Under Your Skin: A Thriller (A Cal Murphy Thriller)

by J. R. Chartrand

  Walker had grown impatient waiting for Gold to make a mistake. Over the past five years, Walker and Mercer had amassed a small library’s worth of information on the location and movement of Gold’s Cloverdale Industries. But the FBI did not embed the pair just to bust Gold – they wanted Gold and everybody that was with him. And that included people selling and moving Cloverdale’s drugs on the streets and across state lines. The FBI wanted an epic headline—and Walker was going to give it to them.

  But when Walker began tinkering with chemical formulas to tag drugs, Mercer urged him to look elsewhere for ideas. But Walker was undaunted and eventually Mercer relented. The FBI had shut down this particular research program for good reason – all the animals that were undergoing testing were dying horrific and painful deaths. Monkeys were almost ripping themselves apart and dying. Dogs scratched and clawed themselves to death. Officials determined it was a good idea in theory but one that lacked the ethical standard to be tested on humans.

  Walker thought he knew better. His minor in chemistry gave him just enough knowledge to be dangerous – and to test the boundaries of what well-trained professional chemists within the bureau had determined was impossible. At first when Walker coerced Mercer to start inserting his chemicals into the drug batches, it was impossible to track the distribution locations of the drugs. Walker wasn’t using enough to track an entire shipment. He needed to wreak enough havoc to ensure that it would show up on the CDC’s radar. But it was impossible to control his portion, the small batch he had inserted into a shipment.

  That’s when he had the idea to mix the marker chemical into a batch of drugs he found in Riley Gold’s car. The coaching staff knew there were a few players on the team who had recently started doing drugs, so Riley was an easy target. Walker thought he and Mercer would be able to observe Riley and any other teammates dumb enough to try the drug. But Walker never considered the fact that his chemical compound might kill people, despite Mercer’s rational warnings. Now, Mercer was the remaining harbinger of convicting information regarding Gold – as well as the only person still alive who played a part in the death of Gold's son.

  Walker had done Mercer no favors with his rush to make a splash for the bureau, but for now, Mercer was safe. He was careful to separate himself from Walker, both in the ever-watchful public eye of Statenville and with the bureau. Mercer needed to talk with Cal. Mercer needed to make sure the right story was going to come out in the news media, one that made him a hero, not a villian. Sure, he had participated in heinous acts, but he wasn't like Walker. Mercer was for good and he wanted Cal to write the story that way.

  He called Cal again and this time left a voice mail:

  “Cal, I’m really worried about you. We need to talk ASAP. Please don’t report this story until I can get you what you need to make this story a blockbuster – a confession by Gold.”

  If the FBI wanted headlines, Mercer was going to give it to them. He wasn’t about to let all his work in Statenville be in vain.

  CHAPTER 58

  CAL FROZE BENEATH THE tarp. Kelly did the same. Yukon had killed the engine. Still unsure of why they were stopped, Cal and Kelly’s bewilderment ended when a train whistle ripped through the cool night air, piercing the silence. Cal knew exactly where they were.

  “Kelly, when this truck starts moving, we’re going to make a run for it,” Cal whispered to Kelly, who appeared rather calm considering that they both might be just a few minutes away from a gruesome death. “You go over your side of the truck bed and I’ll go over mine. I’m pretty sure I know where we are – and if I’m right, we are stopped between two cornfields. If we run in opposite directions as hard as we can, Yukon won’t be able to catch us both.”

  “Then what?” Kelly asked.

  “Find a ride to Salt Lake and meet me at The Tribune offices downtown. We’ll figure out what to do next.”

  “Are you sure this will work?”

  Cal lied. “Like a dream.”

  Kelly craned her neck toward Cal and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Though it was short, Cal was still stunned by the forward move from a woman who hadn’t given any clear signals about her feelings for him.

  “For good luck,” Kelly whispered.

  Cal knew it was more than that as he leaked a smile.

  The final train car rumbled through the crossing and Yukon fired up his engine. As Cal and Kelly felt Yukon jamming the truck into gear and easing onto the gas, they both enacted Cal’s plan, diving over the edge and sprinting into cornfields on opposite sides of the road. Neither looked back, but they could hear Yukon speeding away without a second thought. Within a minute, the summer air fell silent. Yukon was gone.

  Cal knew he didn’t have much time to find his way to a barn or silo to hide out until morning. Mayor Gold was likely to wake up the entire county and form an all-out search party for him and Kelly. But considering the distance they had covered and the fact that Yukon never checked on them, Cal felt like his chances of finding a safe haven were higher than Gold’s men finding him first.

  Nevertheless, Cal’s speculation about what might happen once Yukon realized his truck bed was empty didn’t assuage Cal’s motivating factor at the moment: pure fear for his life. Two minutes after he had jumped out of the truck, Cal was still sprinting through the cornfield. Crisp leaves smacked him in the face, chest and legs as he churned through the soft Idaho soil. It was a simple task: one foot in front of the other as fast he could move it – then repeat. The faint sound of crickets chirping was drowned out by the furious noise of flesh slapping an endless parade of leaves. Swish, swish, swish. It was rhythmic. Yet it was a weak beat compared to Cal’s heart, a heart pounding so hard that he just knew if he looked down at his chest he would’ve seen the outline of it pulsing through his shirt. But there was no time for that either.

  Scanning the sky beyond the towering cornstalks, Cal noticed the faint outline of a barn. Now, he had a destination. Swish, swish, swish.

  Twenty seconds later, Cal tore out of the field and slowed to catch his breath. He then crept toward the barn, hoping that no guard dogs would attack him. They didn’t. The barn was a storage shed for hay, a standalone structure that separated the cornfield from a pasture. Hay bails were stacked to the rafters. The place was perfect.

  Cal exhaled. He had made it – for now. Yukon wouldn’t find him here. Not tonight anyway.

  As Cal began building a small fortress out of the bails as a precautionary measure, he wondered about Kelly. Did she make it too? Is she as fortunate as me? Then he hoped for the best and pondered whether Kelly’s kiss really was more than just a peck on the cheek. It felt like it to him, but maybe that’s because he wanted it to be more. He spent a few more minutes thinking about it before shutting off his mind and going to sleep. His journey was far from over. With the powerful Mayor Gold unleashed, Cal knew danger was still crouching at the door.

  CHAPTER 59

  GOLD COULDN’T SLEEP. Refusing to show any emotion but anger despite his son’s death, Gold’s nerves became more frayed by the minute. And his anger grew. Tonight, he had already looked into the eyes of one man he considered his friend and killed him. Could he kill two more?

  Gold decided he needed to oversee this final loose end himself. While he trusted Yukon with the darkest secrets Statenville and Cloverdale Industries held, he wanted to see the two reporters’ dead bodies at the bottom of Cold River Canyon for himself. No more wondering what surprises would come his way the next day. This was going to end tonight.

  Sitting in his car at the end of a dirt road in Cold River Canyon, Gold tapped his steering wheel as he awaited Yukon’s arrival. He took another pull on the flask that he brought with him. Gold could be cold hearted, but even he needed help to get up the nerve to kill more than one person in a night. It wouldn’t be the first time he had done this – but it had been a long time.

  Gold slowly shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the nightmare scenario running through his mind that h
is empire would be busted. This wasn’t what he wanted. He was tired of the killing, the dirty work that sucked away a portion of his soul with each person he murdered. It was why he left Boston. He couldn’t escape a life of crime, but he could escape the murder. To Gold, selling drugs was a simple transaction, an exchange of cash for a product. What the buyers did with the drugs was up to them. He at least hoped they used and enjoyed it responsibly. But why anyone would want to do drugs was a mystery to Gold. Like any good businessman, he saw the need and created a way to supply product to meet the demand. Because dealing drugs was criminal, it required the extra level of difficulty that came naturally to Gold. For several years, he had masterminded the best crime scenario he could’ve ever imagined – filthy rich, no dirty work, and nobody poking their noses around his business.

  But Cal and Kelly changed all that. They couldn’t accept the coroner’s report and leave well enough alone. Three teenagers overdosed on the same batch of drugs. Obviously the drugs were bad, which led to their deaths, right? No need to whip up some conspiracy out of thin air just to sell a few newspapers. The whole town consumed every word in every edition of the paper. This was never about selling newspapers.

  Now Gold had to find his mayhem moxie and stamp out this substantial threat, Scarelli style. There wasn’t going to be a trace left of them – not because Gold was vengeful; he learned a long time ago that vengeance got you nowhere. No, Gold disposed of dead bodies as a necessary precaution. He wasn’t going to get pinned for someone’s murder. He was likely to be a suspect or a “person of interest” should a full-blown murder investigation commence by outside law enforcement agencies. But Gold wouldn’t be seriously implicated. He had slipped up five years ago by reverting back to his former self and inserting a gold coin into a victim’s mouth. But he vowed not to do it again, ceasing to carry gold coins in his pocket so he could resist the temptation. He didn’t want the FBI crawling all over his backyard. For Gold, a quiet crime was the best crime.

  With his windows rolled down to take advantage of the cool summer breeze, Gold heard the sound of truck tires ripping down a dirt road. The glow of headlights illuminated the back of a boulder just off to the left of the road, announcing Yukon’s impending arrival. The lights then beamed into Gold’s car, getting larger as Yukon sped toward Gold. The truck skidded to a stop as a cloud of dust rushed by Gold.

  Gold scrambled out of his car, anxious to put an end to his misery. The bodies of two dead reporters would do that for him.

  ***

  Yukon climbed out of his truck and ambled toward the back of the bed where he met Gold.

  “So, let’s see them, Yukon,” said Gold, dispensing with any formal greeting.

  Yukon smiled and reached down to pull the tarp back but stopped himself cold. His smile morphed into a frown in a nanosecond, followed by a rant that included screaming and swearing. Four sacks of potatoes held down the bottom tarp; the top tarp layer was nowhere to be seen. Gold began seething.

  “How could you let this happen, Yukon? Where did they escape?”

  Yukon said nothing. He was busy retracing his steps, trying to think of where Cal and Kelly could’ve possibly escaped from his truck. A long and intense day of driving had likely left Yukon’s timeline jumbled – well, that and the four beers he had chugged since capturing the pair. He couldn’t come up with any theories – so he wisely offered none.

  Yukon realized Gold had driven out to the canyon to see Cal and Kelly die firsthand. He knew his inability to keep his captives subdued let a once-manageable situation evolve into a more dangerous one – at least, dangerous in the sense that Cloverdale Industries could be exposed. Now they would be much more difficult to find.

  Gold let out his anger on Yukon’s truck, kicking the tires and slamming the side of the truck with his fist. He unleashed a few more rhetorical questions on Yukon, who stayed silent through the tirade. After a few minutes, Gold finished letting out his frustration with a final kick along the ground that sent pebbles flying through the air.

  “Go find them, Yukon – and if you don’t, don’t bother coming back to Statenville.”

  Yukon knew Gold was serious. There was no more money to exchange hands, even if he was successful. So instead of launching a search that would have to extend multiple counties all the way to the Idaho border, Yukon decided to go home and pack his bags. If he was lucky, he might escape with his life. He would disappear. He was good at that, being a professional grifter, one who could undoubtedly find an employer in another town willing to pay for his services. Dead reporters or not, Yukon was through with Gold, Cloverdale Industries and Statenville. He knew he wouldn’t miss it. There was no use being loyal to a man whose loyalty only extended as far as your usefulness to him.

  CHAPTER 60

  EVEN THE FIRST RAYS of sunshine weren’t enough to wake Cal the next morning. Or the diesel engine of a John Deere 70 sputtering on the highway nearby. Or the barking dogs across the road. But he stirred when his iPhone buzzed, alerting him that he had a text message.

  My phone!

  In his rush to escape the night before, Cal had almost forgotten Yukon neglected to take his phone. He clamored to an upright position, brushing stray pieces of hay off of him before stretching. Waking up quickly wasn’t a problem when adrenaline began coursing through his body again the moment he remembered why he slept in a barn as opposed to his bed. That and the lovely farm aroma wafting into the barn from the pasture just outside. Cal was wide awake.

  He glanced down at the text message on his phone.

  where r u?

  Cal pounded back his answer in text script. He was east of the road where they had escaped, staying in a barn at the edge of the cornfield.

  Cal waited a moment and then his phone buzzed again.

  I’ll b right there

  Wondering how she would “be right there,” Cal responded with a quick “awesome” and then began formulating a few plans to help them survive the day. And if they were lucky, maybe he and Kelly could write an article on the FBI’s dirty little secret – and the truth behind Cloverdale Industries and Mayor Gold. It was difficult to see this idea becoming a reality in a timely manner, one that could happen before a deadline somewhere in the next 24 hours. But that thought remained secondary to survival – and surviving meant figuring out a way to leverage their knowledge of Cloverdale Industries and turning it into asylum. But Cal kept hitting mental dead ends. Maybe it was because he had yet to have his morning cup of coffee, something else that seemed unlikely given his current situation. Or maybe it was because Gold’s stranglehold on the entire city of Statenville made it impossible to conceive of a plausible way to remove the bounty on his head. Either way, Cal was frustrated.

  As promised, Cal looked up after about five minutes and saw a white delivery box truck bouncing along the farm road ruts toward the barn. A simple logo adorned both sides of the truck: Infinger Farms. The “i” in the middle of Infinger was a milk bottle with an apple over the top. Kelly had a big smile on her face, but the young farmhand driving the truck didn’t share in her excitement.

  The truck came to a stop just outside the barn, the engine still running. Cal approached the passenger side door where Kelly was climbing out.

  “What in the world is this?” Cal asked, stunned at Kelly’s resourcefulness. He had figured getting to Salt Lake would be an all-day affair. Could they really be going in a delivery truck?

  “This is Infinger Farms’ delivery truck – and this is T.J., who just so happens to be making a delivery of milk to an organic market in Salt Lake this morning.”

  “How did you find this?”

  “Pure luck. I ran through the cornfield until I came to a clearing, which happened to be the edge of Infinger Farms’ dairy complex. Mr. Infinger was checking on a sick cow when I came racing out of the field. At first he was cautious when I started telling him my story, then he eventually warmed up to me and realized I needed help. He took me to his house and let me stay in their g
uest room. And then this morning, after Mrs. Infinger cooked me a hearty country breakfast, Mr. Infinger offered to let us ride down to Salt Lake with T.J. So, here we are.”

  “What luck!”

  “I even brought you a cup of coffee.”

  “You’re an angel. Let’s get moving. We’ve still got a lot to figure out.”

  Cal and Kelly climbed into the truck before Cal and T.J. formally introduced themselves to one another. Then they were on their way.

  For the first 30 minutes of the drive, Cal and Kelly discussed strategies. They finally agreed upon a way they could gain leverage on Gold. The remaining two hours were spent talking about other fun outdoor adventures. None rivaled running for their lives the night before, but it was a nice diversion from the intensity of trying to survive a man – and town – bent on shoveling dirt on your grave as soon as possible.

  At 11 a.m., the delivery truck rolled to a stop outside the steps of The Tribune offices.

  “I think this is your stop,” T.J. announced, anxious to get the giddy pair out of his truck.

  After wishing him well, Cal and Kelly strode through the front doors and asked to see an editor. But not just any editor, the editor. The secretary met their request with disdain, shooting a “you guys know nothing about newspapers” glance at them. She dialed an extension anyway, confident they would be shooed away like pesky flies at a picnic. But she was wrong.

  “OK, I’ll send them right up,” she said.

  She hung up and asked them to sign in on the visitor’s log.