by T. S. Hill
“Sure.” I answered a bit hesitantly, as I had just spent a pretty good bundle of my dwindling cash supply. What is it you want?”
“This.”, she said simply, holding up the pistol picture calendar.
“Sure, you can have that!”, I happily answered, a bit relieved. “Anything else?”
“No, just this.”, she replied. I think the calendar was ten dollars but from her excitement, you would have thought that I had bought her an expensive piece of jewelry. When we got back to the truck, she was eager to show me why.
“Look!”, she said, flipping the calendar open and folding back a calendar page, leaving the picture for me to see.
“Holy shit, Lori!”, I exclaimed, “Those look like the forty-fives that we got back at the barn.”
“They are!”, she gushed back at me, her hands were trembling. She hadn’t seemed to be so excited when I found the pistols, but now, she was all atwitter. She had me read the accompanying article on the back of the picture page. It essentially told me what I already knew, except that it confirmed that the matched set were indeed presented by General George S. Patton himself.
“Well we pretty much knew or suspected that much Lori.”, I pointed out.
“Cowboy this means that other people know about these guns too. There’s a record, photographs, they’re famous, and we have them!” “Don’t you think that’s exciting?”, she asked.
“Well, yeah, Lori, but I also find it disturbing.”
“Why disturbing Cowboy?”
“Because right now we need them for protection, and I don’t need to have to explain to the police or ATF or anybody, why I’m in possession of what amounts to stolen guns, especially famous, stolen guns. Don’t you find that prospect disturbing Lori?”
“Not really Cowboy.”, she said.
“Why not?”, I asked, somewhat exasperated.
“There’s something that I haven’t gotten around to telling you Cowboy.”, she said meekly, with her eyes looking down and a sheepish look on her face.
“What?”, I asked. What could there possibly be about you, that ties to something to do with these guns?”
“Well, Cowboy, I didn’t know if I could trust you back then, and now of course I know that I can, and even though I wasn’t in love with you back then, I was at least in lust with you.”
“What are you getting at Lori?”, I asked.
“Don’t be mad at me for not bringing this up before Cowboy?”
“I won’t be mad at you Lori.”, I answered sincerely.
“The guns aren’t stolen, Cowboy. I had never seen them before in my life and knew nothing of their existence, but they are not stolen.”
“I’m still not getting this Lori.”, I told her. “Just tell me.”
“My Mama’s maiden name was Adamson. Andrew and Lillian Adamson, were my Great Gran Pa and Great Gran Ma.”, she stated bluntly.
“Whoa! Lori! You mean... All that time... Your great grand pa’s barn? The burned house?”
“Yeah all of that, Cowboy. That’s why I have no place to go now. I would have been the fourth generation to live on that little ranch. Of course, Mom only lived there growing up, then left. I don’t know what happened to the house. I was broken hearted to find it gone, but overjoyed that there was stuff there that could see us through. I didn’t want to tie myself to the place, by telling you, and maybe later if I needed to go back there, and I didn’t want anyone finding me and stuff, but then the SOB came with his goons, and there goes the rest of it.”
“I got nothing in this world Cowboy, but you, that present in the box, and a scorched piece of earth. I got nowhere to go. Oh yeah, one other thing. I got that storage room full of evidence on that SOB and his mobster cronies. And we still have to work that out. That storage room may be worthless to us too though.”
“I don’t think it has to be that way Lori.”, I said. “We’ll work on that.” I put my arms around her and held her tight. “Are you okay?”, I asked her.
“I don’t know.”, she answered meekly. “Are you mad at me, for not sharing?”
“No, Lori, Sweetheart!”, I tried to sooth her. “I understand. I probably would have done the same thing were I in your shoes.”
“I probably would have been pissed if I were in yours.”, she offered back.
“Why?”, I asked.
“Because, I’m not you. I’m Lori, and Lori woulda got pissed.” I laughed at her, and she kissed me.
“I can’t believe the coincidence, that we wound up on your grandparents’ farm, like that. That’s actually amazing!”
“Isn’t it?”, Lori asked rhetorically. I guess it’s like you say Cowboy, when fate is on your side, karma seems to cooperate.”
“Yes, it does, Lori. Yes, it does. By the way Miss Lori, if you don’t mind and it won’t get your panties in a twist, I’d like to hang on to one of your pistols for a while”.
“Sure Cowboy. I figure that it’s in good hands. As good of hands as it can get into.” We shared another kiss and then she said, “And by the way, I’m not wearing any, remember?”
As we pulled out of the parking lot, headed back toward the interstate, and Dallas, I said. “I love karma!” She giggled and hugged my arm.
Once we were back out on the interstate, we were much more talkative than we had been so far on this trip south. As we chatted about various aspects of our pasts, Lori suddenly, remembered something, and sat upright.
“Oh, Cowboy! I guess I can show you this now, and you’ll know that I didn’t steal it.”
“What is it?”, I asked as she dug down into her purse.
“This!”, she said suddenly, holding up the silver and blue locket from the barn. “Now, this is the only thing I’ve got left of Grand Ma and Mama. It was a gift from Grand Pa to Grand Ma when my Mama got married. They all said that it looks like my Mama, and I think so too.”
“That’s great Lori! Talk about fate and karma! They just keep working together!” I was almost busting to have her open her boxed present. I thought that probably the cameo ear studs were going to perfectly match the locket. But, I decided to let the surprise bake a while before it was served up. I thought, besides getting pissed if she had been in my shoes, that letting it bake a while, would probably be just what Lori Parsons would do, because she’s Lori.
Chapter Fourteen
Not All Change is Bad Change
When one door closes another opens, but it’s never to the same room.
An hour after rolling out of Denton, we were on the outskirts of Dallas, and so was the evening rush traffic. Traffic crawled, and we crawled with it. It’s one of those situations that just is what it is, and you roll with the punches. There’s no current to swim against, you just go along, or get out and walk. Walking is the wrong choice. Whereas we had planned to be in downtown Dallas around seven, it was actually closer to eight fifteen when we reached the area. I finally found parking and fired up the throw away phone, punching in the memorized number, and waited.
After a few rings, the familiar voice came on the other end. I said two things and waited, “You know who this is. Are my goods in place?” I don’t do last minute changes, so what I heard next really pissed me off. It was my friend Al Longworth, from Houston, on the other end. He had one of his men retrieve a paper file box from a locker in Houston for me, and was supposed to have the guy have it here for me in Dallas. I was to meet him to pick up the file box, but evidently when he got to Dallas, there was trouble and he left town ASAP.
Now I was supposed to go to Waco, the Hightower Hotel, room 615. The room key would be just under the room door and a bus station locker key would be under the bed mattress. Al said his guy was freaked and had left for Houston already. I told Al that this had to be, not only some kind set up, but also a breach of insecurity in his organization, and that he needed to be careful. The problem definitely wasn’t on my end because Al, and whoever of his trusted men that he involved, were the only people that knew about the file box.
Al was still in Oklahoma City with the business that he had with Steve, and was depending on a handful of his trusted men back in Houston to handle this. He had set everything in motion by phone, when I had requested my data chip from Steve. Where to meet had been previously arranged a couple of weeks ago. The when to meet was all that Al hadn’t known, until this morning, and after his initial meeting with Steve, he had delivered the microchip to me, and then set in motion the delivery of my file box. Now there was a change, and it stank.
I really didn’t like this, but if I wanted my file box of evidence, I was going to have to wade in. I felt sure that Al’s organization had been penetrated by some of the same crime that I had been investigating. I implored Al to isolate and protect himself, until his mole could be uncovered. He simply answered, “I’m on it!” He must have been already suspicious to some degree, as indicated by his mention this morning, of trying to call me, and having some work for me.
When I finished with the phone, I turned it back off, and looked at Lori. She knew something was wrong by my facial expression and some of the displeasure that I expressed to Al, and my admonishing him to be careful.
“This could get really shitty Lori.”, I began. “I’m not sure the best way to handle this. I can’t leave you just hanging, and I don’t want to drag you into a dangerous, or more likely, potentially deadly, situation. At the end of the day, and until I can get this settled, you’re probably just as well off with me as my giving you cash, and putting you out on your own. After the barn, I’m not sure who Milinni thinks is dead and who he thinks is alive, and who he thinks has evidence, or anything. It’s hard to second guess what you don’t know.”
“Cowboy, I’m better off with you. I know that. No matter what comes, we’ll take it on together. I can’t make it, out there alone, no matter how much money I have.”, she explained. “Look what happened to me, even before that murdering SOB got near me. If I hadn’t been with you, I’d already probably be done under. There’s no question in my mind. I’m staying with you, and if you think otherwise, well just figure that you’re going to have a hell’uva time shaking me!”
“Lori, calm down!”, I told her. “I said already, that you’re probably just as well off with me. So, please calm down.”
“Sorry, Cowboy.”, she replied. “Just the thought of splitting from you right now, rattles me.”
“We’re here. We’re together.”, I reassured her. I reached out in the dark and found her hand and gave it a squeeze, then had to put it back on the gear shift. Straight shift has some disadvantages.
“So where to Cowboy”, she asked a little wearily.
“Waco.”, I responded. “Fucking Waco!”
“Stealing my adjective again?”, she tried to joke.
“We may as well share adjectives and adverbs too, since we definitely are sharing the same villain!”, I answered. “I hate fucking last minute changes!”, I shouted and hit the steering wheel with my fist. Lori, reached over and gently patted my thigh.
“Easy on Little Poss, Cowboy. She’s brought us this far, and we need to treat her kindly.”
“Sorry, Little Poss.”, I said, reaching for the dash panel, and lightly patting it. I chuckled.
“You’re a piece of work, Lori Parsons.”
“Yeah, Cowboy, I am.”, she said.
“Well tighten all your screws.”, I told her. “We’re very likely in for a rough time. I don’t like the sound of this change at all. If I didn’t absolutely have to have this file box contents, I would just blow town. But I don’t have that luxury, and I think somebody knows it.”
“You know Cowboy, when somebody chooses to mess with us, they’re not messing with just some old cowboy and his Friday night gal friend. When somebody chooses to mess with us, they are biting off a whole fucking lot of trouble.”
Mentally I pictured that gun slinging store clerk in the middle of nowhere, with his left foot exploding out from under him, that rust bucket Toyota in Canadian sitting with three bullet holes in the windshield, and me and Lori driving this old truck through those burning barn doors, and then that poor, would be, robber on the diner floor from this morning, and Lori kicking his head, and then spitting on him. “Yeah? No shit!”, I said, and started laughing.
“No shit!”, Lori said, and even though I didn’t tell her why I was laughing, she chuckled to. I think we both got it though.
It was another hour and a half drive to Waco, and it seemed that the further along the road we got, the more edgy my nerves got. I had a bad, set up, kind of feeling about this whole situation. There was nothing normal about it, and nothing about it to ease my misgivings. Even Al had been unable to offer any further info than the sketchy story that his man had told him.
I had been up since around three in the morning when the car had crashed in front of our hotel, and so had Lori. We were physically tired, but our minds were on high alert. Lori being just as edgy as I, reflected that she fully understood the ominous implications of this simple operation going so far awry. She was right about one other thing though. As a couple, we were a force to be reckoned with. I only hoped that we would be enough of a force to come through whatever it was we were about to face.
About twenty miles out on the Dallas side of Waco is, a hole in the road, little place, called Ross. We exited off of the Interstate there, and after being sure that we weren’t being followed, made a stop for gas, food, bathroom, and a walk around. After consulting the GPS, I chose to use a parallel back road instead of the interstate for the remaining miles.
I wasn’t sure if anyone outside of Lori and I knew what I was driving, or if they were looking for me or Lori or both of us, or maybe looking for someone thought to be acting on one of our behalf. If paranoia alone could keep you alive, mine, which continued to grow with each mile traveled, would have saved the Titanic.
Before we went to the Hightower Hotel, I cruised us around the block of the Waco bus station a couple of times, and just cased the layout and street connections. I didn’t see anything suspicious there, so proceeded to the hotel, which was located near the airport. We repeated the same casing ride of the perimeter block twice, and saw nothing suspicious, although I didn’t expect to.
Parking the truck in the hotel’s basement parking garage, I carried Lorie with me to the lobby which was very busy with people coming and going, checking in and out, and others, just hanging out, watching one of the several TV’s, or reading various materials.
Lori took a seat where she could have her back to the wall and also could see both the entrance and the elevators, as well as the emergency stair well door. She had the truck key, the throw away phone, and my money fold. If I hadn’t returned in ten to twelve minutes, she was to leave. If I needed her, I had the throwaway phone number memorized.
From the elevator, I landed on the sixth floor. The deathly silent hallway was deserted. I crept down the hall with my hand under my shirt, and on the Colt in my waist band. I found room 615 about half way down the hall, on the right. I knelt and easily fished the key card from under the edge of the door with my finger. Hotels are notorious for purposefully leaving a high space above the threshold of the rooms, to ease sliding newspapers, and invoices under the doors. As an investigator, I learned that they also permit easy eavesdropping. Remaining on my knees and glancing up and down the empty hall once more, I pulled my Colt out bringing it to my side at my ready position.
I slid the entrance card into the electronic lock with my left hand, and the lock, as it tripped open, sounded a loud thunk. A second later, I heard the emergency stair well door slam and latch. Almost simultaneously, as I pushed the room door open, a figure appeared from around the corner from the emergency stair well. Uneasy as to what might greet me in the room, I was trying to peer into the darkness of the room, but the slamming of the stair well door had startled me and my peripheral vision had caught the figure as it moved into the hallway.
The figure fired first, and must have been anticipating a standing figure
, because the bullet whizzed well over my head. I returned fire in a quick succession of three, one low, one a little higher, and one still higher. All three rounds found their mark, with the first round catching, what I now recognized as a male in a grey suit, in the lower abdomen, slamming him into the wall beside the elevator, the second center chest, and the third round entered almost center head, just below his left eye and beside his nose. He slid down the wall and was still.
Nothing else stirred on the hallway. I quickly stepped into the room and eased the door shut. My heart pounding, I fumbled for the light switch and then went straight for the bed. I flipped the mattress up, off and over to the side of the bed. There was nothing under the mattress. I returned to the door and killing the light, wiped the switch with my shirt tail. Then wiping the door latch lever also with my shirttail, I opened the door cautiously. The hallway was still deathly quiet. I exited the room and wiped the outside door lever, then rushed back to the still body in the grey suit.
Kicking his pistol to the side, I quickly did a one-handed frisk and found a coat pocket wallet. Flipping it open, there was a driver’s license exposed beneath a clear window pocket. The name read Charles William Hodges. I wiped the wallet on the guys cheap suit coat, and left it laying on the body. Next, I checked his front pockets. Nothing but keys and pocket change.
Nothing was in the side pockets of his coat either, then I spotted a slight bulge in his shirt breast pocket. I pulled a small envelope out, and felt the key shape within. I quickly pocketed the envelope, and checked the elevator indicator. One of the cars was sitting on the next floor above, not moving.
I quickly hit the emergency stairs being careful to not touch anything with my bare skin. Exiting on the seventh floor, I found that the elevator had answered a call, and left. I pushed the down button and waited. The car stopped with a grey haired, middle aged, woman dressed for Sunday mass on board. My Colt was back under my shirt now in the waist band at my back, but I kept my hand on it. I punched the ground floor button and noticed that she had punched six.