But, as he stood before the final car, still hidden beneath a custom fit cover, he accepted that if he was wrong about the Trainer brothers, he was utterly lost with the case. It was both fear and anger welling inside him. Fear, if when he pulled back the cover, he saw a car incapable of realistically being used to transport a dead Timothy O’Connell, that his skills as an investigator were a distant cry from what he believed they were. And anger at himself for not having already put together the pieces to the admittedly complex case.
There’s a distinct difference a .12 gauge sound makes when it’s racked empty compared to when a slug is slammed into place. When the shotgun is empty, the sound is thinner. Hollow. Like an empty promise. But the sound Derek heard as he extended his hand towards the rear of the car and just as his fingers clutched a solid grip onto the car cover was anything but empty. It was a deeper thudding sound. Filled with an angry promise.
The overhead lights, all three rows, flooded the pole barn, just as the sound of the fully loaded .12 gauge shotgun stopped its echo.
“I figured you’d show up here eventually. Been waiting here for at least four hours. Started thinking you’d be a no show. See, I noticed one of my keys was missing the night of our little bonfire. To be honest with you, Derek Cole, I wracked my brain about that missing key. Hell, I almost had myself convinced me or Bobby took it off the ring and misplaced it. Wouldn’t have been the first time that happened. But no, it just didn’t feel right.”
Jackson Trainer walked confidently towards Derek. The dark barrel of his shotgun aimed directly at Derek’s chest. Derek hadn’t heard the door open nor saw any light spilling in from the door being opened, which meant Jackson Trainer was inside the pole barn the entire time Derek had been there.
“Mind if I see what kind of car is beneath this cover?” Derek asked. “Always been a car enthusiast.”
Jackson, who was now less than fifteen feet from Derek, smiled and shook his head. Didn’t take his eyes off Derek.
“That there car is one of my favorites. A 1963, model 220 Benz. Rides like you’re floating on a cloud.”
“Must have a hell of a trunk, a sedan as long as this.”
“Hell yeah,” Jackson said. “You’d be amazed how much I can fit into that trunk.”
Derek raised his hands. Stepped backwards until he was up against what he thought was a Porsche.
“I know you’re not going to fire that shell at me. Not with me standing in front of one of your prized possessions. So why don’t we just have a conversation, man to man, without any guns pointed at each other?”
Jackson was ten feet away. Angry barrel still fixed on Derek’s chest.
“That’s a bold statement, coming from the guy without a gun. But, hate to tell you this, Derek Cole, that car you’re leaning up ‘gainst is my brother Bobby’s. Now, don’t get me wrong, I certainly would rather not damage his car and risk damaging the cars behind it, but, they are replaceable. You’re not replaceable, are you Derek? Ain’t no one going to step into your place, pick up where you left off and aim to cause troubles for me and Bobby? Ain’t that right?”
Derek took a long, steady stare at the shotgun. Like he was inspecting it. Memorizing each and every inch.
“People know I’m here,” Derek said, in a much more casual, calm voice than he expected. “Plenty of people. Six that I can think of.”
Jackson knitted his eyebrows and titled his head a bit to his right.
“Six, you say? Let’s see. There’s your assistant, that black bitch with the nice ass. What’s her name again? Oh, I recall. Nikkie something or other. You got that two-bit lawyer, Jenkins. Detective Gonzales. Probably your client, the murdering bitch Jessica Gracers. I can’t seem to make your count of six right in my head. You wouldn’t be trying to scare me into putting my gun down, are you, Cole?”
“Maybe I miscounted,” Derek said through a small smile. “Three or six, doesn’t matter I guess.”
“Nope. Don’t matter in the least. Not going to take more than one to gather all your pieces together when I’m done with you, anyhow. One is all it will take.”
Chapter 31
With Jackson Trainer walking behind him, shotgun pressed hard against his back, Derek was led out through the single door of the pole barn.
“Head on over to where Bobby and I had our little fire the other night,” Jackson said as he pressed the barrel harder into Derek’s back. “Don’t want to have to clean up after you.”
“You plan on dropping me onto the ash pile, do you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m planning on.”
Derek stopped dead in his tracks. Dropped his arms to his side. Jackson rammed the barrel deeper into Derek’s kidney, causing a ripping, deep pain to course up Derek’s back.
“You some type of idiot?” Jackson asked.
“Maybe,” Derek said. “Just don’t want to make things easy for you. If you’re going to kill me, why the hell would I want to be killed in an ash pile as opposed to right here where I’m standing?”
“You thinking I’m reluctant to have to get on my hands and knees to gather up your guts? Hell, boy, I’ll just start another little fire right where you’re standing. Kind of a fan of fires. Need to do something about this grass, anyway.”
“If that’s the case, I’ll make a deal with you.”
“You are some type of an idiot, aren’t you? You think you’re in the position to make deals?”
“Man to man deal. Two guys, one about to get killed, the other about to do the killing. Just looking to see if what I’ve been thinking is accurate.” Derek nodded his head towards the ash pile. “I judge the distance between where I’m standing and where you want to kill me to be about forty feet. That’s about twenty steps for me. I have five questions. I’ll take four steps, stop, ask you a question. You answer it, and I’ll take the next four. Keep repeating till I’m standing where you want me to be.”
Derek heard a small chuckle behind him.
“You got balls,” Jackson said. “I will give you that. Balls the size of cannon balls. Okay, Derek Cole, you take your four steps, ask your question, and seeing as how I can understand your desire to know why you’re ‘bout to be dead, I’ll answer your questions. Best I can, that is.”
Derek took four steps. Stopped, then asked, “Brian Hilton hired you and your brother to kill Doctor Timothy O’Connell before he could say anything about the scam he and Hilton were running, right?”
“Hilton did hire us and, yes, we did kill that doctor. But we don’t ask questions ‘bout why we were hired. So, I don’t know ‘bout the reasons Hilton had for wanting that doctor dead. Killed him in his backyard. He ain’t got no wife so we didn’t have to worry ‘bout anyone getting in our way. Poor old doctor was all alone. Died without no one to grieve for him. Dumped his body in the bay down in Tampa. Take four more steps, now.”
Derek took four steps.
“Hilton hired you to replace all the furniture in his lodge outside of Tallahassee, too. That much is pretty obvious. My question is when did he tell you to burn it all?”
“While you and your posse was sitting watch outside our home. I called Hilton, gave him the situation. He offered us fifty grand to burn it all before y’all found a way to do whatever the hell it was y’all wanted to do with the furniture. Fifty grand is a lot of money just to start a fire. And, like I already told you, I do like fires. Another four steps, if you don’t mind.”
Four more steps. Shotgun pressing deep into his back.
“You must have heard Hilton was killed yesterday. Explosion in his house. He was sitting right on a bomb. Blew his ass all over the walls of his living room.” Derek chuckled a bit. “Sounds wrong calling it a living room. More appropriate to call it his dying room, wouldn’t you think?
“Is that your question?”
“No. My question is actually two-fold. Two for the price of one. I know you didn’t have anything to do with Hilton’s death. Time frame doesn’t work and I can’t see why yo
u’d want to kill someone who pays you a lot of money to do jobs for him. So, my questions are if you knew Hilton was killed and if you know who killed him?”
“Yes and no. I heard he was killed but don’t know who did it. I’d like to find out, though. I’d sure like to kill that son of a bitch. Hilton being dead means my brother and I are out of jobs. Four steps.”
Derek was close enough to the ash pile to smell its musty dampness. Must have rained overnight, giving the charred remains a sickly smoky odor. Slight wind picked up and scattered some of the ashes, which had dried out under the relentless Florida sun.
Four steps closer to the pile.
“Makes sense to me. Question four: You have another person you do jobs for? Like the jobs you did for Hilton?”
“I wish we did, Cole. Hooking up with Hilton was a godsend. One in a million. Very fortunate for us. Unless your final question is how Hilton found us and why he hired us, which, I’ll tell you now for no charge that I do not know, it’s time for you to get up nice and tight to the pile.”
Derek took four more steps. His toes were eight inches away from a charred leg of a bed frame.
“Guess this is it. My last question.”
“Sure is.” Jackson paused a beat. Let out a small laugh. “Gotta say, I enjoyed this little man to man agreement you thought up. If me and Bobby find a new employer, why, I may just add it to our process. Last question, Derek Cole. Then, it’s lights out for you. If your three people come looking for you and get to nosing around, I’ll make sure they join you wherever it is you’ll be.”
“Which one of you was raped by your daddy? You or your brother?”
“What the fuck did you say?” Jackson’s voice was cut with bitter hatred. A deep, growing anger.
“That’s my last question. Was it you or Bobby your dad raped? I heard about what you did to O’Connell’s dick. Made me think one of you had some serious issues with father figures. O’Connell was in his fifties. Probably a little younger than your dad, but I’d say he was about the same age. Close enough, anyway. Maybe your dad raped both you and Bobby. Is that it? Your daddy screwed you both in the ass? Both have issues?”
Derek felt the shotgun’s barrel slide up his back and press hard against his head.
That was exactly what he hoped would happen.
When Jackson had walked close to Derek in the pole barn, Derek noticed a fluorescent sticker affixed to the stock. It was a yellow sticker with a capital “R” in the middle. Black ink made the “R” stand out against the yellow sticker. That told Derek the shotgun had been modified with a release trigger. Meaning the gun wouldn’t fire until the trigger was pulled all the way back then released. Kind of like pulling a rubber band back then releasing it. Some people call it a “dead man’s trigger.” Guy has a gun with a release trigger pulled all the way back, gets shot, and his gun fires even though the guy could be dead before he hits the ground. Lots of terrorists use a “dead man’s trigger” with their bombs. One way or another, bomb is going to explode.
Having a release trigger meant two things: One, if the person holding the shotgun had the trigger already pulled back, all the person would need to do to fire off a round was to release his or her finger. Made for a quick shot. Lots of foul hunters used release triggers. Saved a split second and, sometimes, a split second made the difference between taking down a bird in flight and missing it.
Two, if the person holding the gun hadn’t already pulled the trigger all the way back, he or she would need to do so, then release the trigger before the round was fired. That would take up a split second. And Derek needed a split second. Now more than ever.
He spun around; right arm extended and smashed the back of his fist right into Jackson’s temple. The shotgun exploded, sending the racked shell into the pile of ashes. Big puff of ash and debris kicked up.
Apparently, Jackson hadn’t depressed the trigger and made it ready for release. Split second made all the difference.
Derek continued his spin and landed a crushing left cross square on Jackson’s nose. Ropes of blood squirted out diagonally from his face. Jackson was going down. Half due to the pain in his face and half due to being almost knocked out. Derek grabbed the shotgun’s barrel with his right hand. Gave it a strong pull sending Jackson towards him in an off balance stumble. Derek raised his knee and connected to Jackson’s groin.
Lights out.
Chapter 32
His entire body was trembling. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins as his parasympathetic nervous system did its best to counteract the fight or flight reaction having a gun pressed into his back had caused. Jackson was out cold. Would be for another ten, fifteen minutes, Derek figured. That gave him enough time to calm himself down, take care of a few things and contact local authorities.
He stood straight, took a long, deep breath, held it, then blew it out aggressively. Shook his arms then his legs, one at a time. He looked around, found a length of discarded rope on the ground near the ash pile and used it to tie Jackson up, hog style.
He ran over to the pole barn, flipped the lights on, double-timed it over to the Mercedes 220 sedan. He ripped off the cover then walked over to the driver’s side door. He opened the door, found the keys sitting on the seat. Walked to the back of the car, used the key to open the trunk and took a good, long look at the dirt, clumps of sod and a deep, dark maroon stain on the gray carpet.
He left the trunk open, just in case he decided to leave before the cops showed up. He wanted to make things as easy as possible for them. Next, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Nikkie’s cell.
He gave her the Reader’s Digest version of what happened, ending with a request for Nikkie to get in touch with Detective Rachel Gonzales.
“Do that first,” Derek said. “Have her get in touch with the Dothan PD. They need to send a car over to pick up Bobby Trainer and one here to take Jackson into custody.”
“I have a feeling you’re not telling me everything that happened up there. You sure you’re okay?” Nikkie pressed.
“Right as rain. Hand is a little sore but I don’t think anything is broken. I’m going to call the airport next, see if I can get on the next flight back to Tampa. Let Rachel know to tell the Dothan cops I may not be here when they show up. Don’t want to miss my flight.”
“Your flight can wait, Derek,” she snapped back. “You need to stay right where you are till the cops get there.”
“Too much going on to sit around up here overnight. Only one flight back to Tampa today. Leaves at nine fifteen. Can’t afford not to be on that flight.”
“Stay there. Do not leave till the Dothan PD tells you it’s okay for you to leave. I’m going over to speak with Jessica about Maryanne Jenkins. Really need to find out why she hired her over all her other choices of lawyers.”
“Hard to believe Jessica is out on bail again. Damn hard to believe.”
“Even more reason for me to do a little freelance work, Cole style.”
Derek stopped dead in his tracks. The bad feeling he felt when first starting the case returned triumphantly, sending his stomach into summersaults.
“What are you planning to do, Nikkie?”
“I told you about Maryanne and how she told me she has ALS, remember?”
“Yeah, sure, but…”
“What I didn’t tell you is that that day she told me, she couldn’t even stand up, walk to her office door and let me in. She and I argued for a few minutes; her sitting behind her desk, me standing outside her front door. She told me where she hides a second office door key. I never put it back.”
“Nikkie, remember whose initials you circled in the hotel? The person your gut was telling you was behind Sam Gracers’ murder?”
“That’s why I’m going to do what I’m going to do. To find out for sure if my gut is right.” Nikkie paused, let Derek run through whatever thoughts he had to process. “I’ll be careful and I’ll be quick. I need to see if she has any files linking her to Hilton
or FJ DeNuzzio. She could be the key to this whole mess of a case.”
“I’ll be back tonight,” Derek said. “One way or another, I’ll be in Tampa tonight. I’ll call you before I take off and when I land. If you can’t answer, you text me back right away. Agreed?”
“Listen to you,” Nikkie said in a playful voice. “Getting all worried about me doing what you’d do in a heartbeat. Listen, I just met with Rachel Gonzales. Had iced tea together. While I was leaving, Jessica called me. Wants me to come over and sit with her at her house.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Don’t like the sound of that at all.”
“She’s our client,” Nikkie said.
“You carrying your gun on you?”
“No permit in Florida, believe it or not. It’s back in the hotel room.”
“Make a stop on your way to Jessica’s. Get your gun. Don’t worry about not having a damn permit to carry.”
“We’ll see. Gotta run.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful and will either answer every time I call or will text me back if you can’t talk. Promise me.”
“I promise. Nothing is going to happen. I promise.”
By the time he got back to where Jackson had tried to blow a hole in his head, Derek had convinced himself Nikkie was going to be fine.
Deathly Reminders: a Derek Cole Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 6) Page 20