Rising Spirit

by Wayne Stinnett

  I added a $50 tip and then sat back and waited for the fish to take the bait.

  I didn’t have long to wait. Doctor Brown rose and came toward me. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you are, sir. Why did you pay for our meals?”

  “Have a seat, Doctor Brown,” I said, pushing a chair out with my foot.

  Brown glanced back at the other man, who appeared worried. When he turned back to face me, I rose from my chair and extended my hand. “Stretch Buchannan. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I’m taking over the distribution for Aiden Pritchard.”

  He only stared at me blankly, shaking my hand as the color slowly faded from his face.

  “Th- the rye?” he stammered. “M- mister Pritchard said he had a buyer, but he also said we’d never m- meet him.”

  I smiled and motioned toward the empty chair. “And yet, here I am.”

  Brown looked back at the other man again.

  “Have your assistant join us,” I said. “The three of us need to talk.”

  Brown motioned the other man over and as he approached, I offered him my hand. “Name’s Stretch Buchannan.”

  “Frank Millhouse,” the younger man replied.

  “Pull up a chair, Frank. Doctor Brown and I were about to talk about our futures.”

  “I don’t get it,” Frank said, sitting next to Brown.

  “It’s simple,” I said. “Your boss is a sloppy operator. I’m not. He’ll get you arrested or killed. I won’t. He and I have already agreed on me taking over the liquor distribution. But that’s not enough for me, you see. So, I’ll be taking the cid off his hands, too.”

  “Cid?” Brown said, his eyes blinking.

  I lowered my voice. “You discovered a gold mine, doctor. If there’s as much ergot fungi on the rye here as I think there is, we don’t need the sheriff or the bozos they have making deliveries now.”

  “B- but… they own the land,” Brown said.

  “And they’ll get a good price for their harvest,” I said, falling easily into my drug kingpin persona. “Aiden will see to that. It’ll be way better than what they’d get working the corn through the summer heat. And they’ll have zero risk. I know Wright and Long will go for it. But Stuart Lane will be a problem. I’ve already taken steps to convince him, and I should know later tonight if he’s on board. I’m sure he will be.”

  “What about Aiden and Lou?” Frank asked. “They’re the law in these parts; the sheriff and prosecutor.”

  When Chyrel sent me the bio on Judge Whitaker, I’d downloaded his picture and stored his phone number on my phone. I scrolled through it and pulled up the judge’s picture, then showed it to Frank.

  “Aiden and Lou are just the sheriff and prosecutor,” I corrected him.

  Frank shook his head. “No way, man. I know him. He’s as straight as they come.”

  I took a chance that Ollie would recognize my voice, or at least the Florida Keys area code, and called his number, putting it on speaker with the volume low enough that only the three of us could hear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ollie, it’s me. Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to talk to you one more time tomorrow. It’s about that big adventure we discussed. Can we meet for breakfast? You pick the place. My treat.”

  There was a brief silence on the other end before the judge responded.

  “Yes, of course. There’s a Cracker Barrel down by the interstate. Say, six o’clock?”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  I ended the call and looked from one man to the other. They both seemed to open up after that, describing the interior of the old barn and how Pritchard had customized it to make moonshine. Brown told me about how he’d met Pritchard and discovered the rare fungus on the rye grown on several farms in the area.

  “How did you get them to partner with you?” Frank asked.

  “I didn’t say I was partnering with them,” I replied. “I’m taking over.”

  Before either man could respond, I stood and strode toward the lobby and the elevator. Once the doors slid closed behind me, I redialed the judge’s number.

  “What’s going on, son? You in some kind of trouble?”

  “Sorry, Ollie,” I said, grinning at the memory of the old black and white TV comedy duo. “I hated having to do it, but I needed more clout than the sheriff or prosecutor. There’s a lot more going on here than moonshine and murder. It involves illegal drug manufacturing and the amount looks like it could be in the tens of millions of dollars.”

  “So, we won’t be talking about fishing in the morning?”

  “No, sir. We’ll be talking about LSD manufacturing right here in Staunton. On a huge scale.”

  “How huge?” he asked.

  “One drop of LSD, soaked onto a tiny piece of blotter paper, sells on the street for ten dollars,” I replied. “They’re planning to make gallons of it. I’m not sure how many drops are in a gallon, but I bet it’s a lot.”

  “About seventy-five thousand,” he replied. “And you’re certain that Pritchard’s involved in this?”

  “I just had dinner with the botanist who is making it in Pritchard’s old barn, along with the moonshine.”

  “And you made it appear to him that I was working with you?”

  “A judge trumps a prosecutor,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see any other way to get the information I needed from the botanist.”

  “I see. What else will I need to do?”

  “If you should get a call asking what your involvement is with Stretch Buchannan, would you mind playing along and call me back with what you learn? Be reluctant to talk about us at first, though.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon,” he said, his voice sounding almost jovial. “I’ll help any way I can, legally.”

  The elevator doors opened on the top floor and I explained quickly how I’d muscled my way into Pritchard’s organization and how I was taking over all of it. Then I told him about my conversation with the botanist who had the know-how to make the drug.

  “At some point,” Ollie confided, “I will have to bring in the Virginia State Police and the Attorney General.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the Commonwealth Police?” I asked, waving my key card in front of the lock and opening the door.

  The judge laughed. “Actually, no. In this case, it is state.”

  “You don’t have to do that right away, do you?” I asked. “I think I’ve only exposed the tip of the iceberg.”

  “No, not right now. I don’t think I’d be breaking any laws, or even bending one slightly, by just saying that yes, I am conducting a business arrangement with you. But I’ll need to give you a deposit in the morning for the charter. That way, I’m not lying.”

  “My normal charter deposit is a cup of really good coffee.”

  “Ah,” Ollie said. “You liked that, did you?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, switching on the light and tossing my pack on the bed. “I usually drink a Costa Rican coffee.”

  “Hacienda la Minita?” he asked.

  I was impressed. “I especially like the Tarrazu blend.”

  “Very good, as well,” Ollie said. “What we had earlier was Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee.”

  “I don’t suppose they have that at Cracker Barrel?” I asked, liking the old man even more.

  “I really don’t know, Jesse. But my niece is the manager there. My sister’s daughter who moved here with her husband years ago. She always has something special in the brewer for me on Sundays.”

  “Thanks, Ollie. I look forward to it.”

  Ending the call, I pulled my laptop out of my pack, and powered it up. It was time for a conference call.

  The inside of the van was dark, except for the soft blue glow from a pair of computer monitors in the back. The van had no windows—it d
idn’t need any. A heavy black curtain was drawn, blocking the view into the van’s cab.

  A barrel-chested man sat in front of one of the computer terminals, the glow casting weird shadows on his face from his thick mustache. A noise from near the other terminal caused him to turn.

  The man’s partner extended a cup toward him, “Here.”

  “Thanks,” Andrew Bourke said, accepting the cup.

  The side door of the van opened, and Tony Jacobs climbed in. At his console, Andrew was watching a computer screen that showed four small windows.

  “Are they coming in clear?” Tony asked.

  “Five by five,” the former Coast Guardsman replied in a deep baritone. “I’m even picking up what sounds like a television from inside the house.”

  “Smart thinking,” Paul Bender said from his seat in the back. “Having eyes on the back of the house will alert us if the subject slips past Deuce and Julie.”

  “That’s not likely,” Tony commented, taking a seat next to Andrew. “That hotel only has one entrance to the parking lot. Trying to scale an eight-foot wall in the back would draw more attention than this guy would want. He hasn’t done anything yet.”

  Andrew glanced back at Paul, who was watching the same four video feeds that he was. “Think he’ll make his move tonight?”

  “Yes, I believe he will,” Paul said, not looking up from the screen. “I’ve studied everything Chyrel pulled up on the man. He’s impatient and impulsive, prone to violent outbursts. I think he has a streak of misogyny as well. He sees Sandra Sneed as inferior and he also has a strong dislike of attorneys. He won’t have a gun. Probably a knife or a piece of rope to use as a garrote. Yes, he’ll make his move tonight. Probably after everyone is asleep.”

  Paul’s computer beeped. “Incoming video link,” he said, moving the mouse around and opening the conference app. “It’s Jesse.”

  Andrew nodded. “Get Deuce and Chyrel on there, too. I’ll watch the feeds.”

  “Hello, Jesse,” Paul said to the screen. “Mind standing by for a minute while I get the others on?”

  “Yeah, I’ll wait.”

  Andrew heard the man’s grumbled reply and grinned over at Tony. It hadn’t been so long ago that Jesse McDermitt couldn’t even send a text message on a cell phone without help. He was okay with the electronic navigation equipment on his boats, but communications technology had left him behind after the pager.

  “Hey, Jesse,” Andrew heard Julie’s voice say. “Hey, Paul.”

  Chyrel chimed in, greeting the others, then Jesse asked, “Who’s with you in the van, Paul?”

  “Tony and Andrew, right now,” Paul replied. “Tom will be here in less than an hour.”

  “You have everyone on this?” Jesse asked.

  “Yeah,” came Deuce’s reply. “All but Charity. She’s out of the country.”

  Though Andrew could hear the others talking, his eyes never left the monitors in front of him. The top two images were video feeds from two rooftop cameras; one looking ahead of the van, showing the front of Jesse’s daughter’s house, as well as the street beyond it, and the other surveying the street behind the van. The lower two images were from the two wireless cameras Tony had just set up in the back corners of Eve and Nick Maggio’s backyard.

  “How are things up there?” Deuce’s voice came over the speakers on Paul’s computer.

  “Cold,” Jesse replied. “There’s a chance of snow tonight through early morning. Any change in Lane’s status?”

  “He checked into the hotel several hours ago,” Deuce replied. “Julie and I are watching the only entrance to the parking lot. He hasn’t left.”

  “I can confirm that,” Chyrel said. “I hacked into the hotel’s security system and I’m monitoring the camera on his floor.”

  “I’m at a hotel in Staunton,” Jesse said. “The Stonewall Jackson. I just made contact with a couple of guys who work for Pritchard, a botanist named Walter Brown and his assistant, Frank Millhouse. They’re making LSD in Pritchard’s barn, along with the moonshine.”

  “LSD?” Deuce asked. “Are you sure?”

  Chyrel fielded the question. “It’s the only thing that makes sense, from what I’ve learned. The primary ingredient comes from a fungus that grows on some types of rye seed. And it’s the only liquid I’ve found that commands the prices they were talking about.”

  “I told them I was taking over the operation,” Jesse said. “Something I’d already told Pritchard and Taliaferro earlier today, but I was only talking about the whiskey then.”

  “I bet the prosecutor didn’t like that very much,” Deuce said.

  “He doesn’t know I told Brown I was taking over the LSD operation yet,” Jesse replied. “But I’m sure he will soon. His reaction was puzzling when I said I was taking over his moonshine operation. He really didn’t seem to care all that much. It made me think then that there was more going on than just moonshine. So, I went up to the hills to recon the property and that’s how I found the botanist. I brought Judge Whitaker in on it, making Brown and his assistant think he was behind me muscling in. I made sure they overheard our conversation.”

  “And you’re certain he’s not a part of it?” Tony asked over Paul’s shoulder. “Things could seriously backfire if the judge is in on this.”

  “No doubt in my mind, Tony,” Jesse replied. “By now, Brown will have contacted Pritchard, and it’s likely Pritchard will call the judge. I’m meeting the judge for breakfast at 0600, something else I made sure Brown overheard.”

  “You’ll be watched,” Paul said. “What’s to stop Pritchard from killing you?”

  “I made it clear to him,” Jesse said. “I told him that all the evidence I have is also in the hands of someone else and if anything happened to me, it would all fall onto the Attorney General’s desk.”

  “We’ll take care of Lane,” Deuce said. “Nothing will happen to your family; you have my word. What’s your plan moving forward?”

  “I expect Pritchard to contact the judge tonight. I told Pritchard I’d be picking up the first shipment at sunrise on Monday. Do you know anyone at an ATF or DEA regional office near here; someone who can spare a couple of agents and a cargo van? Even the FBI would do.”

  “I do,” Paul replied. “And we’ve worked with her before. Special Agent Sheena Mason has contacted me several times to do forensic psychological profiles. She’s working out of FBI headquarters in DC now.”

  “Contact her,” Jesse said. “Explain what’s going on and ask her to meet me and the Judge at 0600 at the Cracker Barrel in Staunton. It’s near the interstate.”

  “On it,” Paul replied. “But don’t you think Pritchard will have someone watching?”

  “I’m counting on it,” Jesse replied. “That way, he’ll think she’s part of the crew, when she arrives Monday with another agent.”

  “Anything else?” Deuce asked.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Chyrel said. “But your boy is on the move. Headed for the elevator.”

  “No, Deuce, that’s it. Get this guy. I want him there when I get back.”

  “Okay,” Deuce said. “Gotta go, Jesse.”

  Paul ended the video link and remotely turned on the team’s earwigs, including Chyrel’s. “Comms are up,” he said.

  “Comm check,” came Deuce’s voice over the tiny communications device Andrew had in his ear.

  The other five checked in one by one.

  “What about Tom?” Tony asked.

  Just then, the side door opened, and Tom Broderick stepped into the van. Paul got up from his console and moved aside so Tom could get to it. He’d keep watch on the video feeds and the computer’s voice-to-text app would keep him aware of any verbal instructions from the others.

  Without a word, Tom sat down and looked at the monitor.

  “Tom?” Andrew said, as he rose fr
om his position at the other console. Tom’s name appeared on his screen and he looked up.

  “We’re going now,” Andrew said with a big grin, as the deaf man read his lip movements. “Stuart Lane is on the move.”

  “Oh,” Tom said. “I guess I got here at just the right time then.”

  The others laughed as they climbed out of the van, then silently dispersed to their various positions.

  “We’re on the move,” Deuce said quietly.

  Andrew pointed to the screen and Tom looked down. He lifted a thumb in the air, then made a shooing motion with his hand. Andrew stepped out of the van and closed the door.

  With Deuce and Julie following the subject on foot, Andrew casually crossed the street and took up his position in the shadows next to a boat and trailer parked beside an empty vacation home.

  He knew that Deuce and Julie would appear to be just what they were—a married couple enjoying a late-night stroll hand-in-hand. In the Grove it was quite normal.

  “On Aviation,” Deuce said. “Crossing Trapp. We’re on the opposite side of the street from him, half a block behind. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt, carrying a backpack. Good camouflage if he didn’t have that big, white pumpkin on top of his shoulders.”

  “I’m in position,” Andrew said, peeking around the corner of the house.

  “Me, too,” Tony’s voice declared over Andrew’s comm.

  A few seconds passed, then Paul said, “I’m in position, as well.”

  “We don’t want to spook this guy, y’all,” Chyrel said. “As soon as he turns the corner, Deuce and Julie start running to catch up. Tom, make sure to hit the strobe before they make the turn. Deuce’s call on the flash.”

  “He’s crossing Lincoln and still hasn’t looked back,” Julie said a moment later. “He’s walking pretty fast for a hit man. One more block.”

  The seconds ticked past as Andrew waited in the shadows beside the boat. A dog barked on the next block and he could hear the heavy crunch of footsteps approaching.

  “Got him,” Tom said. “Just rounded the corner.”

  Andrew glanced up and saw a black-clad, bald man turn onto Tigertail Avenue. He looked back down at the ground and closed his eyes tightly, shielding them with his arm, knowing that Tom was about to push the button on his console that would activate a very bright light on top of the van. He wasn’t worried he’d miss it; they’d practiced this tactic before, and he knew the light would turn darkness into daylight. It was like a flash-bang grenade, but brighter and without the bang. The light was meant to disorient the subject, temporarily blinding him.