The Hand of Mercy (A Porter Brown Journey)

by Wells, Tobin

  "Did you?" asked Holland.

  "Yeah, and it didn’t strike me as anything out of the norm until your third trip in just a week. I knew it had to be more than the investigation of your office.” Feeling more confident in his verbal attack, Porter assumed a condescending tone, “And were you so arrogant as to believe that there was only one entrance into the mine you should worry about? This is the narcotics business, you dumb shit. If you don't know your enemy, you're dead. And guess what? I know you. I've played this chess game out in my head a hundred times, and I will own you. Or more accurately, I will let the Zetas own you. They just invested millions in your so called fail-proof operation and now only the mine is smoking their product. Plus, the fire has drawn the attention of every local volunteer firefighter and the National Guard, not to mention all the busybodies down there with nothing better to do than to talk about the weather, sports and any little bit of external excitement. A fire from inside an abandoned mine will likely do the trick.” With one last dig, Porter added, “I’d say it won't be long until the Feds start to ask you some very uncomfortable questions.”

  Ignoring this last statement, Holland calmly asked, “So you came in through a vent shaft and paid off one or more of the men to spray the interior?”

  “Does it really matter?” answered Porter. “However I did it and whoever helped me are the least of your worries. Knowing that won't change what the Zetas do to you."

  “You’re a dead man,” Holland promised as he paused to carefully choose his words.

  As he did, Porter received a text on his other phone. "I'm hungry." The words were Paloma's. Being the refined daughter of Mexico's most elite class, she could not bring herself to outright ask for her carnal needs to be fulfilled. "Really hungry," she texted again. "You coming back soon?"

  Porter began to respond when Holland started speaking again. “But unlike you, I won’t use your patron cartel as your agent of death. No,” Holland emphasized, “I will let your inner torment rob you of life.”

  Allowing Porter a few seconds to digest his meaning, Holland continued. “You know Porter, we’re actually very similar. When you flipped the coin of life to decide your fate, you didn’t come up on the righteous side as you think. No, you landed on the same dark side as I did."

  "We've both been quite successful in our chosen life's work by uncovering the despicable aspects of others and using that to complete us. I use my knowledge of others’ unseemly proclivities to, shall we say, endear them to me. You on the other hand, use what you learn to physically assault or murder the deviants in our world. And yes, it is murder, whether you think you are justified or not in ending those lives.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” asked Porter in a panicked tone he hoped Holland did not detect.

  “Come now, Porter. Let's talk freely about what we know. You somehow discovered the power I’ve amassed is from knowing and exploiting the series of poor choices others have made and then getting them to do my bidding. And I know you are a punisher.” The words dripped from his lips as though they were the first poison droplets in Porter’s chalice. “Especially of those who like sweet, innocent, little girls.

  Since you showed your face to me, I’ve been sewing the tapestry of your life’s work from the disparate fibers of carnage you’ve left throughout our nation. And I must say, it is quite impressive. But seriously, what were you thinking coming to the Black Curtain? And worse, you enticed me sexually and then left me blue balled. That was your first mistake,” Holland said as an instructor chastising his pupil. “And it only takes one.”

  Holland again permitted Porter a few moments to feel the weight of his discovery, then continued his lesson with more bravado. “Let me display my prosecutorial skills, will you?” With no response from Porter, Holland said. “After you left me in need of a cold shower, I suspected you were more than just a bar fly who got scared. But you left absolutely no trail to follow. And then fate allowed us to attend the same charity function in Chicago where your lovely Paloma dedicated a song to you. You know I could not have scripted it any better. With the name Porter Brown, I dug as deeply as my resources would take me. And as West Virginia's chief law enforcement officer, I have deep resources.”

  “Now as important as having your name was, having your lovely Paloma’s name was even better. That sweet piece of ass connected you to Don Mario and the Sinaloas. But what would connect a Chicago trader to the daughter of the largest Mexican cartel's boss? Was it just chance that you met when she was in law school? I wasn’t sure. So I thought I would run that lead down, even if it took me a while. But it didn't. Turns out when Mazatlan locals are handed $100 bills for information about the Peréz family, you start getting really interesting stories, really fast. Such as their youngest daughter being rescued by a Gringo named Porter who's some kind of self-made hero...who can't stand seeing little girls abused.

  And there was the missing piece," Holland said victoriously. "From that single item of information of how you killed four men while saving Renata, I fit so much of your life together. I played a hunch and started looking for patterns of unsolved murders with those known or suspected of being in the sex trade, specifically child trafficking. And you know what I found? Of course you do,” pronounced Holland. “I found a shit ton of those all across the country. No pattern to any of them. No motive; nobody giving a fuck if some kiddie pimp was killed. That was brilliant, Porter. Brilliant. And from what I can tell, you started all this vigilante bullshit in Chicago around 1994. Sound about right?”

  Porter’s mind was on fire. His anonymity was completely undone. Why the hell did I seek revenge, he thought. At least he hasn’t discovered Jennifer…yet. A cold sweat extinguished the flames of his mind as he desperately wanted to text Paloma to get to safety.

  Holland continued, “But why you sought me out in Charleston still puzzles me. I have a fairly good idea of your movement since 1998, but it must be that I did something to you, or someone you love, before then. Whatever my transgression was, it had to be very personal for you to disregard your rules and hunt me like you were on some fucking safari.” He paused again, waiting for any reaction from Porter. With none, Holland set the trap. “Before amassing my political clout, I had to be very careful with my socially unacceptable sexual encounters. But now that I am the power, I can use my office to protect me. And who knows, maybe I’ll arrange another meeting with your family member.”

  “Go to Hell!” barked Porter uncontrollably.

  “That’s it,” sneered Holland, knowing he had snared his prey. Maniacally, Holland laughed out his next words, “Do you feel that, Porter? Do you feel that tugging on your arms and legs? That’s me drawing the strings and making you my puppet.”

  Porter was silent.

  Holland softly continued his taunting, “Well, it had to be before 1994. Let’s just say I went on hiatus from engaging those less than willing partners at that time because my political career was blossoming. But determining which will be difficult.” Holland said before delivering his next words even more slowly, “Do you know why?”

  Porter responded with great injury in his voice, “Because there were too many.”

  "Exactly,” said Holland in a hyper-excited tone. “There were just too many. From street whores, to teen boys and little girls, I have a history of depravity too vast to know who you're angry over. But I'll tell you this Porter, I never went easy. Whoever it was, he or she hurt for weeks.”

  Porter immediately hung up and whispered, “Jennifer.”

  Chapter 16

  Confession

  April 2012

  “Jennifer?” Porter shouted into the phone.

  “Yes. Glenn is that you?”

  “Yeah. I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

  “Ok, what’s wrong?”

  “There are some really bad guys who may show up at your house or work.”

  Jennifer cut him off, “What are you talking about Glenn?”

  “Listen! I
need you to trust me and follow my instructions exactly. Can you do that?”

  “I guess. Yeah,” she said, bewildered at her brother’s frantic demand.

  “Ok, where are you right now?”

  “In Barboursville. At the mall.”

  “All right. Get in your car and drive right now to the Cincinnati airport.”

  “Cincinnati,” she protested. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Jenny,” Porter yelled, “This is not a joke! Get in your car now and go to Cincinnati! I will have a ticket for you on Southwest to D.C. at 6:20 p.m. When you get to D.C. I've arranged for a driver from the Centennial limousine company to drive you to Winchester, Virginia. That’s right on the border of Northern Virginia and West Virginia. The driver is going to drop you at the McDonald’s on exit 315 off of Interstate 81. My guy, Luis Gomez, will meet you there and drive you to my farm near Dolly Sods.”

  Jennifer interrupted, “Glenn, you are scaring me. And since when do you have a farm at Dolly Sods?”

  “Jenny, you have got to trust me. Are you walking to your car now?” Porter asked.

  “I’m in it as we speak," she answered.

  “Ok. You’ve got two hours to Cincy, so let me explain…and you can never repeat this to anyone. Do you understand? It's a matter of life or death.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jennifer screamed.

  “So you know when I ran away, my note said it was because I felt like it was my fault that Mom left and I couldn’t take the guilt?”

  “Yes,” answered Jennifer tentatively.

  “Well, it wasn’t Mom that I felt guilty over.” Porter paused, mustering his strength.

  "Glenn?" asked Jenny.

  “I know what James Holland did to you.”

  Jennifer offered nothing. Her silence ate at Porter just as it had every day since Holland had attacked her. “Jen?” asked Porter.

  “Yeah,” came her meek reply.

  “I know what happened in his office at the church when he was one of the pastors,” his voice broke off as the emotion overwhelmed him. “Jen, I heard you scream in there and I did nothing. I stood there frozen and I didn't do a thing." Porter heard nothing but the emptiness of her driving. "I am so sorry, Jenny.”

  “I didn’t think anyone knew about that,” Jen responded in a barely audible tone.

  “I did,” said Porter mournfully. “And I was a coward. I should've busted down his door and saved you…but I didn't and it wrecked me. Both of us. Because of that failure I dedicated my life to doing whatever I could to keep others from going through that same abuse.”

  “What do you mean, Glenn?”

  “I mean,” answered Porter, “I have spent the past twenty years tracking bastards who abuse others and I either beat the shit out of them or…”

  “Or what?” demanded Jennifer.

  “Or I kill them,” he said coldly.

  The silence now emanated from both ends of the phone.

  "Really?" she asked.

  "Really," he responded.

  “But why?”

  “Because no one ever came to your rescue,” said Porter.

  “How do you know?" Jennifer questioned. "You were gone."

  “I kept tabs on the family. The very first person I met in Chicago was a waitress named Connie Lazarus who took me in and became a big sister to me. She knew I was desperate to find out how you all were doing. So she came up with this plan to take a weekend trip to Winfield, even though she could hardly afford to take any time off. Remember when Granny and Grampy were selling lots on their property to fund their retirement?”

  “Yes,” answered Jennifer.

  “Well, I told Connie about that and she made up some story about being interested in buying a lot. When they told her the price, she said she couldn’t afford it, but she needed to find a way to stay around. So she asked Granny about her garden and that was all it took.

  After several hours touring her garden and learning more about canning than she thought possible, Granny invited Connie for dinner and then asked her to go to church with them the next day. She ended up visiting twice a year for ten years. That’s how I learned about Holland’s political career and just about everything else I wanted to know."

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said in disbelief.

  “Not at all,” answered Porter. “She became a good friend to the family. I think she even had Easter dinner with you back in 1998.”

  “Wait,” said Jennifer urgently, “We never met anyone named Connie Lazarus."

  "How about Susan Jones?" asked Porter.

  "Susan Jones from Milwaukee?” she asked, just as her mind caught up to Porter's implication. “Susan Jones is Connie Lazarus?”

  “One and the same,” said Porter with a slight lift in his voice.

  “She was amazing. Do you know that when the bank almost took Grampy’s land from him, she stepped in and bought the whole property…all 1,000 acres. And then she sold it back to him the same day for $1.”

  “I did,” said Porter.

  “But how could she do that?” asked Jennifer. “You said she couldn’t afford to take off a weekend of work. How did she pay off a $900,000 loan like it was nothing and then basically give it back to Granny and Grampy?”

  “She has a network of exceptionally wealthy traders in Chicago. She probably got the funds from them,” added Porter.

  “And were you one of those traders Glenn?” asked Jennifer, certain she knew the answer.

  “I may have been somewhat involved,” laughed Porter.

  Wanting to know more about the rest of his life than the details of the loan forgiveness, Jennifer continued, “So the stories you told us at Thanksgiving were complete lies?”

  “Not totally,” interjected Porter. “I do live mostly in Chicago and that is where I ran away to, but most everything else wasn't true. Well, except for the part about me never being married or having kids. But you gotta believe me, I only did it to protect you. I didn’t want to take a chance that any of you would get caught up in my world if somehow I got pinched.”

  “So...how many?” asked Jennifer.

  “How many what?”

  “How many have you killed?”

  “Listen,” added Porter, “the less you know about that part of me, the better. The reason I am having you get out of town so fast, is because Holland has tracked me all the way back to 1994. And I am scared that he is going to find out who you are…and I don’t know what he’ll do if he realizes his attack on you is the reason I do what I do. Right now he knows me as a trader from Chicago named Porter Brown, not your brother Glenn Joyce.”

  “Porter?” asked Jennifer. “That’s your name? Wasn’t that one of our great-great-grandpas?”

  “Very good Jen,” said Porter. “I guess mom's interest in our family history rubbed off and I subconsciously chose it."

  "Okay Glenn, how many?" Jennifer asked again.

  Realizing Jennifer's curiosity would not be satiated without details, and that she deserved the answers, Porter relented. "I have killed many, but it didn’t start out that way. It began with me just teaching guys a lesson when they were roughing up their women. Then I found myself targeting those who were trafficking young girls. That’s when the killing began. The first was basically in self-defense. Since then it's been a choice.” Porter stopped to listen for a response.

  “Wow,” said a stunned Jennifer. “My little brother is a hit man for the abused.”

  “I guess," Porter chuckled. "I’ve never thought of it that way, but yeah, that’s me. So listen, I really have to call Paloma and make sure she is okay...”

  "Paloma?" asked Jennifer

  "My girlfriend," answered Porter. "That will take too long to explain. Let me find out where she is and then I'll call you back. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  Porter barely heard her agreement before he hung up and dialed Paloma.

  Chapter 17

  Pursuit

  April 2012

  “
Bueno,” answered Mario.

  “Hola, Mario. How are you?”

  “I’m well, Porter. And you?”

  “A little busy right now," he said without pausing. “Hey, I’ve been trying to get a hold of Paloma but I haven’t been able to. Have you heard from her lately?”

  “Actually, no. The last time I spoke with her was about a week ago.” Sensing Porter’s concern, Mario asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “The Zeta mine in West Virginia is up in flames,” he answered.

  “There is nothing wrong with that,” said a gleeful Mario.

  “You’re right, except that I spoke with Holland as the flames were engulfing the mine, thinking I could pour salt into his wounds.”

  Mario interrupted, “Instead, he opened up your flesh and set you on fire. Correct?”

  “Right,” answered Porter confused, “how did you know?”

  “Mr. Holland is a brilliant man. I’ve had him investigated and under surveillance ever since you told me about his involvement with the Zetas. They have chosen a very good partner, or more likely, he chose them. Regardless, while the Zetas have achieved criminal success through force and brutality, Holland uses his intellect, probably bordering on insanity that I have not personally encountered. Why is this?” asked Mario.

  “Because you couldn’t link him to any crime,” said Porter, already knowing the answer.

  “Correct again,” answered Mario. “There is nothing on him. And for a poor boy from the hills to have climbed the political ladder so quickly, there must be a trail of corruption. And yet there is nothing. It’s as if he wipes down everything with bleach. My assumption is that he holds those engaged in his corruption under such threat of terror that they dare not provide any details.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” said Porter. “But I can’t worry about going after him for what he has done. I have to prevent him from what he will do; specifically to Paloma or Jennifer.”

  “Why them?"

  “Because he painted a complete picture of my involvement in the elimination of all my victims...” Porter corrected himself, “no, not victims. Those monsters were guilty, and I just sped up the justice they were due. But Holland knows what kind of guys I go after. He says he has linked me to just about every incident all the way back to 1994 when I got to Chicago.” Porter paused, searching his mind to see if he believed what he was going to say next. “Fortunately he hasn't figured out that Jenny is my sister. He suspects that I am from West Virginia and that he abused someone close to me, but he hasn’t found the link to tie me there.”