Star-Spangled Rejects (The Heavenly Grille Café Book 3)

by J. T. Livingston

  Jason nodded. “I’ll be in touch. Take care of yourself, Skipper.”

  Both men hung up their phones and Jason waited until the guard had escorted Skipper from the room. He looked at the clock on the wall—it was almost three o’clock. If he left now, he would still have a couple of hours of daylight left in which he could search for Stella, before he walked to the Crennan home. He had hoped to see Cheryl before she left for work at five o’clock, but he doubted that would happen now. She had told him that Jimmy would be there, but if he wasn’t, she told him where to find the spare key.

  Jason sighed deeply, sat back down on the chair, and lowered his head into his hands. “You shouldn’t be in here, Skipper…”

  CHAPTER 21

  Sticking to the Plan

  It was four-thirty by the time Kirk and his motley crew had left Walmart, stocked with enough food and toiletries to last them a couple of weeks. He pulled out of the Walmart parking lot and drove toward the south end of town where some of the older homes were located—to where Jimmy Crennan lived with his hot-looking mother. He reached Maple Crest Circle and pulled over to the side, three houses down from the Crennan’s cottage. He shut off the SUV’s engine and stared at the house. He nodded his head and said, “His mother’s at home—that’s her Beetle Bug in the drive-way.”

  David's eyes squinted; he had recently received a prescription for glasses, but simple vanity prevented him from wearing them—a slight eye infection had prevented him from being immediately able to get contacts. “Yeah, that’s her car alright. I thought she would be at work. We can’t do this if she’s home, Kirk.” When his friend didn’t respond, he repeated, “Kirk? We’ve got to wait till he’s alone—right?”

  Kirk continued to focus his attention on the Crennan home. He had Stella secured now; Jimmy Crennan was his only loose end. His first instinct was to carry out their plan—now—and not take any chances of Jimmy developing a conscience and spilling everything to his mother, or to the cops. On the other hand, he didn’t want to act too hastily either—he was beginning to think that they might need to take more time to review the plan and how to best carry it out. He had to make sure that nothing could be traced back to him and his friends.

  Michael giggled restlessly from the back seat. He leaned forward on both of the front seats and grinned. “Naw, I say we go ahead and do it now. You can tell the kid’s the type that isn’t going to be able to let this go—no matter how much you threaten to hurt that pretty mama of his. He’s one of those losers who always feel they have to do the right thing. You’ll regret it, man, I’m telling you—do it now—don’t wait.”

  David looked at Michael and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Mike. You don’t know that. The kid’s kept his mouth shut so far.” He looked over at his best friend, who was still staring blankly ahead. “It’s your decision, Kirk. You know that we’ll do whatever you want us to. We have just as much to lose in all this as you do, but…hell, we’ve already kidnapped one person. Do we really want to make it two? And who’s going to babysit them after we lock them up at the lake house? I mean, all three of us are supposed to be back at school next week. You can’t just lock them both up at the lake house and not check on them. Kirk?”

  Kirk’s head snapped to the right. “You’re giving me a headache, David. Shut up and let me think for a minute, will you? We talked about this back at the lake house—or have you already forgotten the plan?”

  David held up both hands in resignation. “No, I haven’t forgotten the plan. Hey, take your time. We’ve got all weekend, right? I mean, nobody will be expecting any of us back home until late Sunday night.”

  “We may have until Sunday night,” Michael shrugged and giggled. “But, pretty boy Crennan doesn’t have that long. I say we do what we said—stick to the plan—take turns staying out of school next week, so that someone is there with them at all times. That way, we’ve got almost a full week to decide, for sure, what to do with the old lady and Crennan—like, how and where to dispose of the bodies…”

  Kirk banged both fists—hard—against the steering wheel and glared at his two best friends. “Will you both SHUT UP! I can’t think…”

  Michael giggled again and pointed toward the Crennan cottage. “Hey, lookie there…isn’t that pretty boy’s hot and sassy mama? Ummm—she does look fine.”

  Kirk turned his attention back to the Crennan home, where Jimmy’s mom was now backing down the short driveway and headed in their direction. “Quick! Everyone get down!”

  The three young men stay crouched low in their seats for about thirty seconds before Kirk rose up and watched the retreating Beetle Bug in his rear-view mirror. He had made up his mind in that short, thirty seconds. “We’re sticking to the plan—let’s go.”

  Jason had spent almost three hours, after he left the Detention Center, walking the streets and alleys of downtown Rome. He talked to at least a dozen homeless people, and described Stella to all of them. Most of them knew who he was talking about them, but none of them admitted to knowing where she might be. It was almost dark—around five-thirty—when Jason blew warm air into his cupped, gloved hands, and was ready to give up for the day.

  A scraping sound in a dark alley on his left caused him to turn back around. He watched while an old man scooted backwards, on his knees, out of a large furniture box. It was evident to Jason that arthritis had claimed root to most portions of the old man’s body. “Excuse me?” Jason advanced slowly toward the old man.

  The old man turned and stared back at Jason with cataract-filled eyes, and he picked absently at the large growth on the tip of his swollen, Rosacea-infected nose. “What? What do you want? I ain’t got nothin’, so you best just leave me be, young fella.” He couldn’t have straightened his bent back if he had wanted to—he leaned most of his 120-pound frame on the old cane that wobbled dangerously against the icy pavement. He lifted his cane, in apparent warning, and immediately began to fall forward. “Go on, now—leave me be!”

  Jason moved quickly when the cane lifted and the old man started to fall. “Whoa! I gotcha!” He flinched when he felt fragile, skeletal arms through the thin, worn jacket that the old man wore. “I’m not going to hurt you, old man. I’m just looking for someone. Maybe you’ve seen her?”

  The old man righted himself and used his free hand to pull his knit cap over his cold, reddened ears. He grinned at the young man who had kept him from falling; he had no teeth left in his mouth, so he gummed his lips several times before responding. “Thanks.” He tried to stand a little taller, but failed miserably. “So, who is it you might be looking for—a woman, you say?”

  Jason released the old man’s arm and waited to make sure that he could remain upright on his own. “Yes, sir. Her name is Stella, and she’s been living on the streets for a while now. She’s old—in her eighties, I think—gray, stringy hair, dull eyes, not many teeth, kind of short, and probably doesn’t weigh more than 120 pounds, at the most.”

  The old man squinted and stared hard at Jason. His vision may have been cloudy, but he could tell that this young man meant him no harm. “You just described more than half of the homeless people in this city.”

  Jason smiled and scratched his head. “Yeah, I guess I did, didn’t I?” He shrugged and grinned again. “I’ve been looking for her for a couple of weeks now. She used to bed down in the woods near the overpass, just outside of town.”

  The old man hesitated briefly before nodding his head. “I know Stella.”

  Jason’s head jerked quickly to the left and he stared hard at the old man. “Really? You know Stella? Have you seen her around here? Do you know where I can find her?”

  The old man gummed his jaws together in an up-and-down motion, never taking his eyes off the younger man. He finally nodded and said, “Matter of fact, I do—but, first, you’ve got to tell me why you want to find her—‘cause, if you’re aiming to hurt her any, then…”

  Jason held both hands up and shook his head adamantly from side to side. “No, n
o—I don’t want to hurt her; nobody wants to hurt her. It’s just that she might have information that could help another friend of ours—a homeless Veteran that shared our camp.”

  “You ain’t talking ‘bout that Vet they arrested for killing old Norman, are you? There’s been a lot of talk on the street about that killing. What’s Stella got to do with any of this?”

  Jason nodded. “Yes, sir; that’s the Veteran I’m talking about. He’s a friend of mine—a friend of Stella’s; and, she might be the only person who can help him get out of this mess.”

  “Stella talked some about that killing,” the old man said. “She said she had to lay low for a little while—until it all blowed over.”

  “Do you know where she’s staying?” Jason was trying not to get his hopes up, but was having a hard time containing his excitement.

  “Yep, I do know where she’s at,” the old man nodded his bobbling head. “What’s that information worth to you?”

  “Oh, man,” Jason shook his head. “Hey, I don’t have any money; if I did, I’d give it all to you.” He took his backpack off and unzipped it. He had two meatloaf sandwiches and a piece of vanilla-crème pound cake that Max had insisted he take with him when he left the café earlier that day. “I’ve got some food, though.”

  The old man licked his lips. “When you only get to eat a couple times a week, food is more important than money, young fella.” He held out his free hand for the offered food. He lifted it to his cancer-riddled nose and inhaled its enticing aromas. “Oh, this smells sooooo good!”

  Jason followed the old man back to his card board box and watched him crawl slowly inside it. He fought impatience while the old man unwrapped one of the sandwiches and savored that first bite. He managed to hold his impatience at bay until the old man finally swallowed what he had eaten. “So? Stella? You said you knew where I can find her?”

  “I can’t remember the last time I tasted anything so good,” the old man closed his eyes in ecstasy. He took another, smaller, bite of the juicy, meatloaf sandwich and chewed it slowly—not that he had any choice in the matter—sans teeth. He pointed a long, bony finger at Jason and nodded. “I like you, and if you promise that you won’t hurt Stella, then I’ll tell you where you can find her.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt Stella,” Jason quickly replied. “Never, I promise.”

  “I believe you—I do. Well then, okay. Stella came into a little money, so she’s taken herself off the streets for a while. If she told me the truth—and I have no reason to believe she would lie to me—then you should be able to still find her at the Roadway Inn.”

  “Where is that?”

  “It’s a run-down motel on your way out of town. Just ask anyone where to find the Pickled Possum and you’ll find the motel right next to it.”

  “And, you think Stella might still be there?”

  “Let’s see, what’s today?”

  “It’s Friday,” Jason offered. “Friday, February 5th.”

  “Then she should still be there,” the old man nodded. “I saw her on Wednesday, and she said she thought she might stay there for another couple of weeks before maybe moving on. I think she might be waiting for the weather to warm up a little.”

  Jason bent down and kissed the top of the old man’s head. “Thank you, so much!” He grabbed his back pack and took off at a run, in the direction of Cheryl’s house. If he ran, he thought he could make it there in about thirty minutes. He could use her phone and contact the officer he had met earlier—Officer O’Brady—and tell him what he had learned about Stella.

  The old man watched Jason dash away. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, almost as if in prayer. “No…thank you,” he spoke softly and took another, mouth-watering bite of his sandwich. He would sleep good tonight—his rumbling stomach would not keep him awake.

  Jimmy sat stoically at the kitchen table, surrounded by three people he had hoped he would never have to speak to again. Kirk sat on one side of him, and David on the other. A giggling Michael stood directly behind him.

  It had been almost five o’clock when his mom left for work. He had been sitting on the sofa, his back to the kitchen door, when she had come up behind him, removed his ear plugs, and kissed him good-bye. He had grinned and flippantly wiped the kiss away before telling her bye, and immediately returned his attention to the downloaded music of Mo Pitney.

  He never heard the door close when his mother left. He, also, never heard the door open again ten minutes later. By the time he sensed someone else in the room with him, it was too late. The sound of Mo Pitney quickly faded away the moment he felt the cold steel of the knife against his throat—Kirk’s knife.

  Kirk had instructed Jimmy to move into the kitchen and sit at the table. Jimmy slid his cell phone into the pocket of his jeans, leaving the earphone attachment dangling from his waist. He pulled the kitchen chair out and stared at Kirk. “What’s going on? What are y’all doing here?”

  Kirk had taken a few minutes to share the purpose of their visit with Jimmy.

  David glanced nervously at Kirk. “Come on, man. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it before someone comes.”

  “His mom won’t be back for hours,” Kirk replied impatiently. He returned the knife to his ankle holster. “Relax, David. We can’t leave until Jimmy-Boy here writes the note we told him to.”

  “I’m not writing any note,” Jimmy said. He grimaced when Michael slapped him hard against the back of his head.

  “Oh, you’re going to write the note,” Kirk smirked. He pushed away from the table and stood up. He walked into the small family room and picked up a picture of Cheryl and Jimmy that stood on the mantle over the small fireplace. “Because, if you don’t, then you won’t be the only one leaving here with us tonight. It might be nice to have a little female companionship—don’t you agree, fellas?” He turned to look back at his two best friends.

  Michael made an obscene grinding motion with his hips and laughed. “Oh, yeah, nice!”

  Jimmy pushed his chair back and tried to rise up, but Michael pushed him—hard—back into his seat.

  David closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. He looked pleadingly at Jimmy. “Please, kid—write the damn note.” His voice was almost a whisper. “You have no idea what he’s capable of doing to your mom. Hurry—write the note, and make it sound good, okay?”

  There was something about the pleading desperation in David’s voice that chilled Jimmy to the bone. He had not hung around these three friends for very long, but what little time he had spent with them, made him wonder how far Kirk Blankenship might really take things. He looked at David and nodded. “Okay.”

  Kirk brought the framed picture into the kitchen and walked to the kitchen table. He propped one leg up on his empty chair and looked at Michael. “Find some pen and paper.”

  “There’s a pad in the drawer over there, by the back door,” Jimmy said. He suddenly wanted to get as far away from his home as quickly as possible. He didn’t expect his mom home until after midnight, but with the weather being as bad as it was, it wouldn’t surprise him if she wasn’t sent home earlier. He could not take any chances of Kirk and his gang being here when she got home. He knew that Jason might stop by, too, and he didn’t want to risk his father getting hurt—not when they had just found each other.

  “Go ahead and write what I told you to,” Kirk instructed. “And, for your mom’s sake—make it convincing. I don’t want anyone looking for you—at least, not before Monday. Now, WRITE!”

  Jimmy scribbled the message that he had previously been instructed to write. He told his mom that he hoped she didn’t mind, but that he had been invited to spend the weekend at a friend’s house—he didn’t say what friend—and, that he would be home before dark, Sunday night. He handed the note to Kirk for inspection.

  Kirk read it and looked at Jimmy with suspicion. “What’s with the XOXOXXX at the bottom?”

  Jimmy never faltered in his response. “It’s just
something we always put at the end of any note we write to each other.”

  Michael laughed and made smooching noises. “Yeah, dude, it’s like hugs and kisses, you know?”

  Kirk hesitated but finally nodded. “Okay, that should do it. Let’s get moving.”

  Everyone bundled themselves back into their jackets and hurried out the kitchen door. Nobody thought to lock the door behind them, and nobody noticed Jimmy’s cell phone lying on the kitchen chair that he had pushed flush to the table.

  The Land Cruiser backed slowly out of the driveway. Jimmy sat in the back seat next to Michael. He didn’t know where they were going, but he shivered involuntarily at the thought that he might never return to the small cottage that he and his mom called home. “I love you, Mom…” he thought as the house faded into the background and the dark night claimed victory over the diminishing day.

  Jimmy’s cell phone rang before the Land Cruiser made it to the first stop sign. When he didn’t answer, Cheryl left a message for him. “Hey, kiddo! It’s me. Well, this was a wasted trip in to town. It looks like everyone has decided to stay home tonight, so the boss is going to close up early. I should be home by eight at the latest. I’ll stop and pick up something to eat, so save your appetite, okay? I love you, kiddo—see ya soon!”

  CHAPTER 22

  A Secret Code

  It may not have been busy at the pancake house where Cheryl worked, but every booth, table, and counter seat was filled at the Heavenly Grille. Bertie was in her glory, bustling about, punching shoulders, making recommendations, shooting the breeze, and reminding everyone to be sure to help fill up the jar on the counter, next to the cash register.

  The café always had a jar on the counter, asking for donations for some good cause or a local resident who may have fallen on hard times. A jar for P.J. had been put out the day she was hit by a car, and had been emptied, daily—the money set aside for PJ’s medical expenses. The truckers who visited the café regularly were especially generous with their donations. In the two weeks since PJ had been hit, the café had collected over $2,500.