…as the old saying goes, and I believe in it: you two would be guilty by association.” Riley hesitated for a few seconds, appearing to contemplate, then, “One last thing. You remember I said sometimes we do these jobs for poor people, well, this one is for free. The rich guy, though, he’ll pay all right. He’ll pay you two, but my crew and I are doing it for free. You see, a fourteen-year-old girl died of a drug overdose last week, and those drugs were—unofficially—traced directly to the guy we’re going to talk to.”

  “‘Unofficially?’” asked the chaplain.

  “No proof, so the guy was back on the street in an hour. So, are you in?”

  The chaplain looked at his woman. She smiled and nodded positively.

  “We’re in,” he said.

  ****

  After the conversation, Riley left and the chaplain and Nicole remained at the table.

  “For the time being, Nicole, I think we should lock our guns in their cases and store them under the front seats.” Then he waited.

  “I agree, Radford, but, of course, if we ever need one in a hurry we’ll be at quite a disadvantage. Of course, since we likely will be crossing many state lines…well, we don’t want to be—as you said—banging heads with the local law.” She sent her bright smile, “I imagine the laws are head-bangingly different.”

  “We’ll ask Riley about that. Maybe your small gun could hide in that purse you sometimes carry, and of course, after we leave here we aren’t exactly chasing a hardened criminal.”

  “I don’t know about that, Radford.” She got up and went to another table along the wall, where various magazines and newspapers lay, searched for a moment, grasped one, returned and laid it down showing the front page.

  The chaplain quickly read the main headline, and the minors, then asked, “What am I looking at?”

  Nicole pointed to a sidebar headline.

  He read ‘Woman falls to her death at the Grand Canyon.’

  “Look at the family members,” she added.

  He looked again, began moving his finger down the column and reading to himself, ‘…father, daughter, son, and a foster son two years old, who was with the mother when she fell…’—My God!”

  “It’s possible, Radford. The family was vacationing from Nebraska, and the article later says the two-year-old was big for his age, as if the journalist was even suggesting…foul play.”

  He then jabbed his finger on the masthead, “This paper is several months old! Why haven’t you mentioned it before?”

  “Mainly,” Nicole said, “I didn’t even find the paper for several months—I guess the boys just buy some copies when they’re out in the world—and for another thing, it took me awhile to read it all. It was sometimes hard to read, too, as it went on for several days. It took them several days just for the rescue team to even get down to that poor woman—I guess she was caught on a really tiny ledge—and then to get her broken body out of the canyon—that little bastard!—I thought about telling you, but I didn’t want anything to interfere with our training. We needed this training, Radford, and now we have it.”

  “You really think it’s him, don’t you?”

  “Yes! Don’t you?”

  The chaplain shook his head positively, then reached for and squeezed her arm. She took his hand and inserted her own into it, then they just sat there holding hands, appreciating and needing each other more than ever, as their search had now—likely—taken on a new urgency.

  Chapter 18 More Murder

  Les Paul, approaching three years old, was still with the same foster family, nearly a full year, a record long time—for him—with one family. He remembered the funeral for his foster mother. Closed casket, but he had no trouble picturing what was inside. He remembered being held in the warm arms of his dear foster sister, Chloe, that day. How he enjoyed having her arms around him.

  He also remembered the several looks his foster brother, Tyler, gave to him that day. After making sure nobody else would see his face, he always looked right back, and then wrapped his arms even tighter around Chloe’s neck. His foster father that day just bugged him. The man, his head always hanging, didn’t say much, just kind of moped around, always hugging Chloe especially, and himself, and even Tyler, and Tyler would always look at him when the father gave those hugs, and Les Paul would look right back!

  Several months had passed since that day, but of course he yet had very little concept of time. He had long fo
rgotten the kindness his foster mother had shown him, if he even had a comprehension of kindness. What he missed was the good food she produced. The father usually fed them pizza, or often took them out to the local Burger King. That he didn’t mind. The food actually tasted worse than what the father prepared, but it was the idea of going out that impressed him.

  Presently he was in Tyler’s room playing on his foster brother’s computer. He had no understanding about computers but he did know how to make the little blipper run around on the screen. He also knew how to land the blipper on the colored parts and then click the mouse, both the left side and the right side. If one side-click didn’t do something he would click the other side, and usually got something on the screen to change.

  ****

  The changes were enough that Tyler knew somebody—most likely Baby Boy—was playing with his computer, but as yet had not been able to catch him.

  Tyler also knew that accusing Baby Boy would do no good, maybe even cause punishment for himself. Because, since the death of his mother, his dad had lavished a great amount of love on his sister, Chloe, and, seemingly, an even greater amount of love on Baby Boy. Many times his dad had reminded him and his sister that Baby Boy had been with their mother when she fell, and had to have been severely traumatized by the experience.

  But Tyler was pretty sure Baby Boy was not traumatized. If anything it was the opposite, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He watched Baby Boy though, and figured—hoped—that eventually the little bastard would eventually screw up. But whenever they were all present, together, Baby Boy displayed angelic behavior, always smiling at his dad and saying cute things with his few words, always gushing love on Chloe, and the babysitter too, what Tyler considered as totally fake—it made him so mad!

  Because when it was just the two of them the little bastard never smiled, never said anything, and always sent that stupid look. Tyler had heard the word ‘smirk’ but really wasn’t yet sure, exactly, how to use it. What he did know, he was pretty sure that’s what the little bastard was sending him when nobody else was looking: a smirk!

  Things might soon change. Tyler was home from school early, a half hour early, and he was going to catch the little bastard playing with his computer. Even though all he could do was catch him—there would be no punishment—but at least he could catch him, and maybe convince his dad to let him lock his door during the day. He sometimes wondered if the babysitter even watched the little bastard!

  The front door wasn’t locked. Tyler got inside quietly and laid his backpack down, then moved slowly down the hall, hoping that Chloe would not already be home to maybe screw everything up—how she adored that little bastard! He reached the closed door to his room.

  ****

  Les Paul was happily zipping the little blipper around and around on the screen. He heard the doorknob turn, but too late. Tyler! He screamed and jumped off the stool as Tyler came in and said, “Little bastard! I knew it was you!”

  Tyler stood between Les Paul and the door. Les Paul had always known that Tyler had never liked him from the very first day he arrived. What he didn’t consider, and had forgotten, was that also on the very first day he had made his decision about which member of the family he would show his true nature: Tyler.

  The voice came to him, As I have said time and time again, this boy is trouble for you, and needs to be dispatched. He is a heavy sleeper. Go to him tonight when all is quiet. You don’t remember how you dispatched your twin brother in the womb, but your hands do, and they will do it again. There is a decorated leather rope that hangs on his bed. Now, say ‘I’m sorry.’

  Without even thinking, “I’m sorry.”

  The anger on Tyler’s face left him. They both heard the front door open and close. In just seconds Chloe appeared, “What’s happening?” she cried, as she rushed into the room, glanced first at Les Paul, then at her brother.

  “Baby Boy was playing with my computer,” Tyler said.

  “Well, he didn’t hurt it, did he?” Chloe then walked quickly to Les Paul and picked him up. The nearly three-year-old child immediately began to cry, “Well? Did he?” she cried.

  “No,” Tyler said, “He even said he was sorry.”

  “So there!” she cried, and hugged the child even closer as she left the room.

  Les Paul clung to her, the new word, ‘bastard,’ going through his mind.

  Chapter 19 Talk With a Drug Pusher

  The desert floor and Phoenix was new to both the chaplain and Nicole. On the higher desert, where the training facility was, there were more trees. They rode in the middle seat of the van. Riley was driving, Tucker in shotgun. Two more men rode in the back seat. Equipment and camping gear rode in the very end. Sadie and Sheldon rode in a Denali four-wheel-drive pickup following. The cook and mess cook remained behind at the facility. Conversation during the trip was sparse. Riley had laid out the plan entirely while still at the facility.

  They reached what appeared to be a steakhouse on the outskirts of the city. Riley looked back, “We’ll have coffee here and discuss any last minute details,” he said, “Then Sheldon, Tucker and Sadie will go in and find our quarry. When they have him they’ll call, and we’ll meet about twenty miles from here at an isolated ranch, where a friend of mine lives.”

  Inside they sat at a table in the corner, ordered their coffee, talked awhile, but no new plans were discussed. They were ready. Ten minutes later the three operatives left. The remaining five stayed at the table and discussed anything but what they were there for.

  An hour passed. The call came. Riley answered and spoke for about 15 seconds, then hung up and glanced around the table, “Party’s on, kids.”

  The chaplain and Nicole glanced at each other. Both nodded soberly and positively.

  ****

  The Denali was waiting when they got there.

  Nicole strived to see their abductee. To her knowledge she had never seen a drug dealer, and expected to see a long-haired, bearded, Jesus Christ look-alike…that, or a shady-looking and dark-haired Hispanic man, with maybe a knife held in his teeth. She got neither. Dressed in a white shirt and beige jeans, the grinning young man who stepped from the back door of the Denali looked like the most studious of college freshman or sophomore. “Hey, guys, I wasn’t exactly looking to go joyriding in the country,” the young man said, then looked at Sadie who had just stepped down from the shotgun position, “Miss, what’s up?”

  “He’s just a boy,” Nicole whispered to the chaplain, which brought a grin and quiet chuckle from Riley Stokes.

  The other two men from the pickup closed their doors and came around to stand at each end of the pickup. The young man looked from one person to the other, “Don’t you guys…I mean, weren’t you planning…,” he swallowed, maybe finally realizing his possible predicament, “A buy?” He finally got out.

  Riley then stepped out of the van, closed the door, and leaned against it.

  “Oh, I see,” the young man said, “We were waiting for the big boss…howdy!” He waved to Riley, who made no return gesture.

  Then the rest got out of the van. The other two men, who Nicole didn’t remember the names of, moved to the two ends of the pickup only farther away, and folded their arms.

  “Guys,” the young man said, “I don’t really understand what’s going on.” No more grin remained on the young man’s face. He now acted pretty sure that he might be in trouble.

  The chaplain and Nicole waited for their entry. Nicole felt calm, yet her heart was beating at a rate she didn’t remember ever feeling. She hoped the chaplain was also under control. He appeared to be calm, and ready.

  From the rear Tucker started to walk toward the young man. Sheldon started from the front. The young man realized both were moving toward him. He began looking first one way, then the other, and finally focused on Riley, “Sir!” he cried. “What the hell is going on? Who are these two goons?”

  Probably the wrong thing to say. Nicole felt herself bristling. She w
as so ready to do her part!

  The young man took two steps away from the pickup, and continued looking in all directions. The four men closing in on him continued moving slowly toward him. Nicole noticed Sadie move to slightly behind Sheldon, where there was the widest spot opening. The young man noticed the opening too, and sprang toward it, then through it, but Sadie was ready, and tripped him.

  He sprawled and rolled a couple times. The four men closed in again.

  “Get’im up!” Riley said.

  Two of the men jerked the young man to his feet, then released him.

  Riley turned to the chaplain and said just his name, but very quietly, “Radford….” The orders were discretion on names spoken out loud, nothing for this drug dealer to remember and charge them with.

  Upon reaching the isolated ranch the chaplain had installed his Colt .45 shoulder holster, then checked his gun’s magazine, then inserted it into the handle but did not pull the slide back. Nicole had basically done the same with her Walther, only had put it in her purse.

  Go, my man! Nicole watched the chaplain step away from the van, draw his gun, advance to within ten feet of the young man, pull the slide back and grip the bottom of the handle with his left hand, then point it at the young man’s face. He held it there for at least fifteen seconds. Then he pulled up slightly and fired twice past the young man’s left ear, twice past his right ear, then emptied the magazine into the ground between his feet.

  On about the fifth shot Nicole felt sure she saw something dripping from the young man’s pants leg. A second or two later she saw the front of his beige jeans getting wet. She brought her hand quickly up to cover her mouth. She wanted in the worst way to laugh. She couldn’t help herself. Here was this big bad drug dealer pissing his pants. She wondered what he’d do when it was her turn.

  When the chaplain’s gun ejected its last round he pulled it up and started to return, but then looked back as the young man’s eyes rolled and he collapsed upon himself.