The Usher

by Will Pettijohn

  Colt made his way through the gate and looked at the man in the guard shack as he came to a stop. “Hey, Bobby, how’s the wife and kids?” he said as he looked out through the driver’s window after pressing the button in the center console.

  “Hey, Colt, yeah … they’re good. How are Miss Emily and that baby girl doin’?”

  “Good, they’re all good, Bobby. I’m just here to have a look. Mr. G wants me to check things out.”

  Bobby leaned down and handed the clipboard to Colt. “Act like you’re signing it, Colt; there are feds watchin’ the place,” he mumbled, and then stood up.

  “How many have you seen, Bobby?” Colt asked, acting as if he were signing the log.

  “I’ve noticed three of them from here, but you can bet that they are all over the place, Colt,” Bobby said quietly, barely moving his lips. “Looks like something is gonna go down soon. Rocky went to Chicago on business—don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a quick look around and then I’ll be back out. Keep your eyes open,” Colt said, giving the clipboard back to Bobby.

  Bobby opened the gate using a button in the guard shack, and Colt made his way through. There were shipping containers as far as he could see. The dry docks acted just like a major port of entry into the central United States but without the U.S. customs agents; these shipments had all begun their journey inside the country, so customs did not check the shipments. Dallas was home to four major railroads, and they all intersected here. The shipping containers were all sealed with the shipper’s aluminum tag. This was supposed to show that the containers hadn’t been tampered with or opened since they were first loaded and inspected. But the tags were easily replicated, and anyone could open the container to replace the contents with illegal contraband and then seal it back up. Then law enforcement would assume that the container’s manifest was correct and never think twice about it.

  Colt drove several hundred yards and then backed into an open area and turned around. He stopped at one stack of containers and paused for a moment. Several trucks were being loaded and unloaded by large forklifts, and some were being loaded by hand. He looked for the feds, but saw only two men who were obvious to him from this point. Colt put his BMW in drive and drove back out of the long yard and stopped at the gate again. He watched as his old acquaintance Bobby walked to the driver’s window and handed him the clipboard. Again Colt took the clipboard and acted as if he were signing out.

  “Is everything okay, Colt?”

  “Yeah, it all looks good, but since there are feds here, we need to make a few changes. I’ll let the boss know.”

  “Colt … they’ve been watching pretty hard for a couple of days now. You think they have some idea what we’ve got going on here?” Bobby asked nervously.

  “Be cool, Bobby—there are a lot of things that go on here. We’re not the only ones who have a stake in this. Let me go back and talk to Mr. G. We’ll sort through all the details and I’ll get back to ya,” Colt finished as he handed the clipboard back to Bobby.

  Colt made his way back to the interstate and noticed that he had picked up a tail. An older-model white utility van made every move that he did and stayed back about a half mile or so. He continued to drive until he was in the town of Mesquite. The tail was still following; Colt put on his signal and then drove to the roadhouse where he had eaten a time or two.

  His tail followed but didn’t enter the restaurant as he did. He put his car in park and made his way inside. He walked up to the bar and sat down. He took his phone from his jacket pocket and opened it. He looked around discreetly, but didn’t see anyone who looked like feds. He dialed the number and Berto answered.

  “Yeah.” Berto’s voice was stern.

  “Let me talk to him,” Colt said softly.

  After a moment of silence … “Yeah, son, what did ya find out?” Gamboni asked.

  “It doesn’t look good, Dad; it looks like the pigs are all contaminated with some sort of flu bug,” Colt said in code.

  “Yeah, that’s what I hear. Do ya think we can have them all better by Wednesday night?”

  “No, sir. I think we’ll need to find another piece of land to put the pig farm on. It’s like dogs when they get parvo: even though they die, ya never really get rid of it. Once it’s there, it’s always gonna be there.”

  “Well, I’ll have to talk to the farmers and see if we can get something figured out,” Gamboni said, and then he hung up the phone.

  “Can I get you something to drink, sir?” a blonde woman about thirty asked him.

  “Yeah, I’ll just have a Crown and Coke. Make it a double tall,” he answered.

  “Yes, sir, coming right up.”

  Colt stood up and walked toward the bathroom. As he stood, he looked into the mirror and noticed two suits entering the roadhouse door. He walked into the men’s room and washed his hands. He didn’t want a confrontation, but he was always ready for anything. He finished washing his hands and then dried them as he imagined what might happen. He exited the restroom and made his way to his seat. The suits were now seated behind him and to his right.

  “Here’s your drink, sir,” the pretty bartender said, placing the tall dark concoction in front of him.

  “Thank you so much,” he replied as he stirred the drink with the small red straw. He glanced at the men in the mirror occasionally and caught them looking in his direction a couple of times.

  He finished his drink and paid his bill. He stood up and took out his cell phone and acted as if he were making a call. He exited the restaurant pretending to talk to his little girl. “Hanna, how are things going, baby?” he said excitedly.

  “Really? That sounds awesome, baby. I can’t wait to see you either,” he continued as he walked out the door and then to his car.

  “Of course, honey, I’ll be home in a couple of days; I’m on my way to the office for some paperwork and then I’m gonna be catching a flight to Ohio to see Uncle Randy for a few days,” he said, finally closing the door. He acted as if he were still on the phone as he put on his seat belt and started the car. After he was clear of the parking lot and out onto the access road, he closed the phone and scanned for any signs of a tail. He did not see the van again as he made his way around Beltway 8 and then took the exit to Interstate 20 west. He enjoyed the game of cat and mouse that the feds played with some people. But he had to be sure he wasn’t being tracked. He drove to an automatic car wash, paid, and entered.

  The noise from the car wash would drown out the call he was about to make. He placed a call to Tony; he was an expert on avoiding the feds and not being caught.

  “Hey, Colt, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Tony answered excitedly.

  “Hey, Tony … I think I might have caught a bug somewhere. Can you give me some advice?” Colt asked in code to Tony’s waiting ears.

  “Of course. You need to check out the pharmacy on 134th and the Gene Autry Freeway. There’s a great new medicine for the bug there.”

  “Okay, I’m headed that way. I think there may be something wrong with my BMW’s exhaust too; I guess I’ll have to get it to the shop when I feel better,” Colt said, telling Tony what car he was in.

  “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing the shop can’t fix,” Tony replied, and the two hung up.

  Chapter 13

  After Young arrived back at his cell, the guards removed his shackles and cuffs. He was once again all alone, but now he was angry, and that isolated him even more. Young had believed he was going to be treated differently than this. After all, he hadn’t been convicted of anything yet. Now that he was back in his hell, he had time to think about how the trial was going to go. Before he saw James, he had believed he would be able to get the change of venue and would simply fight to get away with what he had done. He thought he would have to prove his innocence, but now he would be
acquitted because of the lack of evidence. Since the tapes weren’t admissible in evidence, they wouldn’t ever be heard by a jury or a judge.

  This was good news for him. Now he could simply wait on the trial and wait for a jury to clear his name. The anger was from the change of venue being denied, yet it was somehow subdued by knowing it would be okay because the evidence was inadmissible. Then, he could finish what he had started; Colt had to be put away for what he had done. And Archer would pay as well for abandoning him like this. He knew Archer was involved in the whole thing, which was why he hadn’t said anything up to this point. But wait … Archer was the one who set up the sting.

  He had to satisfy that little bitch Wise somehow. That’s why the warrant was never signed. Archer had a plan to get him acquitted and then they couldn’t try to prosecute him for it again. The double jeopardy rule applied. Archer had a plan and he’d help fix this … I love that little fat fucker, Young thought as he crawled onto his bunk.

  Lying there in his cell, he could hear the slight muffles of the man next to him rustling in his bunk. Young reached his hand halfway up the wall and tapped firmly. After a brief silence he heard a shallow, distant-sounding thud replying on the wall. Young sat up in his bunk. What was this …? He actually had someone to communicate with.

  Young thought for a second and then pressed his face up against the cold cinder-block wall. “Can you hear me?” But there was no reply. “Can you hear me?” he said louder.

  “Yes, I can hear ya. Who are you?” the distant voice replied.

  “My name is Gary. What’s yours?” Young answered.

  “My name is Robert.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because I’m waiting for my trial. I was accused of murder.”

  “Oh, I’m supposed to have my trial soon too.”

  “What … I can’t hear ya,” Robert shouted.

  “I said, I’m supposed to go to trial as well,” Young shouted louder.

  He listened for a reply, but it did not come. After a few moments, he shouted again, “How long have you been here?” but there was still no response. Young placed his head on his bunk and lay there thinking about what his attorney had said … Why wouldn’t they give the change of venue? Why didn’t the judge sign the warrant that day? Did Archer set it up so that the evidence wouldn’t be admissible? Why did Archer turn on him in the first place? Was it because Wise wouldn’t stop? What the hell was going to happen now? Young’s mind raced a hundred miles a second.

  He knew the judicial system as well as anyone; he just couldn’t answer the questions on his mind. This was torture at its best. They placed Young in his cell and gave him no contact. His newfound friend next door seemed uninterested in him now, and he was beginning to go stir crazy with cabin fever.

  Young had been an FBI agent for a long time, but all of his training had never prepared him for this. He was as isolated as a rogue animal in a zoo. Seclusion and isolation were tools of torture used by many agencies, and he now knew they worked well. He lay on his mattress, which barely covered the hard steel bunk, and drifted off to sleep … Before long, he was dreaming of the steak he would have when he was set free.

  Young was startled awake by the sound of a thud upon his cell door. He looked to see his food port opening. A hand shoved a tray inside and then quickly shut the door. Young looked at the tray and then approached the door. Scattered on the tray was yellow creamed corn and green beans that had been watered down and were now soggy. In the larger spot on the tray was a mutilated piece of meat that resembled a boneless pork chop. A wet piece of white bread lay just over the edge of the pork chop and would surely not be eaten today.

  Young took his dinner and sat on the bunk. He searched his gut to find the gumption to attempt the feat of eating the slop he had been given. He was starving, but this would be hard to eat. As he opened his plastic flexible spork, he pressed it into the corn and lifted it to eye level. The yellow mix dripped off the spoon and he placed what was left into his mouth.

  Holding his breath, he opened his mouth and swallowed. He almost gagged from the tasteless substance he had just ingested. Young then attempted the pork chop. He knew better than to try the spork on the meat.

  He picked up the meat and raised it to his nose. He then tossed it back onto the tray. Far cry from the steak I was just having in my dream, he thought. He finished choking down his dinner and placed the tray onto the ledge of the food port. Young could still taste the fake pork in his mouth as he walked over to the sink and bent down to reach the water. He looked at his sink and realized there was no handle. He quickly looked on both sides and then threw his hands in the air. “What the hell am I supposed to do without handles?” he yelled as he continued to look at the handleless faucet.

  Young sat back on his bunk and waited for the guard to pick up the tray. As the food port opened, Young stood up and shouted, “Excuse me, but there are no handles on the faucet.”

  The guard peeked through the hole and said, “And?”

  “How am I supposed to wash my hands or even wash my mouth out after that horrible dinner?”

  “None of these faucets have handles. It’s an automatic-flow faucet. Place your hand under the end of it and the water comes out, genius,” the guard snapped, and he closed the food port laughing.

  Young walked back to the sink and leaned down. He looked at the faucet and slowly placed his hand in front of it. When he didn’t get any result, he moved his hand from left to right. Still no water. He then moved his hand under the faucet and the water began to flow slowly.

  Young moved his hand and moved his face toward the running water. Just as he made it to the water, it stopped. Young raised his head, infuriated. He placed his hand under the faucet to start the water again and quickly moved his head back down to it. Again the water stopped abruptly. He kept his head there in front of the faucet and placed his hand under it.

  He caught the water in his hand and quickly shoved it into his mouth. His joy at having water was quickly overruled by the foul taste of the sulfur. He began rinsing his mouth while he washed his hands without soap.

  This wasn’t the first meal he’d had in this hellhole, but how bad could anyone mess up canned food? His favorite so far was breakfast; he somehow liked the powdered eggs and fake bacon. He tried to forget the horrid taste that the pork meat had left in his mouth by concentrating on the smell of sulfur from the water. He shook his head and rolled his eyes as he thrust his head back and again held his breath. He spit the foul water back into the sink. Young then moved back to his bunk and lay down again. His thoughts soon went back to Colt and the satisfaction he would have when Colt was finally in prison—or even better … dead.

  Chapter 14

  Before long, Rick awoke to the sound of his alarm. He forced his eyes open and looked at the clock on the table beside his bed. “Seven twenty-five already,” he complained.

  He tossed the blanket back and sat up on the edge of the bed. He stretched his arms and even shook his leg as he yawned. He walked into the restroom and turned the water on. After his shower, he got dressed and drove to the courthouse. He made his way to Judge Mathews’s office and walked in and displayed his badge to the secretary.

  “Hello, Detective, how can I help you?” the secretary asked.

  “I’m here to see Judge Mathews. My name is Detective Wise. I had an appointment yesterday, but was unable to make it in time to meet with him.”

  “Okay, just have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here,” she replied as she picked up the phone and dialed two numbers. “Sir … there’s a Detective Wise here to see you … Okay, I’ll let him know.” She hung up. “He’ll be right out, Detective.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  After only a few moments the judge’s door opened and Mathews walked into the small room.

  “Hello, Rick,�
�� he said with a smile, walking over to him.

  “Good morning, Judge Mathews, how are you?” Rick said as he stood and shook hands with the judge.

  “Heck, I’m as good as anyone could be, I guess,” Mathews said, smiling. “Come on in, son.” Mathews turned and began walking back to his office.

  The two made their way in and closed the door. Rick placed the briefcase on the large mahogany desk and opened it. “I tried to bring these by last night, but your office was closed already,” Rick said.

  “I know. I had to leave suddenly yesterday. I figured we could just go over it this morning,” Mathews said as he took his seat behind the desk.

  “I have to warn you, Your Honor, there are some pretty nasty scenes in here,” Rick said as he handed the folder to Mathews.

  “I’m ready, I guess,” Mathews said as he took the materials from Rick. He studied every piece of evidence, and his facial expressions soon told how he felt about them. “Oh my God … How could someone sworn to protect the public do these things?” he asked, looking at the photos. It was clear he didn’t expect an answer. The judge pulled the tape out of the folder and looked at it. He sighed and then stood up from his chair.

  He walked over to a cabinet in the corner and pulled out an audio player. He placed it on his desk and plugged it in. He inserted the tape and pressed “play.” Rick sat quietly and only looked at the judge a couple of times.

  He looked at him once when Young explained how he killed the Bennigan family, and then again when Young told him how he was going to kill him and blame it on a drug dealer.

  The only part that wasn’t clear and had poor quality was when Young was tackled at the front door of the house. Probably because Archer had the microphone pinched as he shoved Rick out of the way when they took Young into custody.