Bad Road to Nowhere

by Linda Ladd

  Novak stopped right in front of the guy and stared down at him. The kid appeared to be quite anxious. He kept the receiver at his ear but didn’t say anything. Now the nerves had descended into the first stage of all-out fright. Novak said, “So, how long’s it gonna take him to get here?”

  The kid’s big blue eyes twitched slightly and then veered away from Novak. He was unnerved, all right. His voice quavered a little. “Who?”

  “The guy you just called.”

  The guy squirmed around some on his desk chair and looked as if he was going to jump up and run off. His answer was reluctant. “Ten minutes, maybe.”

  “How about I go out there on the range, take a few shots, wait out there?”

  “Do you need an instructor?”

  “What d’you think?”

  Kid looked at him, eyes wide. “You the guy who messed up Georgie and then busted up Joe and Mike last night down at the Triangle?”

  “Yeah, I am. What of it?”

  The boy darted his gaze around some more. “You better watch yourself, mister. You know, comin’ out here all alone, and stuff. Ain’t good for your health.”

  “Are you saying that I ought to be scared of you guys?”

  “There’s a lot of us and just one of you.”

  “That makes a difference to you?”

  The kid just looked startled and put all his attention on the windows facing the gun range.

  “The last station’s still open. Number twenty. What you shootin’? You need ammo?”

  “Nope.”

  Novak stepped outside, but he was watching his back. After the first two altercations with him, these guys were probably not up for any kind of a frontal assault. They would attack him from behind and attempt surprise. They probably wouldn’t do that very well, either. Over on the range, gunfire had begun in earnest. It looked as if most of them were hitting the targets. Haphazardly and once in a while, maybe, through no fault of their own. Others were reloading, being shown how to pull a trigger. Amateurs abounded in this place. Novak just hoped they all weren’t waiting for a signal to turn around and point their weapons at him when he walked down the path behind them. Chances were that he wouldn’t be the most popular guy at the Shoot Club that day, or any other day, not after Georgie and Mike and Joe’s humiliating takedowns.

  Then again, the big boss man himself, the formidable and as of yet unseen Barrett Wilson, had invited Novak to visit with a personal phone call. Probably nobody was gonna shoot him in the back without Wilson’s thumbs-down. Novak walked all the way to the end of the narrow path, stopped at the last station, and pulled out his weapon. He gazed out over the range, fired several rounds at the target, pleased enough with his sighting. He had hit the paper image of a man thirty yards out. Three times in center mass. In the heart. Wasn’t gonna waste more ammo, though. In case things didn’t pan out the way he expected. He had enough ammo to put down enough people, if it became necessary. He leaned up against the wall and watched the long line of shooters miss their targets by a mile and settled in to wait.

  Around a quarter of an hour later, Novak caught sight of three camouflaged Jeep Cherokees barreling down a gravel road that ran up into the hills at the far side of the range. It meandered in and out of heavy woods and then descended gradually to an overgrown pasture at the left of the gun range. He watched the small caravan of vehicles, weaving in and out of sight among big trees and ground choked with thick and tangled undergrowth. They disappeared into the trees, and then after a minute or two, they reappeared and headed straight at him. He could see two guys sitting in the front seat of all three vehicles. One lone man sat in the backseat of the middle SUV. The supreme ruler, no doubt, and his Centurion Guard.

  Novak stepped back where he could better see what the shooters on the range were doing. These guys liked to gang up on victims. He was ready for that, and for anything else. He kept his weapon in his hand, racked and ready and down low alongside his leg. All firing had stopped now, at one station after another, the shots petering out one at a time until an eerie silence settled over the valley floor. Time to bow and kowtow to the lord and master.

  Novak did not like the vibes he was getting at this place. Something untoward was going on, and instincts that he’d attained the hard way were telling him that Emma Adamson and her son might very well be caught up inside Wilson’s web of influence, just as Mariah had feared. If either one of them were even still alive. At this point, the son’s fate looked a whole lot better than the wife’s. That was not a good thing to think about, but probably the most likely scenario. Seemed to him that young and willing women were a dime a dozen in Wilson’s new world. Why mess around with a wife who didn’t like him so much?

  The little entourage pulled up just behind him in a loud crunch of big tires and skidded to stops on heavy gravel. He waited, unimpressed. The guy in the passenger seat jumped out and opened the back door with the eagerness of a rookie Secret Service agent manning the President’s limo. Except White House security didn’t get a broken jaw if the President felt disgruntled. Novak had a feeling these guys got that, or worse, if they faltered in their job descriptions.

  When the boss man stepped out, Novak didn’t recognize him, not at all. The guy didn’t look much like the photo of Robin Adamson that Mariah had shown Novak. The features were somehow different. He looked younger, and better looking. Handsome in a self-satisfied, arrogant sort of way. Novak had a knack for recognizing faces. He found them easy to memorize using the shape of jaw and width of the nose and spacing of the eyes. If this guy was Adamson, he had cut his brown hair very short and dyed it blond, and gotten extremely tanned and fit since he had adopted his brand new Barrett Wilson aka Big Chief persona. Looked maybe thirty pounds lighter than in the pictures, too. Clean living out in the Blue Ridge Mountains must have some major health benefits. Or the guy had hired one hell of a good plastic surgeon.

  Wilson was armed, of course, and like his wannabe biker friend Sandy Boyer, he wasn’t shy about people knowing it. A wide brown leather ammo belt was strapped around his hips, and another great big, shiny chrome .357 was shoved down inside it, all ready, willing, and able to kill somebody. In Novak’s experience, the bigger the gun a man carried, the less confidence he had about himself. Overcompensating for lack of ability or courage, or both. Amateurish unless you faced only insignificant odds. However, something appeared sinister about this guy Wilson. It radiated out from him. The customers at the firing stations looked halfway terrified, or locked inside some kind of fearsome awe, like he was the devil come to fetch them all back to hell. Still no shots being taken. A reverent hush. Shh. He’s here. Be afraid.

  Wilson strode in a straight line up the small incline to Novak, using quick steps, all puffed up and powerful and puttin’ on a show. He walked with his right hand extended and nowhere near his weapon, where he had it strapped down on his right thigh. No worries, the six other guys had their hands resting right on top of their firearms. Wilson wore mossy oak camouflage, head to toe, even his holster and some kind of weird hunter’s cap that ruined the tough-guy effect. Sort of like the one Elmer Fudd wore in Looney Toons cartoons. Novak stood up from where he had been leaning on the roof support, transferred the .45 to his left hand in a show of peace. He was ambidextrous enough to get off a couple of rounds with his left hand, if need be. And that would be all he needed. Wilson would be dead before he could pull his huge gun out of his holster.

  “Welcome, Mr. Novak,” Wilson said to him, all pleasant and warm. Mr. Friendly Bad Guy. “Glad that you decided to come and take a look around my place.”

  The guy was trying hard for a passable Southern drawl now, Georgia redneck, in fact. The accent was halfway acceptable but not really all that good. On the other hand, Novak had spent most of his childhood in Australia, and in one of the most exclusive beach suburbs of Sydney. He could hear Wilson’s underlying true accent, the one he had used the night before, but now down deep, almost hidden, but not enough. Last night he hadn’t hid
den it at all. Why? The guy was a born Aussie, all right. Probably could fool the local folks in these parts, maybe, but not Novak.

  Wilson gripped Novak’s hand. Very tight, gave it three hard downward jerks, showing he was somebody to be reckoned with. Feel this, Mr. Novak? My grip is steel. Beware, boy. Novak watched Wilson’s large and very cold blue eyes belie his big and toothy, aw shucks grin.

  Novak said, “Okay, I’m here. Let’s get down to business. What do you want?”

  “You aren’t one to waste words, are you, now? Maybe we should take a few minutes to get acquainted.”

  “Can’t see any reason to. I’m heading out today. Outstayed my welcome around here.”

  Wilson stared up at him. He stood about five ten or eleven, at the most. But he had a hard-packed, strong body. He obviously worked out. Wilson unexpectedly gave a kind of chortle followed by a deep belly laugh. He dropped Novak’s hand and shook his head, but his eyes came back up almost immediately. Still cold, still trying to disguise the hard-as-nails expression inside them. “I suppose you’re a tad put off about my guys hassling you the last couple of nights. That it, Mr. Novak?”

  “I was a bit peeved, yeah.”

  “Don’t know why. You got the better of them. Quick enough, too.”

  “You like the fact that I put your men down without much trouble?”

  “Actually, I do. They’re all well trained. Loyal. Do what they’re told.”

  “Doesn’t sound like I’d fit in.”

  Wilson laughed some more. This time it sounded genuine. He liked Novak. Right off the bat. Yeah, not likely.

  Wilson’s next question was stupid. “You live around here?”

  “You know I don’t live around here.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I move around a lot.”

  “That described me, too, until I landed in this place.” He observed Novak a few more seconds. “Are you a marksman?”

  “I can hold my own.”

  “Want to show me?”

  “Not particularly. I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  “Going to play games with me, right? Play hard to get?”

  “I don’t play games like that.”

  “How about you letting me show you around the compound before you say no?”

  “Say no to what?”

  “I think I do want to offer you a job.”

  “I think I don’t want your job.”

  Novak waited. He wanted access, all right, and a tour of the compound. That would save Novak one hell of a lot of reconnoitering on foot in the dark through hundreds of wooded acres. He liked the idea of a job on the compound, but he was surprised he was being offered one. Not this soon, not by the boss man himself. He was suspicious of Wilson’s motives and had been from the beginning. And he didn’t like Wilson. Didn’t like anything about him. He was a pompous, self-important, arrogant ass, strutting and preening for the weaklings who worked for him. But Novak could play all the necessary cards to get Wilson to do what he wanted. So far, Wilson appeared the kind of man who would be fairly easy to manipulate.

  “Don’t say no to me too fast. I pay very well. Especially if it gets me somebody like you.”

  Novak waited some more. Just stared down at him. Expressionless.

  “Come on, take a look around. Won’t take long. Listen to my offer.”

  Wilson seemed sincere. He really wanted Novak aboard. Bad mistake in judgment, that was. “How long’s it gonna take? I need to hit the road.”

  “Less than an hour. I’ve got hundreds of acres out here. Let me show you the highlights of our operation and then you can be on your way if you don’t like what you see.”

  Novak nodded but kept himself aware. Wilson could be inviting him into the backwoods to put a bullet in his head. Stranger things had happened.

  “Okay. I can take a look, I guess.”

  “Good man.”

  Not even close, Novak thought. Wilson would find that out soon enough. He pushed his weapon down into his waistband, in the front this time, and trailed Wilson out to the middle vehicle. The other six guys all leaned against their fenders and glared Novak into tomorrow. He ignored them. Their weapons were holstered. They were too relaxed to draw and fire quicker than he could. They were better trained than the other guys he’d met up with, or so it appeared, but Novak was pretty damn sure he didn’t have any friends in this bunch and never would.

  “I’m going to drive Mr. Novak around myself. The rest of you wait here.”

  Nobody answered. Nobody objected. Nobody looked thrilled to be displaced by a newcomer who’d already landed three of their buddies in the hospital.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Novak climbed into the passenger seat and had to lever the seat all the way back to accommodate the length of his legs. He wasn’t going to get jammed up if this turned out to be an ambush. Wilson pulled out around the vehicle sitting in front of them, and then took off in a shower of loose gravel. He swept a turn out onto the road and headed back up in the direction from which he’d come earlier. Novak braced his left hand on the dashboard. He kept his gun hand free. Neither of them said anything. Novak watched Wilson’s gun hand and the trees along both sides of the road. He was expecting something to go down. He just didn’t know what yet.

  “So, who’s your sexy lady?” Wilson asked casually, glancing over at Novak as he spoke.

  “What sexy lady?”

  “The one you showed up in town with.”

  “I told you. She’s a hitchhiker I picked up. Not that it’s your business. She was standing on the side of the road in this little striped crop top thing that showed a lot of skin and a pair of the shortest shorts I’d seen since I flew out of Bangkok. I thought she looked like a good conversationalist.”

  Wilson laughed. “What’s her name?”

  “What’s up with all these questions? You want to know about her, ask her.”

  “I hear she’s working for me now.”

  “Wouldn’t know. We parted ways last night, after she got herself in trouble with your guys. Her conversation got stale, and I usually go it alone. She’s probably halfway to New York by now.”

  “Is that where she’s headed? New York?”

  “Hell if I know. I don’t ask these kinds of questions to people I meet on the road. You shouldn’t, either.”

  “Yeah, except that I like to know who I’m employing.”

  “She’s not working for you anymore. As far as I know, she’s long gone. If not, that’s her problem.”

  “Good. I’m not sure I trust her. So, how about I tell you about my operations up here? Then turn me down flat, if you don’t like the way things sound. But I think you will like it here. I think you’re the perfect fit to work for me.”

  Novak just kept watching the woods around them for snipers. Something was all wrong about this. He felt edgy. This was way too easy. Nobody had ever begged him to take a job before. Bad guys were usually wary of him and for good reason.

  “My operation’s got three spheres of endeavor. The Shoot Club back there, and up ahead of us a ways is the Hunt Club. That’s where we take hunting parties out into the mountains and help them bag trophy animals. You know, personally guided group hunts, and the like.” He glanced over at Novak. “Something tells me you know how to hunt.”

  “I’ve done it a time or two.”

  “I pay extremely well. I think you’d be interested in how much.”

  He’d already said that, no doubt wanting Novak to ask him how much. Novak didn’t say anything. Let the big man do all the work. Better to act disinterested.

  When Novak didn’t bite, Wilson continued, a real eager beaver now. What was with this guy? “The third operation is the Triangle Club, of course. You’ve already checked that out for yourself.” He kept on darting quick glances over at Novak. The guy was beginning to come off weird. “You should’ve just come up here with my men last night. All I wanted was to meet with you. Maybe offer you this job. Wasn’t any n
eed to hurt anybody.”

  “Don’t know about you, but something about being prodded along at gunpoint tends to bother me.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I like about you. You don’t like being pushed around. You don’t take shit off anybody. Me, either.”

  Novak waited some more. Wilson was a real talker. Novak wanted the job, all right, no matter what it turned out to be. He wanted the run of the entire compound so he could find Emma and get her the hell out. If she was there. Because now he was sensing he was on the right track. His gut was telling him that he was getting close. He always listened to his instincts, usually followed them. A rule he had learned a long time ago.

  “You said that you moved around. Well, I can give you a nice place to stay that’s better than that shabby motel you’re sleeping in now. We’ve got a bunkhouse up here for the men, out at the Hunt Club. There’s a big lodge for clients out there, too. Empty now because we aren’t going out on hunts at present. There are a few private cabins that are quite nice. One of them’s empty right now. You can stay there. My men don’t care much for you, for obvious reasons. No use putting you down in the middle of them. That’s just trouble waiting to happen.”

  “Let’s just cut the crap, Wilson. What exactly do you want me to do out here?”

  “Teach people to shoot, take out the hunting parties now and then, show them how to track game, all that sort of thing. Hell, I’ll even let you name your price.”

  Novak frowned. Okay, now that was a bit beyond the pale. What did this guy really want with him? He decided he needed to know. “Why the hell are you so eager for me to sign on?”

  “I know a competent warrior when I see one. I like having guys like you on the payroll.”

  Competent warrior? “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Novak told him. And that was the understatement of the year. Wilson wouldn’t have long to wait before he saw firsthand what Novak was capable of, not if the guy had murdered his wife and son and/or kidnapped them and locked them up on this compound.