Out Jumps Jack Death: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 8)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “I take it you’re here in this area with Roosevelt Washington,” she said between bites.

  “I am. We’re staying with Starnes Carver.”

  “Someone you trust.”

  “Clearly. She’s a forensic type. Used to work for the Norfolk police.”

  “I better stay clear of her.”

  “Not necessary. She works for the local law on a contractual basis, but she’s more of a friend than a by-the-book law person. You have nothing to fear from her.”

  I finished my water and looked out towards the Jeep to check on Sam. He was now sitting up in the backseat, ears up and alert. He knew Diamond, so there was no fear that he would try to come inside the Wagon Wheel and alarm the other two patrons.

  “So who are these really bad guys?”

  “Government employees.”

  “Bad indeed. Which agency?”

  “Plural agencies I suspect, but at the moment we are investigating the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.”

  “Get outta here.”

  “True.”

  “Isn’t it funny that when the country is in danger, the agencies can never seem to find a way to work together to solve the crisis. But if they are conspiring against a singular citizen, they can team up like crooked cousins.”

  “Not funny ha-ha, but funny-yuck, especially in this particular case.”

  “So who exactly do we need to watch out for?” Diamond asked.

  “Only have one name at present to work with. The rest we will have to learn as we go along. Or not.”

  “Let’s be optimistic. Gimme his name.”

  “Fellow named Wilkerson. Thaddeus Wilkerson.”

  “Thaddeus,” she said and paused to think about it.

  She rolled that name over a few times and then took a sizeable bite from her sandwich.

  “Yes, Thaddeus,” I repeated.

  “His mama not like him?”

  “Know nothing about his mama.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “Thaddeus works for the Bureau of Engraving and Printing and is a bureau head over External Relations.”

  “A corrupt suit. Go figure.”

  “Does sort of underwhelm you,” I said.

  “External Relations.”

  “The same.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “I speak the facts.”

  “Truth stranger than fiction.”

  “And all that.”

  “So, why is he after Mr. Washington?”

  “We’re not sure yet. Rosey did a contract job for the engraving people, but he’s not sure what he did, what he got, and how he is involved in Thad’s hatred.”

  “Ignorance is not always bliss.”

  “Seldom.”

  “And the particulars of said mission?”

  “Rosey won’t tell me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Integrity.”

  “Could get him killed if he keeps friends in the dark.”

  “I’m checking on it.”

  “Be simpler if he tell us.”

  “Crossed that bridge but to no avail.”

  “So, you want me to take out Thaddeus?”

  “As tempting as that sounds, perhaps we should wait and see.”

  “Wait and see what?”

  I hesitated. Rogers was on a mission, but I couldn’t explain that satisfactorily. So, I paused.

  “What are you not telling me?” she asked.

  The waitress came to the table.

  “You two need anything?”

  “Scope and some ammo,” Diamond said to her.

  “Ma’am?” the waitress appeared confused.

  “My friend is a comedienne. We’ll take some more beverages, please.”

  “Coffee and … you had cola, right?”

  “That would be me.”

  The waitress left.

  “You should not jest with the locals,” I said.

  “Does she look like she knows what a scope is?”

  “Maybe not, but ammo could be in her vernacular.”

  “Point taken.”

  “And you do not look like a hunter,” I said.

  “Incognito is my best ploy.”

  “Don’t forget your wit.”

  “So what is it we are waiting upon?”

  “I have Rogers searching for some vital information regarding Wilkerson and that mission Rosey did for him. We need to know more.”

  “And in the meantime, when the really bad guys show up and are not so concerned about your knowledge, and merely want to remove you from living, what then?”

  “You can take out whoever shoots at us.”

  “Hot dang. I brought a few friends,” she said. I knew she didn’t refer to people.

  Diamond smiled and took the cola from the waitress who had arrived just in time to miss hearing our last few sentences.

  Good to have friends who are sharp shooters. And witty.

  11

  Believe it or not, Diamond ordered yet another hamburger so I stayed and continued to mince words with her while she devoured and relished her food. It seemed to me that she had not eaten in a while. I considered inviting her to Starnes’ house, but I knew that she would not accept. But that was only half of the issue.

  It was dark when we departed the Wagon Wheel. I gave Sam the two plain hamburgers I had ordered to go. He seemed pleased as he wolfed them down with due haste. Sam and Diamond had a lot in common, I suspected. He also acted as if he had not eaten in a while. As far as he was concerned, that was always true enough for him.

  I was headed back to Laurel Ridge and Diamond went off to wherever she was going off to as the rain started to fall. The temperature was still mild, but the rain had a cooling affect upon the mountain air. The clouds had rolled in from the west and brought a front that looked as if it might linger for a while. The dismal conditions did not dissuade my optimism with having Diamond on my side of the ledger. Much better to have her with me than against. She was good at what she did. The fact that she had missed killing Rosey and me was the exception that proved the rule, at least in my mind. I had seen her in action when she did not miss. In fact, her accuracy was something to marvel. I only knew one person who could possibly out-shoot her. That would be Rosey. I might come in as a close second, but my heart wasn’t into that kind of marksmanship. My singular goal in using any weapon was to stay alive.

  I was on Highway 213 heading in the direction of Madison, the county seat, as the rain increased. I slowed the Jeep so I wouldn’t miss my turn onto the road that would take me towards Laurel Ridge. The downpour was blurring my vision of most everything outside of the comfort inside my car. Sam was resting on his haunches and watching through the windshield.

  I was looking for my marker which indicated that it was time to turn. My marker, as Starnes had prescribed for me years ago, was the aging sign for the Deep Laurel Independent Baptist Church. It had long since passed the need for fresh paint. Some of the letters in the name of the congregation were missing, faded into oblivion due to weather and time. It now read “Deep Laure dependent Baptis Chur.” It was the dependent Baptis that brought a smile to me. My weird theology made me suspect that all churches were dependent, especially the ones who actually included the opposite word, independent, in their name.

  I caught sight of the word dependent and slowly turned off Highway 213 onto Ebb Jenkins Road. It was when I made the turn that I noticed the bright headlights in my rear view mirror. The lights were following close behind me. Too close.

  Ebb Jenkins Road wound its way through two ridges before I came to my next turn which would take me to Starnes’ place. Laurel Ridge was on my left and Deep Blue was the ridge to my right. I had about eight miles to travel along Ebb Jenkins Road before my turn onto Carver Creek Road. In the mountains, that would be eight long miles. My destination would have been shorter had I been a crow and flying.

  I once asked Starnes where Ebb Jenkins Road ended and she informed me that it did not en
d. She did add that it merged with some other road in Tennessee but it had been years since she had any need to go that way and long since lost that trivial detail. She simply told me I shouldn’t veer in that Tennessee direction. She rather insisted that I not miss that Carver Creek Road turn. It made me wonder.

  The bright headlights and the intense rain made it difficult for me to concentrate on my driving. I slowed and pulled off to the right giving the usual indication that the vehicle behind could pass by. Just a courtesy.

  “We’ll let him go around, Sam. His bright lights are nearly blinding me.”

  Sam said nothing.

  The lights of the vehicle behind me remained steadfast as a nemesis. The trailing vehicle pulled off the road and sat deathly still behind me.

  Not good.

  “He doesn’t want to pass. I smell trouble, Sam.”

  Sam turned and looked at the lights behind us. Then he growled.

  The rear window of the Jeep shattered abruptly and I ducked to the right. As I shifted quickly, I grabbed Sam by the neck and we both collapsed together in the passenger seat. My upper torso was on top of his body. My lower portion was still sitting in the driver’s seat.

  The immediate second shot left a hole in the front window directly in line with where Sam was sitting. The bullet would have hit him in the head had I not reacted as I did.

  I hit the gas pedal hard and sped away hoping to gain some distance between me and the bright lights. And the shooter.

  “Better stay down, friend. Seems our adversary aims to shoot both of us,” I said as I lifted my head high enough so that I could see the road, but not high enough so that the shooter behind us would have a solid target.

  Sam remained flat on the seat next to me. I know he would have preferred to sit up and look out the windshield, but that would be a bad idea under the circumstances. He was smart enough to stay down and continue to growl under his breath.

  I hit the speed dial on my cell along with the speaker button, then put the phone in the center console between the two front seats. I wanted both hands on the steering wheel as I was about to navigate some mountainous terrain at higher speeds than I would have normally considered.

  It was still raining hard.

  I thought I heard another shot, but nothing shattered or hit anything precious as far as I could tell. I felt no sharp pains, so I decided that I had no new holes in my anatomy and still maintained all the blood with which I had started the day. I recalled reading that it was good to be in touch with one’s body.

  I heard Rosey’s voice coming from my cell.

  “I need some advice,” I said rather loudly.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I’m being followed and shot at.”

  “And the advice you need?”

  “I thought that would be self evident.”

  “Not to me. I am often followed and shot at.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “Go faster and keep your head down.”

  “That the best you got?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Five miles from Starnes’ place, but that distance might be growing rather than diminishing. I’m on the road that will take me somewhere into Tennessee. Not even Starnes was sure of where this lane might end up.”

  “So you can’t be more specific about that place you be heading into Tennessee?”

  “No.”

  “And the road you’re on?”

  “Ebb Jenkins.”

  “I assume it is raining there since it’s pouring cats and dogs here.”

  “Ditto on the rain.”

  I speeded up when I came to a short straight section. It didn’t last long enough for me to extend whatever advantage I might have had. The bright lights were several car links behind but seemed to be gaining. That could’ve been my extreme pessimism and increasing angst.

  “Did you think about stopping and defending your honor in a shootout?”

  “It’s raining and I can barely see the road. I have two handguns and no extra rounds. Wait. I think I have some available ammo for the 9mm in the glove box. So, I could forge a standoff, but only if you promise to come and defend my honor with me.”

  “Find a spot and take a stand.”

  “You be sure to turn left when you hit Ebb Jenkins Road. You’ll do me no good if you end up in Athens or Madison.”

  “Fear not fair maid, I shall come pronto. But in the meantime, you might consider that I might not do you any good even if I get there in the next few minutes.”

  “Is that supposed to comfort me?” I yelled at him.

  “Just a dose of reality, nothing more. Stay calm and aim carefully.”

  Despite my desperate situation, I was clear enough in my thinking to figure that whoever was shooting at me was not necessarily after me as much as they wanted to get to my friend Rosey. The injury to my Jeep notwithstanding. This thinking helped me to decide that I was not about to turn off Ebb Jenkins Road and head towards Laurel Ridge. I must have intuitively known that when I told Rosey to head for Ebb Jenkins and turn left.

  When I passed Carver Creek Road, I glanced down at my speedometer and gasped a bit. The needle was hovering over the mark of 85. I wondered how long the road would allow such speed. After all, I was traveling in McAdams County of the Blue Ridge Mountains in western North Carolina. The folks who built the roads took a liking to hairpin turns, switchbacks, and wavy lines. Straight was not something they included in their layout plans. Since it was the mountains after all, I understand the need to build roads according to the lay of the land.

  From my stop a few miles back and to this geographical point on my escape plan, I had been able to maintain a working distance between the trailing vehicle and my Jeep. I could see the bright lights even in the pouring rain. My advantage would not likely remain for long.

  Hairpin turn. Yikes.

  I made it around that one by slowing to 50 and sliding across to the left. A short straight away helped me to increase my velocity but only for a few seconds. Another sharp turn forced me to decrease my speed once again. This time I slid to the right and left the actual road for a short stint.

  In the next straight portion which was a mere quarter mile duration, I could see a pull off to the left, onto the shoulder, and I decided that this would be as good as any place to defend my honor. Or whatever. Time to circle the wagons and make my stand.

  Since the torrential rain had diminished my vision of all things necessary for driving in the mountains as well as finding a good spot to use my Jeep as a barricade or a shield from the would-be attack, I hit the shoulder doing about 60 and discovered the error of my decision to leave the paved surface at that speed. Hindsight.

  Pure mountain mud. Some ancient gravel mixed in for good measure was also there, but it was mainly mud. Think slick and deep. First cousin to quagmire.

  I removed my foot from the brakes after the Jeep began to slide sideways. The front of the vehicle shifted to the right while the rear came along on to the left. I was now facing the hard surface as I slid along in the mud. I had the good sense to keep my foot away from the brake. I simply allowed the mud to carry us along.

  When the Jeep came to an abrupt halt, it flipped over, rolling a time or two. When you’re in a vehicle that decides to roll, I am not sure if your brain is able to think with such logic that you can count with any degree of accuracy the number of times you go over. I think I rolled twice.

  I remember one for sure. It rattled my teeth and upset the balance of my body. The second one is a blur and not altogether an accurate memory. If there were more, I have no idea. I do recall ending my rolling stop upside down. I was now hanging by the seatbelt. The strap across my stomach was hurting quite a bit. There was some difficulty disengaging the snapping mechanism along with the subsequent fall doing more damage to my equilibrium to say nothing about my head. Sam was shaken but managed to stand on all fours on the inside roof.

  “You okay?” I said to him as I roll
ed over after falling to the roof-floor.

  He grunted and I took that to mean he would live to fight another day.

  I could see the bright lights approaching quickly through the passenger side windows. My Jeep had shifted a little during our rolling maneuver.

  I moved to my left and then straight back in order to escape through the hole left by the now absent rear window of the Jeep. Sam had led the way since I insisted that he do so.

  I drew my 9mm and readied myself for whatever would happen next. I was wobbly but knew I had to keep moving.

  The vehicle was no longer a suitable shield behind which to defend myself, so I headed for the embankment straight behind the Jeep. I ran as fast as I could, given the weather conditions and my unsteadiness. Two steps into my run I heard the shot and felt a sharp pain when the first round hit my left shoulder. It sent me spread eagle into the muddy terrain. Yuck.

  The rain was pounding my backside in a serious manner. There was no mercy there, at least not for me. Mud lathered me from head to toe. I positioned myself to knees and palms. I wanted to scream, but that was a distant second to wanting to shoot somebody.

  I lost the 9mm in the fall and reached for other weapon which was strapped to my right ankle. That was when I heard the shots of a distant weapon again. I counted four shots. None of those shots hit me or anywhere close to me as far as I could tell in my fractured condition.

  I decided it was pointless to remain in my animal-like position in the mud, so I gathered my wits and moved from my knees to a unstable standing position. I stared off in the direction of the gunshots. I looked around me briefly for the Glock. I could’ve lost a machine gun in this mud and rain. No luck with finding my weapon. I headed towards the trees along the embankment in front of me. If I made it there, I might survive.