Killers, Bikers & Freaks: A Walt Asher Florida Thriller (The Walt Asher Thriller Series Book 1)

by Andrew Allan

  “Unbelievable,” he said. It was a very low-key “a-ha!” moment for him.

  “Here’s what I know. The executioners are marketed as a service to a select group of politicians who hire them for contract killings. These contract killings could be for themselves or on behalf of their influential donors. Corporations, lobbyists, et cetera.”

  “Who does the marketing?”

  “A middleman. I don’t know who that is. If we can find that out, we can find out who the executioners are and stop them.”

  “You don’t even know who’s trying to kill you?”

  “Scary, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  He drove a few moments in silence. Pinched expressions on his face indicated a brain working overtime.

  Finally, he spoke, “What does this have to do with your friend. Ken?”

  “Yes, Ken. He found out about the service from a guy named Ross Chambers, who was working for U.S. House Representative Trip Wingart. Chambers overheard Wingart talking about it and Chambers was able to get a list to this guy Duncan, who gave it to Ken. Duncan’s expectation was Ken, a prominent activist, might be able to do something with the information.”

  “Do you have the list?” he asked with growing excitement.

  “No,” I said. “And now, Ken and Duncan are both dead. Killed.”

  He looked spooked.

  I continued, “Maybe you heard about police storming Wingart’s office in Tallahassee yesterday. That was me. I confronted him. He confessed to hiring the executioners for the Innovative Tomorrow Group out of Jacksonville and their CEO, a guy named Doug Tanjeris. But, he didn’t give up any names. He only proved my suspicions. Now, we need to find the people behind them.”

  “So, we should talk to Tanjeris,” he said.

  “His contact was Wingart. I think he was hands off,” I said.

  A lull in the conversation.

  I contemplated the highway passing by. Long fields of weeds and scraggly grass went past. Trees whipped by in a brown blur. Pastures rolling over the hills had centerpiece houses looming in the distance. How nice it must be to have your life and your business out in the middle of a peaceful nowhere. Wake up, work, eat, relax. Then, do it again the next day. I guess I’d had a similar luxury writing from home. But, that seemed like that was a long time ago.

  Teddy said, “So, that’s everything up to today?”

  I snapped back to attention, “Everything.”

  We had passed through the small town of Trenton. A highway sign indicated we weren’t far from Newberry and closing in on Gainesville.

  I turned to face him better. “The middleman has political connections and access to the executioners. That’s quite a social straddle.”

  He raised a finger and started to speak. I cut him off.

  “It’s not the Warden. I’ve spoken to him. He’s either an ace liar or innocent. I suspect the latter.”

  “Maybe he knew who you were and put on his best performance,” he said.

  “I used a fake name. Told him I was a reporter,” I said.

  He gave me a look like that didn’t mean anything. And, he was right.

  “Good point,” I said. “But, it would be odd for you to interview him now since I just interviewed him the other day.”

  “Who else?”

  He pulled himself up in his seat. He looked focused and poised to reel in this story.

  “It could be someone else working at the prison. Someone in the Warden’s office.”

  “Did any state politicians ever serve time there?” he said.

  “Don’t know. We’d have to research.”

  “I can do that. Research is my specialty. What about Reps and Senators for Union County?”

  “It’s possible. Don’t know who that would be.”

  “I can find out when we get there. What else?”

  He gave me confidence. I could use another ally in this fight.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the Mayor?”

  “There has to be a way to find out who these guys, the executioners, are,” he said.

  “I have one thing that might help,” I said and pulled out the photo of the executioner taken outside The Brute Bar.

  He took it and examined it, glancing every few seconds back to the road.

  “This one of them?”

  “Yes. Taken outside my girlfriend’s bar in Gainesville the other night. He went there looking for me,” I said.

  “Looks young.”

  “The one I killed looked older, by a generation. But, similar features. The Warden told me the team of executioners came over from France once the death penalty was outlawed there.”

  “Maybe they’re not a team,” he said handing the picture back to me. I tucked it in my pocket as he fixed his eyes back on the road.

  “Maybe they’re a family.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  WE ARRIVED IN Lake Butler near three in the afternoon. Our first stop was a grease pit motel on the north side of town. The motel looked like it had once been a fine stop on the long journey down Highway 301. Maybe back in the Fifties. But, like so many highway motels, it took a dive when the interstates arrived. This one probably made its monthly nut off families of convicts locked up nearby in Florida State Prison. We booked a room to serve as our central meeting location later on.

  From there, we went downtown. I was driving now and pulled up to a curb just off the main drag. Teddy opened his door to get out. A “March with Arch” flyer caught my eye. It was plastered to the side of a sheet of plywood plugging up a window in an old, abandoned brick building.

  I pointed. “There’s the guy to talk to right there. He may know something.”

  “I’ll swing by his office and then the library to research French executioners,” Teddy said.

  “I’ll try to get info from the locals.”

  He climbed out of the car and leaned in with his hand on the doorframe.

  “Be careful. I’m gonna need you alive to corroborate my story,” he said and smiled.

  “Well...if I don’t make it, do me justice, eh?” I said.

  “You got it. I’ll meet you back at the motel,” he said.

  “See you there,” I said.

  My plan was simple: blend in and listen. I had three locations in mind. One was a bar and tap just around the corner, which I had seen during my previous visit to the area. The after work crowd would be arriving soon and they’d be focused on their friends, not me. There was another spot east on Highway 100 between here and Starke. I figured that would bring news from both towns. And, there was a country dive bar just west of Lake Butler and not far from the prison. It seemed like the perfect place for guards to blow off steam. And, I needed some talkers.

  Monty’s Bar and Tap was dead. Just a few faces, most buried in the bottom of their glasses. I tried to get a conversation going with a bartender, but I got the sense she thought I was just the first of a dozen guys who would hit on her tonight. Her answers were short and her only elaboration was a forced smile followed by a sigh as she grabbed a nail file from the back of the bar and set about fixing her nails. I didn’t stay long.

  “Hey Chuck. Chuck! Check this out! This guy here writes those damn info-commercials that we see on the TV every night.”

  Those words were spoken by a dumb, drunk Oakie who had his fat calloused finger stuck right in my chest. He had a big smile on his face. I’d struck up a conversation with him earlier and had yet to shake him loose once I realized he didn’t have much information I could use.

  Chuck said, “ Son of a buck! You cost me a lot of money. My wife can’t resist those things.”

  The other guy, Gus, said, “It’s like he’s seducing your wife, only instead of getting in her panties, he’s getting in her pocketbook.”

  They howled.

  I was amused, too. It’s kind of a thrill having that kind of power. From thousands of miles away, my words can command you to fork over that hard-earned money. Doesn’t matter how much you had to swea
t for it or how much bullshit you had to wade through. When I turned the charm meter to 10, your money was mine. Or so, it was nice to think.

  Chuck said, “Which ones did you do. You do the one where the noodles spill all over the place?”

  “I did,” I said.

  More howling. It was shaping up to be a good night for them.

  “How about the one for the back cushion where the guy stutters and says ‘muh...muh...muh...my butt!’?” They leaned in with eager anticipation.

  I said, “That was a big hit for me.” It was.

  More howling.

  Chuck put a hand on my shoulder, “Hey, what’s the weirdest one you ever did? Cuz some of ‘em don’t even make no damn sense know what I’m sayin’?”

  I nodded. “I’ve written a lot of bra shows. But, the weirdest product I ever wrote for was a pair of leak control panties—“

  He’d stopped listening and turned away before I finished.

  “Hey, Wanda! Get your ass over here, I finally found the guy who can solve all your problems,” Chuck yelled.

  He looked to Gus and they shared a laugh.

  Wanda staggered over and settled in between them. She sized me up and I reciprocated. Early fifties and she had a body that meant business. Hard times and good times had aged her face. I suspected more good than bad. She had a devilish smile when she looked me right in the eyes.

  “You gonna solve my problems? Hope you brought some energy drinks,” she said.

  Chuck shot spittle on her face when he said, “ He’s a info commercial writer who writes for ladies with wet panties! Can you believe that?”

  “Ohh, maybe you are the man for me,” she said and took my arm. “My panties are always wet.” She led me away from the boys.

  We sat down in a booth, her next to me.

  “Forget those idiots. They’re always a handful,” she said.

  “I bet.”

  “What brings you to town?”

  “Well, I don’t just write ‘info commercials’. I also write books. And, I’m doing one on the death penalty,” I said. I’d come up with that angle while sitting in the last bar.

  “Well, son. You sure came to the right place. We fry ‘em and poison ‘em up here.”

  “So, I heard.”

  “Here to do some research?”

  “Exactly. You know, artsy-fartsy things like ‘catch the essence of the place’ and ‘see how it affects the lives of the locals’, that kind of garbage.”

  “I might could help you out.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “My brother’s executed a few prisoners.”

  Everything stopped. My heart started to pound. I caught my breath and looked her dead in the eyes.

  She smiled like she was pleased she could do something nice for me.

  “Wanna meet him?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said without even thinking it through. Then, I regretted it. What if he was one of them? What if he recognized me? He’d try to kill me. Without a doubt. And, if the others were there? His family, as Teddy had suggested. I’d be on their turf. That put everything in their favor. This could be bad. But, if Teddy came up dry, it could also be my only approach. I had to take it.

  “Let’s go,” she said and grabbed my hand.

  I didn’t have a chance to decline.

  “I’ll drive,” I said.

  “How ‘bout you follow. I ain’t leavin’ my car here,” she said.

  Fair enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  WE TOOK HIGHWAY 100 a few miles west then cut onto a smaller paved road, which lead to an even smaller dirt road. Her pickup truck kicked up dirt that swirled in the red glow of her taillights. It wasn’t until her truck parked and the lights turned off that I saw our destination was a run down, dirty house at the end of a neglected cul-de-sac.

  I grabbed the nasty fishing knife I’d taken off the boat earlier and pocketed it as I stood out of the car. I scanned the property while she walked over to me – a flimsy, rusty fence ran along the driveway. Assorted all-terrain vehicles in various conditions, automobile and miscellaneous junk were scattered about. A goat butted its horns against an empty, yellow Prestone container. The soft, pale sand around the house led into the dark woods beyond.

  “Follow me,” she said with a seductive smile.

  If I hadn’t been so worried about the potential impending deadly encounter I’d have contemplated why this woman I just met was leading me up to the house by the hand. And, why did she smile seductively if we were about to meet her brother? Strange folks.

  The screen door creaked on its single working hinge as she opened it and led me into the house. It stunk: old beer, dirty ashtray, and what I guessed to be stale Avon goods.

  I stood in the foyer and watched her walk towards a hallway that I presumed led to bedrooms.

  “I’ll see if he’s up,” she said.

  She disappeared around the corner.

  I got spooked and wandered over to the kitchen. I shouldn’t have let it get this far on a whim. I checked drawers. My best options for an additional weapon were a pair of pliers from a utility drawer. I also pocketed two books of matches. You never know.

  She appeared from the hallway just as I returned to the foyer.

  “He’s was sleepin’. Be out in a sec,” she said. “Get you a drink?”

  She walked into the kitchen.

  “Sure, whatever you got,” I said.

  A thump from the back room.

  I steadied my legs and put my hand on the knife in my pocket.

  “All I got’s some Steel Reserve. Work for you?” she said from the kitchen.

  “That’s fine,” I said back. I didn’t take my eyes off the hallway.

  I flinched at the sound of the door opening down the hallway. Then footsteps. Then a yawn. Then, him. Her brother. He stared at me with disbelief. I start to slide the knife out.

  “Wally Grainger, how do you do?” he said. He stepped up, hand outstretched for a shaking.

  I hesitated and looked at his thick, stub-fingered hands as if they might be traps. He came closer. And closer. His hand reached towards mine. I didn’t want to release the knife, but...I shook his hand. He smiled and studied my face.

  Something cold stung my arm and I jumped.

  “Easy tiger.” Wanda was at my side. The cold came from a can of beer pressed against my arm.

  “Wally, Walt. Walt, Wally. There, you’ve met,” she said on her way to plopping on the couch, one leg tucked under her ass in a way that spread the crotch of her tiny jean shorts wide open. She smiled, knowing I’d noticed.

  “Good to meet you,” I said. He wasn’t one of the men who had tried to kill me. But...

  He waved me off and fell into an overstuffed recliner that had been reupholstered in well-worn areas with duct tape.

  “Wanda says you’re writing a book on executions,” he said as he picked a half smoked cigarette out of an overflowing ashtray that sat on a television tray table next to his chair. It was now being used as an end table replete with a television remote, pill bottles, and a tattered copy of Skank Magazine.

  “Well, yeah. Just up here doing some research,” I said.

  He studied me to the point that I grew uncomfortable. Like maybe he knew who I was. If so, he was in no hurry to get me. And, if not, why? He’d had time alone in his room after Wanda announced me. He could have made a call. Were the other killers on their way?

  “I done quite a few executions. Pulled that lever on Ole Sparky plenty of times,” he said while blowing out smoke. “Killing a man’s a special thing.”

  I looked to Wanda and saw her rub the cold can of beer up and down the crotch seam of her jeans. What the...?

  Wally’s voice pulled my attention back to him. “I mean, what a power trip, right? Yanking that lever and sending them right into the after life. Like a toll keeper between life and death I guess. Best job I ever had. God, did I love to see those fuckers fry.”

  I looked back at Wan
da. No disputing it: She was aroused by his words and sending it in my direction.

  “They’d scream and buck. Their pelvis would shoot out...”

  Wanda’s pelvis shot out in the corner of my eye.

  “You could hear their head sizzling, smell that burning hair. Smell the electricity through the room...”

  He sniffed the air.

  Wanda moaned.

  She had lust in her eyes now.

  “She loves when I tell that story. Gets her hot every time,” said Wally.

  I looked over and saw him eyeing her. In that way.

  Wanda said, “That’s when I pull his lever.” She followed it with a sultry laugh.

  Wally folded down the recliner, stood up, and faced me. It was an abrupt move that made me step back.

  Wanda pulled offer her top to reveal a pair of sad breasts.

  Wally smiled with excitement. He thumbed back to the bedroom, “I got a life-size perfect replica of Ole Sparky back in the bedroom. Wanna sit in it?”

  “Yeah, sit in it. Wally will play executioner and I’ll play the prison matron. Won’t that be hot?” said Wanda.

  I looked over just as her jean shorts dropped to her ankles. No panties.

  “Wait. Did you say ‘best job you ever had’?” I said.

  He nodded and started unbuckling his pants.

  He said, “They cut me loose a few years back. Said I was too ‘enthused’ by the killing. That I had an unhealthy interest in the process.”

  Wanda wrapped her arms around me. Her hand went for my crotch. “But, looks like we got a new dead man walking,” she said.

  I shoved her off me. She staggered back then reached out to caress me.

  “It’s all right baby. Gonna be a lot of—“

  I smacked her arms away before she could finish.

  “Hey, ain’t nobody gonna push my older sis around like that,” said Wally. He put his hand on my shoulder. On instinct, I punched him square in the mouth and he spilled back over his recliner. I was ready for him to spring up and fight back.

  “Why you getting’ all hostile for?” said Wanda. She pounded my back with her fist. It didn’t hurt. I turned and kicked her right in the gut. She fell back on the couch gasping for air. I took in the scene - the scummy room and the weak, helpless, sleazebags. I ran out of there.