by Trace Conger
“That’s how it works,” snapped Cutter. “If Calais police asks for my help, then I’ll give it them. Otherwise, it’s not my problem.”
“Calais isn’t going to ask for help,” said Mitch. “They’re not going to do a Goddamn thing to Ollie.”
“Probably not,” said Cutter.
Albert shifted in his chair. “So where does that leave us?”
“It leaves us up shit creek,” said Mitch standing.
“You got yourselves into this mess,” said Cutter. “You can get yourselves out.”
“You’re just as much in it as we are,” said Mitch. “You’re the one that popped him for that boat. Without you, he’d never been locked up.”
“And if he comes to settle anything with me, I’ll handle my shit.” Cutter leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. “I’d suggest you two handle yours.”
“So that’s it then?” said Albert.
“If the situation changes, I’ll let you know.” Cutter looked at Mitch. “What motel you staying at?”
Mitch eyed the rifle against the wall. “I prefer not to say.”
“There’s only one motel in town, Mitch. It won’t be too hard to find you.”
“Who said I was staying in town?”
“Suit yourself.” Cutter stood. “If I hear anything out of Calais, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, try and stay out of trouble. That’ll be a stretch for you two.”
“We’ll figure something out,” said Mitch.
“What are you going to do?”
Albert stood. “You said we should handle our shit. We’re going to go handle it.”
Cutter nodded. “Keep your head down. You two are a lot of things. Hard to find isn’t one of them.”
Mitch and Albert looked at each other, walked out the door, and climbed back into the pickup.
“What’s our play?” said Mitch.
Albert grabbed for the .45 from the floor. “I’ve always been keen on the direct approach. We need to bait him out.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Not sure,” said Albert. “Have to think about it over lunch. Maybe over some clams.”
“You heard Cutter. Not sure being out in public is the right thing to do.”
“We’ll get ‘em to go then.”
Mitch grabbed the steering wheel and drew in a deep breath. “Let’s go make some bad decisions, then.” He shifted the truck into drive and turned the wheel toward Palmer’s Restaurant.
MITCH’S FIRST-FLOOR ROOM AT the Boley Motel had enough pine paneling to give a lumberjack a permanent hard-on. The room had a twin bed, a small bathroom adorned with photos of wild birds, a 22-inch television with a built in VCR, a small pine desk, and little else.
Mitch lifted a flap of the orange and red curtain with a single finger and scanned the parking lot. “I’ve been thinking about how to get Ollie, but I need to know how serious you are.”
“If you’re asking me if I’ve got the nut sack to kill a man, you should already know the answer.” Albert opened the to-go box from Palmer’s and dug into the fried claims.
“I just want to make sure we’re both ready to dole out a death sentence,” said Mitch.
“We kicked the can down the road once before and look where that got us. What you have in mind?”
Mitch let the curtain fall back into place and walked over to the desk. He opened his own box, plucked a clam from the pile, dropped it in his mouth, and popped the top off the plastic container of blue cheese dip. “We can’t go to the Calais police. Ollie’s been in with them for a while. Talk to the wrong person and we’ll invite trouble.”
“Trouble’s already here,” said Albert. “And she brought a date.”
Mitch moved over to the bed and propped his feet up on the mattress. “So what’s our play?”
“We got to end this now before it gets out of hand.” Albert ran a hand through his thinning white hair. “Ollie doesn’t know I’m back, so let’s use that to our advantage.”
“What you got in mind?”
“You call him. Tell him you fucked up and you want to make it right. You draw him out and I’ll blow his fucking head clean off. Then we drag his dead ass up in the Moosehorn Refuge and leave him for the bears.”
“That’s your plan?”
“You got a better one?” said Albert dropping another clam into his mouth.
Mitch thought for a moment. “Where would we do it?”
“That junkyard of his seems like the best place. No houses around. No one would hear a thing.”
“What about his boys? That whole family is as fucked up as they come.”
“If they’re at the junkyard when we do it, then they go too,” said Albert. “We’re not leaving any witnesses. This has to end now.”
“Fine with me. How do you want to do it?”
“You call Ollie and tell him you’re coming over there tomorrow to talk. Don’t give him a chance to suggest another place. It’s got to be at the junkyard. You’ll drop me off first. I’ll get into place, and then you show up. You get Ollie out in the open and I’ll pick him off as soon as I get a shot.” Albert looked around the room. “You still got that old deer rifle?”
Mitch leaned over the side of the mattress, slid the rifle out from under the bed, and handed it to Albert.
“Does it still pull to the left?”
“A little,” said Mitch.
Albert propped the rifle against the wall and pulled the .45 caliber Remington Rand out of his waistband and handed it to Mitch. “You tuck that behind you. Once I take Ollie out, you pull it and take care of his two boys. If somehow I miss Ollie with my shot, then you’re going to have to drop him too. There’s one in the chamber and eight in the clip. Use them all if you have to.”
“Sounds like I’ll be doing all the work.”
“Not likely. I plan on drilling Ollie right through the eye socket. You just worry about the boys.”
Mitch studied the weapon in his hand. “Been awhile since I held one of these.”
“You still know how to use it?”
“I think I can figure it out.” Mitch tossed the pistol on the bed, and went back to his clams. He popped the last few into his mouth and licked his fingers. Then he picked up his cell phone and dialed Ollie.
Thirty Eight
I PULLED IN FRONT OF Allison and Bill’s home on Sunday afternoon. I helped Becca out of the back seat and nodded toward the black BMW X5 parked across the street a few houses down. While I couldn't see him, I knew Cricket would be watching me through a set of high-powered binoculars. Brooke and a brown-and-white Jack Russell Terrier met us on the driveway.
“Good weekend?” said Brooke as she hugged Becca.
“Great weekend,” I said.
Brooke looked at me. “You get a costume?”
“Black cat.” I looked down at the dog. “Don’t let the mutt chase her.” I thought back to the all the adult costumes we’d darted past in the Halloween superstore. “Once she hits puberty, you’re in charge of Halloween and bra shopping. I’m happy to handle everything else.”
Becca dropped her penguin suitcase and ran to the dog.
Brooke smiled and sipped her coffee. “I’d invite you in, but we have to get over to Becca’s school. We signed up as volunteers for the Fall Festival. Always something to volunteer for.”
“I guess that’s the problem with those Catholic schools. That expectation to participate and do good deeds.” I checked the windows looking for a glimpse of Brooke’s sister or brother-in-law. “How are the roommates? They pressuring you to leave yet?”
“Not yet. Bill is on the road a lot, and I think Allison actually likes having us around.”
“You thinking about more permanent accommodations? Moving back in with Daryl?”
Brooke readjusted her grip on the cup. “Don’t know. Trying not to think about it at the moment.”
“You need something more stable, Brooke. We’re carting Becca between three different places and non
e of them are home.”
“This coming from a guy who lived on a houseboat three weeks ago?”
I put my arms up in retreat. “Point taken. I just want her to have a stable environment, and at the moment neither of us are the most stable of people.”
“When things settle down, we’ll discuss our next steps, but we’re fine for now.”
“All right,” I said hugging Brooke. “Tell your sister I said hello. And have fun at the festival.”
The Jack Russell brushed past Brooke’s billowy skirt and Becca followed in pursuit. I was about to head back to my car when Brooke ran a hand through her long red hair, tucking part of it behind her ear.
“Want to come in for a cup of coffee?”
“What about the festival?”
She raked her hand through her hair again. “It can wait. Maybe if we go later, most of the work will already be done and we won’t have to stay long.”
“Sounds like a good approach to me.”
Brooke whistled and the dog turned and followed her into the house. Becca and I were a few steps behind.
Brooke refilled her mug and poured a fresh one for me, and then she motioned me to the dining room table. Becca tugged her suitcase up the steps to unpack.
“That woman you’re seeing, is it serious?” said Brooke taking a slow sip.
“I guess it’s as serious as it can be for a three-week relationship,” I said. I adjusted the silver watch on my wrist. “I’m in no rush to classify the relationship. We’re both having a good time, that’s all.”
“You’re pushing forty, Finn. Aren’t you too old to just be having a good time?”
I set the cup down on the table, leaned back and crossed my legs. “It’s been two years. You’re with Daryl, although I’m not sure why, him being such a colossal fuck-up and all, but the reality is, you’ve moved on and I have to do the same. I think that at one point I held out hope that maybe we’d get back together. I know it’s stupid, but something inside wouldn’t let me admit it was officially over. That we failed at it.” I took a drink. “I don’t know what Jennifer and I will end up being, but for right now, I’m happy. At least I’ll be happy until she dumps me and moves in with some doctor who gets caught up in a drug-smuggling scheme with the Midwest mob.”
Brooke cracked a smile.
“How’s your investigation going anyway?”
“I’m close. Connor and I have two addresses to check out. Hoping we find what we’re looking for when we head back to Indianapolis tomorrow.”
Brooke looked at me over her porcelain mug and tucked her hair behind her ear again. “I never got a chance to properly thank you for helping us with this.”
“You thanked me.” I downed what was left in my cup. “And besides, there’s still more to be done. You can thank me again when it’s all over.” I stood up and set my cup on the sink.
“Where are you going?” she said.
“I’ve got to get back on the road and you have a festival to prep.”
She looked at me with narrow eyes and an eager stare I hadn’t seen in two years. “You’re not leaving until you fuck me.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. Before my brain had a chance to realize this was a bad decision, I’d already pushed her up against the kitchen counter and was reaching up her skirt. No panties. I grabbed a clump of red hair in my hand and twisted, wrapping it around my wrist pulling her head back. She braced herself on the counter with her right hand and reached around with her left, placing it on my hip. I grabbed her throat with my free hand and squeezed gently. I could feel the muscles in her neck tighten as she let out a low murmur.
It was over in less time than I’d later admit.
“That was quick,” said Brooke, smiling as she smoothed out her skirt.
“Figured Becca would be down any second,” I said. “Didn’t think she’d appreciate the show. Maybe we can pick it back up later?”
“Let’s not make a habit of it,” said Brooke. “I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate it.” She smiled again and walked toward the stairs.
I zipped my pants, buckled my belt, and hobbled toward the door.
AS I STARTED BACK TO my SUV, I noticed Cricket had turned his headlights on. He flashed them and then kicked the BMW into gear. I instinctively turned to look down the street in the other direction and saw the red minivan slowly rolling toward the house. A moment later and the red minivan and the black BMW faced each other on the street in front of me.
I moved my right hand to the place where my waistband holster would have been, had I not been with my daughter. I didn’t carry with Becca around. A moment later, I was staring at Adler’s weathered face as he rolled down the window. Cricket opened his car door to get out, but I waved him off. I didn’t need a shootout with me standing on the sidewalk.
“That looked like a tender moment you had with your daughter in the yard,” said Adler.
My hand clenched. “I’m trying to convince myself not to pull you through that window and break your head open against on the sidewalk.”
“Violence never solved anything.” He smiled. “I’m just here to pass along a message from Holbrook.”
“What’s that?”
“His patience has run out and he wants his money. You’re officially on the clock. You’ve got three days.”
“Or what?” I said, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“Or this.” Adler rolled down the tinted rear passenger window and Daryl’s face slowly came into view. Gray duct tape covered his mouth, and he was bleeding from the nose. “Deliver Holbrook’s money in three days or I skull fuck Dr. Daryl with a tire iron. Then I’ll kill you and come back here for the redhead and the girl.”
He rolled up the window and drove off before I could muster a response.
Cricket leaned out of the BMW. “You want me to follow him?”
“No. I know where he’s going. But stay here in case he comes back.”
Thirty Nine
THE NEXT MORNING, CONNOR AND I followed the Escalade’s GPS toward Burns’ condo in Morgantown, Indiana. We passed several strip malls and what appeared to be an abandoned industrial park before finding the Cedar Woods condos on East Sycamore Street. There was a stone archway at the entrance, but no gate or security guard. We rolled up to the main parking lot, which was half the size of a football field. Seven condo buildings stood in a crescent shape around the north side of the parking lot. The south side included a large swimming pool, which had been closed for the season, and two tennis courts. The top of two industrial-sized dumpsters poked out from behind wooden enclosures at the end of the lot.
Winding paver walkways led from the parking lot through neatly pruned landscaping beds to the front entrance of each building. Each of the buildings had four levels with wrought-iron staircases that led up through a central breezeway to each floor. According to the purchase agreement, we were looking for building 7, unit F.
Building 7 was on the far left of the lot. Connor and I followed the paver walkway to the staircase and walked up to the third-floor breezeway, where we found unit F. The unit that Burns owned was at the front of the breezeway. There was another unit directly behind it and two other units on the other side of the breezeway. After checking the area for any bystanders, we approached the door to unit F.
“I don’t have my bump keys,” said Connor looking at the brass deadbolt. “You wanna knock?”
“Might not have to,” I said reaching into my pocket to find the keys I’d taken from Burns’ desk drawer. “That’s a Baldwin deadbolt.” I flipped through the keys. “And there’s only one Baldwin key on this ring.”
“It’s never that easy.”
Connor was right, it never was that easy, but I wasn’t going to piss on good fortune when it reared its head.
“What’s the plan?” he said.
“Draw your weapon and let’s try to not kill anyone.”
I rubbed the brass key between my thumb and forefinger and slid it into
the lock. I slowly turned the key and the deadbolt slid with a clink that was louder than I expected. I removed the key from the lock, slipped the ring back into my pocket, and drew the .45 from the holster on the back of my belt. Connor already gripped his Glock in his hands. He kept his index finger on the slide away from the trigger. I turned the knob and gently nudged the door open with my shoulder. I could feel Connor’s breath on the back of my neck.
We closed the gap between the front door and the living room in less than a second. A woman had just entered the living room from a side bedroom, folding a white bed sheet as she walked. I bent my knees slightly to lower my center of gravity, raised my weapon, and took aim at her midsection. Her eyes moved from me to Connor, who I could still feel right behind me. It took her a moment to realize what was happening.
Over the years, I’ve pointed weapons at a lot of people and I’ve seen more reactions than I can count. When faced with a gun barrel, some people instinctively turn and run, others scream at the top of their lungs, and others dive for the first thing then can find to defend themselves. Some won’t move at all. Others will plant their feet and slowly turn their body away from you, usually so their right side is away. Those are the ones you worry about. This motion is a dead giveaway that they’re not backing down and instead are going for their own weapon.
I waited to see which way this woman was going to break. After a moment, she released the sheet, which fluttered to the ground, and covered her mouth with both hands, more in surprise than to stifle any sound, and then dropped to her knees.
“Who are you?” I said.
She was silent, still processing what was happening in front of her.
“Who are you,” I said louder this time.
“Jamie Burns.” Her words were slow and steady, like she’d been sedated.
I glanced around the condo. There was a hallway to our left that led to another room. Connor had already charged that way to sweep the place for anyone else who might be there.
“Are you going to kill me?” said Jamie from between her fingers.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” I broke eye contact to check Connor’s progress down the hallway. “Is there anyone else here?”