“And you won’t be, Kelly?”
“What? You think I’m a Mormon?”
“Yeah. You aren’t?”
“I don’t like anyone telling me what to do.”
“You did graduate from high school and college—two places where someone tells you where to be and what to do and when to do it. And now you have a job…”
“OK, OK. I’m not quite the rebel I make myself out to be. I don’t know why I don’t like religion, but it just didn’t feel right to me. My family’s definitely not happy about it, but they’ll get over it eventually.”
“Obviously, the link to faith is a moot point in this case. What else?”
Cal had finished making the chicken salad and was slathering his gourmet concoction all over toasted sandwich bread for the two of them. He handed her the sandwich. She then took a sizable bite and told him how impressed she was with his cooking prowess. Then she answered his question.
“Nothing that I can think of. Their parents all work in different places and live in different areas of town. The only thing I can think of is that they all played football together.”
Cal suddenly got excited.
“That’s right! They all played football together.”
“Cal, I swear you’d get excited about finding a nickel in your favor on your bank statement. Of course they played football together.”
“No, no, no. I mean, that’s the last time they were all seen together. I should look through those photos and see if I can identify any of the other kids and ask them about what they saw or what they might know.”
“OK, ‘party at Coach Walker’s house’ is going down on the pad,” said Kelly as she scratched out her first visible connection.
Despite the first breakthrough, Cal was beginning to feel hopeless.
“But who were those guys who kidnapped me?”
Kelly was getting annoyed with Cal’s non-existent sleuthing skills. Neither of them were asking the right questions—and they knew it. They needed a break.
After cramming the last piece of her sandwich into her mouth, Kelly headed toward the door.
“I need some fresh air,” she said.
Cal deposited all the dishes into the sink before sitting down at the table to ponder what he knew—and what blanks were left to fill in. It was almost all of them.
Just as he was considering taking the advice of the mysterious note left for him earlier that day and doing nothing, Kelly raced back through the front door and started yelling hysterically.
“There’s a black van that just pulled up across the parking lot and the guy in the driver’s side was wearing a ski mask!”
Cal hunched down and peered out the window. Two men dressed in all black carrying assault weapons were running across the parking lot toward his apartment building.
He grabbed Kelly’s hand and began formulating a plan.
“Follow me!”
Kelly grabbed her bag but left the notepad, hoping that whoever was pursuing them would discover by the near-blank paper’s admission that they knew little to nothing.
They ran out the back door and toward the small private garages behind the apartment unit. Cal fumbled for his keys as he ran and managed to jam the key into the lock on his first attempt. He slammed the door behind them.
“What are we doing?” Kelly shrieked.
Cal ignored her and finished uncovering the motorcycle in the corner.
“What is this?” Kelly asked.
“It’s what’s gonna save our lives. Get on.”
Cal had pushed the motorcycle near the door and was now stomping on the foot crank. On the second kick, the bike roared to life. Kelly climbed on and Cal swung open the door.
The Honda 280XR dirt bike wasn’t the fastest bike, but it had some much-needed zero-to-sixty acceleration. It was exactly what Cal needed right then.
Cal guessed the two men would split up, with one coming around the front and one coming around the near side of the building. He pointed the bike toward the far side of the building and opened the engine wide open.
He looked back over his shoulder to see one of the two men taking aim with an automatic assault weapon. A few stray bullets whizzed past their heads. Kelly screamed in terror. Cal suppressed his desire to join her. He banked left and rounded the building. He then headed straight for the farthest exit in hopes of losing the men.
Cal’s strategy worked brilliantly. After another 30 seconds of riding, the two men couldn’t be seen. The last image Cal had of them was a mad dash to their truck, but he knew he would be long gone by then.
Cal knew a place they would never find him.
CHAPTER 29
“I THINK WE’RE IN the clear now,” Cal shouted over his shoulder at Kelly.
He had only driven about 100 yards past the entrance to his apartment complex before veering onto a dirt road.
“Yeah, but for how long?”
Kelly looked like a contestant on a reality TV show after being told that she would get $100,000 if she laid in an enclosed glass case full of tarantulas. Adding to that look were wind-forced tears that had streaked mascara down her face during the getaway.
Cal still thought she looked cute.
“Just hold tight. I’m heading to a place where they won’t find us.”
“Where’s that?”
“Devil’s Canyon.”
Devil’s Canyon was a dirt bike enthusiast’s heaven. Rolling dirt hills, devoid of any man-made objects, for miles. Four-wheeled vehicles didn’t do well in Devil’s Canyon. Even Land Rovers and Jeeps struggled. There were plenty of caves as well to hide in should someone spot them. At this time of day, everything was quiet. But by four o’clock, Devil’s Canyon would be humming with the buzz of two-stroke engines. It was two o’clock and they needed to be gone before all the riders descended there.
In this vast expanse of space, Cal knew his dirt biking skills would serve him well. The only potential pit fall was the long chain-link fence that served as a surprisingly secure perimeter for the back property of Cloverdale Industries, nearly two miles away. But riding toward it would be pointless anyway, like running upstairs in a horror movie to escape the slow-walking villain.
Cal drove toward his favorite cave to provide some cover from the blazing sun and to hide from any curious onlookers. He helped Kelly off first before putting down his kickstand and climbing off the bike.
Kelly shook for two minutes after getting off the bike.
“Cal, we are in way over our heads,” she finally muttered.
Cal said nothing and shook his head. He was scared, but equally perplexed over why someone wanted to kill him. What did I do? What secret am I close to?
“What are we gonna do?”
Kelly needed answers. She needed assurance. Tough and tender. She was both, but her tough side was curled up in a corner wishing that their near-death experience was nothing more than a bad dream. It wasn’t.
Cal collected his thoughts and finally began to give Kelly something else she needed: a plan.
“I think we should lay low for an hour or so and then try to get back to town. Maybe we can call Guy.”
“Are you crazy? He’ll fire you if he finds out what happened. He’ll jump to the conclusion that you were doing what he told you not to do and then tell you to take a hike. A storm cloud of suspicion was already forming over you before this happened.”
“You’re right. The problem is there’s only one person in this town that I trust at the moment—and that’s you.”
Cal pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. He had no cell tower coverage anyway, so the idea was moot.
“If we’re gone long, there’s going to be an all-out hunt for us. You remember what happened when the Atkins’ girl wandered off her family’s ranch? There was a team of more than 100 people combing the hills for her. They’re going to come looking for us like that.”
“That might not be such a bad idea.”
“Or it could be a terrible thing. More tha
n one person in this town seems intent on keeping the truth buried.”
“OK, OK. Let’s just think about what plan of action makes the most sense.”
The next 10 minutes were an exercise in futility. The beginning of an idea would be proffered only to be instantly shot down. Just like their investigation, they were going nowhere.
Then Cal stopped.
“Do you hear that?” he said, squinting south toward the direction of the main road leading into Devil’s Canyon.
“Yeah, it sounds like some dirt bikes are headed this way.”
Kelly joined him in peering out across the dirt hills, searching for the first glimpse of another rider. The westerly prevailing winds thrashed the desert dirt floor and carried the faint sounds of a motorcycle.
In a matter of seconds, it was clear the bike was headed toward their location. Cal wasn’t sure if he wanted to solicit the help of a stranger or not. He wanted to see his potential aid first before making a decision.
The buzzing engine got louder and louder. Cal could tell there was more than one bike. Neither he nor Kelly moved, almost holding their breaths. They were both hoping for someone who could help.
Finally, about 400 yards away, a bike appeared. But it wasn’t what Cal and Kelly were hoping for.
The first of the two armed gunmen was barreling toward them.
CHAPTER 30
“GET ON NOW!” CAL screamed, straddling the bike and stomping on the kick start.
Kelly almost beat him to the bike. Cal revved the engine and released the clutch, hoping to minimize the distance their assailants could gain before coming up with a good escape plan.
Cal looked over his shoulder. They were 300 yards away and closing. Cal’s bike still hadn’t reached top speed, and his pursuers obviously had several hundred yards back. Kelly pulled close. Cal headed west.
With nothing for several miles in either direction, Cal’s goal was to make it to the edge of the wooded area with enough vegetation to hide out. It wasn’t a fail-proof plan, but it was a plan.
Now they were getting dangerously close. Only two more miles to go. Cal wondered if he could make it to the woods with enough time to hide?
Over the next mile and a half, Cal gauged that the pursuers hadn’t gained much ground. Cal then began shouting his idea over his shoulder to Kelly.
With about 50 yards to go, Cal noticed that the back perimeter fence of Cloverdale Industries adjacent to the wooded area had a sizeable hole beneath it. The only problem was an eight-foot-deep creek bed that was about six feet across and presented a moderate challenge to reaching the other side. They could try to lay low in the brush and hope the gunmen didn’t find them. Or they could try to jump across the creek.
As Cal quickly surveyed the approaching woods, leaping across the creek seemed like their best option. He instructed Kelly on what to do.
The gunmen were still pursuing them at full speed.
Cal drove 30 yards into the woods, sufficient to obstruct the closing gunmen’s view with thick brush. He and Kelly jumped off the bike. Cal revved the engine and shoved it in the opposite direction, hoping to gain a few more valuable seconds for their getaway.
They ran to the edge of the bank. Kelly gasped.
“I don’t think I can do this, Cal.”
“Don’t think about how far across it is right now. Just jump. Come on.”
Cal backed up a few steps for a running start and leaped, landing on the other side of the bank with relative ease.
The engines buzzed louder with each passing second.
“Come on, Kelly. Trust me. You can do this.”
Kelly tossed her backpack over to Cal and backed up a few steps. Cal looked east through the woods and saw the gunmen within about five seconds of reaching the woods. Kelly took off running.
As Kelly reached the lip of the bank, she stepped too far out on the edge. The loose dirt gave way and Kelly went feet first into the creek.
The small splash she made in the ankle-deep water was inaudible to the gunmen, who were still on their motorcycles and combing the area where Cal had shoved the bike. They never heard her or her colorful language.
“Come on, Kelly. Give me your hand,” Cal said barely above a whisper.
Kelly sloshed across the creek toward Cal’s outstretched hand. Cal could only monitor her progress with his peripheral vision as he never lost sight of the gunmen. He had to save Kelly but he also had to tell this story, one no one would ever hear about it if they were murdered in the woods. If Statenville treated their deaths like they had the deaths of the three teenagers, nobody would ever care about how these two reporters died—nor would anyone ever discover the truth. There would be no TV news special to answer the unexplainable disappearance of two up-and-coming journalists.
Cal heard the men yelling at one another. Their bikes idled as they fanned out and searched on foot. They still failed to look in the direction of the creek.
“Hurry up, Kelly!”
For Cal, each second lasted as long as a day of typing obituaries.
Kelly finally made it to Cal. She grabbed his hand tightly as he hoisted her slender frame up an additional three feet and onto the other bank.
“Go, go, go,” Cal said, shoving Kelly underneath the fence.
Cal continued to keep watch as she crawled onto Cloverdale Industries property. Once she was through, Cal began slithering backward under the fence. The gunmen then turned off their bikes but continued to search in other directions.
As Cal began to get up, Kelly delivered a swift kick to his leg. “You forgot my bag!” she whispered.
While Cal preferred to escape with his life first in order to tell the story, he figured no one would believe him if he didn’t have proof. He shimmied about halfway through before using his long arms to reach for Kelly’s camera bag and pull it back with him.
As Cal was pulling the bag underneath the fence, one of the bag’s elastic strings caught on the fence and caused the fence to clang as the string snapped free. The noise didn’t go unnoticed.
“Over there!” one of the gunmen shouted.
“Go, Kelly, go!”
Cloverdale Industries maintained pristine landscaping. For this successful multi-level marketing company, no expense was too great to project the appearance of wealth. After all, that was the lure of drawing people in to sell their products. Sell enough organic detergent, cleaners and liquid magnesium to your friends and you too can live in the lap of luxury. That nauseating idea permeated Statenville, but it served Cal and Kelly at the moment.
The southwest corner of the property contained about an acre of densely wooded area thanks to a heavy irrigation effort by Cloverdale. It provided ample cover for Cal and Kelly.
“When we get to the edge of these woods, we’ve got to sprint as fast as we can to the corner of the loading dock,” Cal instructed. This wasn’t his first time on the property. Cal covered Cloverdale Industries on a regular basis and was always making trips to the corporate headquarters to get the latest story.
“Got it,” Kelly said.
They were near the edge of the woods and about 200 yards away from the unoccupied loading docks when Cal heard the chain link fence rattle. The gunmen were now on the property too.
Cal could hear the men furiously combing the area, yelling back and forth to one another. He was still terrified, but maintained a clear head about what he needed to do to keep Kelly safe. It was the only thing he could do. His adrenaline surged.
Cal pointed to Kelly where they were headed, choosing to remain silent. But it didn’t matter.
“There they are!” one of the gunmen yelled, simultaneously taking off on a dead sprint.
Cal and Kelly didn’t hesitate. They reached top speed in about 10 strides and didn’t look back. . . until the shots rang out.
BANG! BANG!
Cal hit the ground.
CHAPTER 31
“WHY CAN’T ANYTHING EVER run smoothly around here?” Gold barked into the phone. �
�Call me when you’ve taken care of them.”
“Yes, sir,” responded the caller.
Running the city of Statenville was simple for Gold. He told people what to do and they did it. In a small town with a larger than average budget, it was easy.
Keeping the city’s dark secret hidden was an intricate web of complexity. He continued to suppress his grief. Riley’s death didn’t come as a total shock to the Gold family. Nathan and his wife had known for a couple of months that Riley had begun dabbling in drugs, but they chose to ignore it. They never thought he would end up dead.
But that was the nature of Statenville’s secret. It chose justification to assuage the town’s collective conscience—the few who knew there was a secret to keep. Most people were oblivious to what was happening. Gold and his inner circle decided a long time ago to keep it that way. The fewer people who knew, the less chance a conscientious objector would one day come forward; that and the fact that they were all paid handsomely. Sometimes it meant blood was on their hands, but blood money didn’t seem so bad when there was so much of it, enough to buy oneself a perfect life in Mayberry West.
Gold fingered a picture of Riley and stared out his office window. Maybe this secret isn’t worth it. But then he looked around at what he had created, what Statenville was. It was costly, but it was most definitely worth it. Instead of becoming a virtual ghost town with a national failing economy, it was a boomtown. People were employed. They were happy. They were living a real dream. Did they really care where the money came from?
Those people never had a chance to decide if it was worth it. They never even knew. It was decided for them by Gold. They were but pawns in an elaborate get-rich scheme that was so flush with cash it opted to line the empty pockets of anyone who dared question them. It was much better than murdering them – and it raised less eyebrows than dead bodies. Everyone had a price. Almost everyone. There were always exceptions.
Cal Murphy had become an exception.
CHAPTER 32
GUY HUNG UP THE phone. Another grilling from Mr. Mendoza. Another order to tone down the coverage of the three teens’ deaths in Wednesday’s edition of The Register. Today, he truly felt like nothing more than a managing editor. No real decisions to make, just ensure people did what they were told.
Under Your Skin: A Thriller (A Cal Murphy Thriller) Page 8