Assassin's Redemption: Stolen Memories, #1

by Richard Allen Evans

  Haley raised an eyebrow slightly when she saw his backup handgun.

  “You said something about great minds I believe,” Beau said as Haley nodded with a smile.

  She knew she would enjoy working with him.

  Then Beau reached down his right leg and pulled a combat knife from his boot and placed it on the table.

  “I haven't seen one of those in a while,” Haley said.

  “It belonged to my dad,” Beau said.

  Marcus was grinning.

  “Is that all?” He asked.

  Beau raised his left to show another ankle holster and produced a two-shot Derringer.

  “It shoots .410 gauge shells,” he said as he placed it on the table.

  “Nice,” Haley said.

  “The reason for this little exercise is that we need to know what we're packing in the event that we ever have use our weapons. I know we're investigators but we will be called upon to make arrests and not everybody wants to come along quietly. And this department has no SWAT team. I want us to be prepared for any emergency. Are you proficient with a rifle?” Beau asked Haley.

  “Yes. Uncle Chet taught me to shoot before I started high school,” she said.

  “And if I recall, you're a pretty good shot. You had your picture in the paper a few times with a deer or two,” Marcus said.

  “You deer hunt?” Beau asked.

  “Yes, I enjoy it. I know that might sound strange,” Haley said.

  “Not at all. What kind of weapon did you use?” Beau asked.

  “I've made kills with a .30-.30, a muzzle loader, and a bow,” she said.

  “I forget to mention it, but yeah, she's one of you,” Marcus said.

  “How many have you bagged?” Beau asked.

  “Nine. Seven with a rifle of some form and two with a bow,” Haley said.

  “Do you still bow hunt?” Beau asked.

  “Not since I got out of the army. I still practice from time to time to stay sharp,” she said.

  “I'm impressed. What kind of weapons training did you have in the army?” Beau asked.

  “Standard training. Nothing specialized but I had superior ratings on the firing range,” Haley said.

  “What about me?” Marcus asked.

  “What about you? I've seen you shoot. Stick with shotguns at close range. You're beyond help,” Beau said.

  “All because I don't sleep on the cold ground and eat what I kill,” Marcus said.

  “No, because you couldn't hit a bull in the butt with a bass fiddle,” Beau said.

  “And why would I want to? If I want a steak I'll run down to the Piggly Wiggly,” Marcus added, “Besides, I can get the job done with my .357.”

  “In any event, I'd like for us to get some training in at the range as soon as we can. It doesn't hurt to be prepared,” Beau said and stifled a yawn.

  “Tell you what, why don't you go home and get some sleep. We can take care of things here for the rest of the day,” Marcus said.

  “And we can pick back up in the morning bright and early,” Haley said.

  “I'd argue with you but Chet's coffee is wearing off,” Beau said. “Eight o'clock tomorrow morning sound okay?”

  “That's fine,” Haley said.

  “Beat it,” Marcus said.

  As Beau replaced his weapons and picked up a stack of files, he nodded to the door.

  “See Joe before you leave to get a key for the office door. You'll each have to sign for one — department rules. I signed for mine earlier.”

  “Will do. Now leave before I drag you out of here,” Marcus said.

  ***

  It had proven to be an uneventful day.

  The Raven campaign rolled into Raven's Nest, unpacked, set up, and now each person was off doing whatever assignment Gene deemed necessary.

  Gene had no idea where Jack was hiding or with whom, but he was certain it wasn't with his estranged wife Tabitha. She ordinarily stayed out of sight at a lavishly furnished penthouse apartment in Nashville, living on a generous allowance provided by Dal Raven. Her silence and blind eye toward Jack's indiscretions were usually enough but no longer. With the campaign down to the final five weeks she was needed at Raven's Nest to give the appearance of a devoted wife.

  To insure her compliance, several rooms of the north wing were left to her disposal for the duration. A six figure deposit was also made to her personal checking account. She would be expected to sit in with Jack and hold his hand during interviews and smile. And she was expected to be sober as well.

  “Damn baton twirling whore,” Gene muttered as he walked across the vast family library, his favorite room in the mansion. The room was situated on the third floor of the sprawling family mansion. With its tall shelves lined with books and an antique desk that once belonged to James K. Polk, the room featured a solid gold bust of Dal Raven and leather upholstered furniture, which included a sofa, love seat and two matching wing back chairs in front of a fireplace.

  A gray granite mantle rested above the fireplace and a matching hearth sat beneath it. Above the mantle was a 30.06 bolt action rifle and a twenty year old portrait of Dal Raven and his three sons - Gene, Tom, and Jack.

  Gene shook his head as he walked to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle. He sat the bottle next to an ice bucket and used tongs to drop several cubes into a crystal tumbler. As he poured two fingers worth of the premium Kentucky bourbon into the glass he thought of his late brother Tom.

  Why couldn't Jack be more like Tom? Gene didn't have to watch every move Tom made. Jack had to marry a former Miss Tennessee, never considering the high cost of maintenance or the attention she was used to getting. That matrimonial blunder had proven expensive as the former Tabitha Winston consistently found ways to milk more and more cash from his father. How much liquor and Raven money had she spent to support a “pool boy” or a “masseuse?”

  Tom was smart. Like Gene, he married a woman from a humble background that appreciated the lifestyle he gave her. She asked no questions that could have endangered her newfound way of life.

  “Nothing like blissful ignorance,” Gene said to himself as he lightly the tumbler of amber liquid and ice with his right hand.

  As he moved to his right to the antique desk, Gene opened a wooden humidor and pulled out a Cuban cigar. He took the time to sniff the cigar and enjoy the aroma or the tobacco before biting off the tip and spitting it into a small waste basket next to the desk.

  He lit the cigar and inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to linger before slowly blowing it out. Fueled by alcohol and nicotine, Gene strolled to the French doors that led outside to the balcony. He stepped out to enjoy a beautiful view of the fall colors of Shiloh Mountain to the west and the Chenoa River to the east. Gene could also see the main gate for the driveway in the distance. He marveled at the security presence on the grounds. D.C. Cyprus had really outdone himself in securing the estate.

  Gene took a sip of the liquor and enjoyed the smoothness as it washed down his throat. It was a beautiful late afternoon with a cloudless blue sky and fading sunlight. There was a nip in the air but Gene rather enjoyed letting the Pappy Van Winkle keep him sufficiently warm.

  The campaign had been long but not very strenuous. The Raven family outspent their competition in the primaries by a five to one margin. They pandered to the conservative base across the state, where Jack had literally spent years serving as a mouthpiece for the rights of gun owners, supporting every pro-life cause he could find, and lobbying for an amendment to the state constitution to allow prayer in schools. In short, Jack and did all of the right things he needed to not to offend the party base. Coupled with the obscene amount of money spent on the campaign he won the Republican nomination in a landslide.

  The Democrats on the other hand, opted to sit this election out, knowing they would be drastically outspent in a traditionally conservative state. A law professor turned Mayor of Memphis named Napoleon Kirby agreed to run and was practically given the n
omination by a Democratic Party focused more on the upcoming gubernatorial election.

  Gene was surprised at how the well-spoken attorney resonated with voters but also knew that at the end of the day, funding, not words, won elections.

  He took a puff from his cigar and watched the smoke waft away into wisps of the October air. It was a far cry from his first time managing a campaign, when Tom ran for Congress. Even though Tom did everything he was supposed to do, he faced a popular incumbent and it was a struggle, even with Raven money backing him up.

  Gene shook his head and forced back bitter tears when he thought of what might have been.

  ***

  As the end of the day loomed, Marcus and Haley finished up inventorying the equipment in the CID Office. Haley sat at the conference table and went back over the equipment list.

  “Think that list will cover what we need?” Marcus asked.

  “We'll never be Scotland Yard but it's a pretty good start for a department our size,” she answered as he nodded.

  “Have you thought about which desk you want?” He asked.

  “I figured I'd let Beau pick first since he's the chief. Besides, it really doesn't matter as long as I have some workspace,” Haley said.

  “My guess he'll have the same attitude — chief or not,” Marcus said.

  She put the pen and paper down on the table.

  “He seems like a good guy to work for,” Haley said.

  “No, he's a good guy to work with. I've known him a long time. Nobody in this department will outwork him,” Marcus said.

  “You went to college together didn't you?” She asked.

  “We were roommates as well as teammates for four years. In a lot of ways he's as much a brother to me as Cooper,” Marcus said as he sat down across from her.

  “What's his story? Seems kind of quiet, almost like a loner,” Haley said.

  Marcus smiled.

  “He's only quiet if you don't know him. As for being a loner, well...he is and he ain't,” Marcus said.

  “Sounds complex,” she said, drawing a chuckle from Marcus.

  “Beau? Complex?” He asked. “He might be the least complex person I know. He likes what he likes and sees the world in terms of right and wrong. He minds his own business but will go out of his way to help someone. No, he's just a guy comfortable being who he is.”

  “I take it he likes to hunt,” Haley said.

  “Hunt, fish, and camp - if it involves being outdoors, he loves it. He's drug me with him more than once. In the summer months, a day or two at the river ain't bad. Beau's the kind to hike deep into the Smokies in November and spend a week fishing for trout or spend New Year's Eve on a hunting trip,” Marcus said.

  “I took it from his accent that he's a genuine country boy,” Haley said.

  “He was raised by his grandfather up in Kentucky. His dad was killed in Vietnam when he just a baby and his mother died from cancer when he was something like four or five,” Marcus explained.

  “That's so sad,” Haley said.

  “But his grandfather taught him to be self-reliant. Part of that self-reliance is his work ethic. The old man died during his senior year of college, but he dealt with it pretty well.” Marcus said. “He could have been a successful lawyer. He completed two years of law school before he dropped out and joined the army,” Marcus said.

  “Why in the world did he drop out of law school?” Haley asked.

  “Long story short, his fiancée was a year behind him in law school. She worked part time in a little convenience store near the campus up in Lexington. Late one night some guys robbed the place and they didn't want to leave any witnesses,” he paused. “Anyway, after Teri died his world kind of went into a tailspin. I did my best to get him to move here then but, I don't know...it was like with his life in chaos, he thought the army could help him sort things out. He did a three-year stint and when he was discharged, I talked Chet into hiring him and Beau has been here ever since.”

  “He's known his share of tragedy,” Haley said.

  “And then some,” Marcus said.

  He wondered if he should say anything. He noticed a familiar look Beau gave Haley. Marcus couldn't describe it to save his life but he still recognized it after far too many years.

  He wasn't sure but he thought he same something of the same look in Haley's face when he walked in on their conversation.

  “Something else on your mind?” Haley asked.

  “Uh no...Just, he's a great guy and you're going to like him,” he said.

  The office door swung open and in stepped Chet.

  “I wondered if anyone was up here,” he said.

  “We were just wrapping up inventory,” Haley said, tapping her pen to the paper.

  “I was worried Beau might still be here,” Chet said with a laugh.

  “We sent him home a few hours ago. He was pretty wiped out,” Marcus added, “I'm not saying this because he's my friend or any reason other than it's the truth, but you made a great hire.”

  “I think so too. He's a good man,” Chet said. “How do you two like your new jobs?” He asked.

  “We've not done much yet but I think I'll like it just fine,” Marcus said.

  “I'm excited about it,” Haley said.

  “Good. New blood in this office...I think Lonnie would approve,” Chet said.

  “He left some big shoes to fill,” Marcus said.

  “Yes he did. But the reason I was trying to find you is that Carlene wants to celebrate her niece's promotion,” Chet said as Haley blushed slightly. “And she wants all of you to come over to the house tomorrow evening for supper. Of course, Chelsea and Mike are invited too,” he said to Marcus.

  “I appreciate it and I know Chelsea will too. We both love Carlene's cooking,” Marcus said.

  “I'll tell Beau in the morning. I don't want to bother him if he's resting. Hopefully, he can make it,” Chet said.

  “Tell Aunt Carly I'll try to get there early and give her a hand,” Haley said.

  “I'll tell her. I'm sure she'll be glad to spend some time getting you caught up on the most recent gossip,” Chet said with a warm smile.

  “Aunt Carly doesn't gossip. She simply shares community news that Georgia LaSalle won't put in the paper,” Haley said.

  Marcus laughed.

  “All of the news unfit to print,” he said.

  Chet nodded in agreement.

  “Sounds about right.”

  ***

  In a little rancher at 409 Hurst Street in Stone City, a non-descript black 1990 Honda Civic sat parked behind a 1995 Ford Taurus.

  Inside the small three bedroom house, the man who would likely become a U.S. Senator in a matter of a few weeks slept contentedly. His nude body was covered by a thin blanket while a beautiful woman with long brown hair tried to wake him.

  She too was nude and her large breasts jiggled each time she shook him. Jack half opened his eyes and grinned at the sight. The money he paid for that boob job was one of his better investments.

  “Ready for another go sweetheart?” He asked sleepily.

  “It's late and you need to get out of here,” she said in a worried voice.

  “Relax. Nobody will recognize me. Besides, as long as I'm back at Raven's Nest before dawn it will be okay,” he said pulling her close for a deep kiss.

  She smiled and her brown eyes sparkled in the light of the bedroom lamp.

  “Oh Jack, you're a naughty boy,” she nearly squealed as his hands caressed her smooth, round backside.

  He appreciated that her ample rear and long legs did not have to be cosmetically augmented — at least not yet.

  “C'mon. One for the road. It's been a stressful campaign and it's been so long since we were together,” he pleaded.

  She kissed his lips once more, smiled seductively, and then slid down to kiss his semi-hairless chest. He placed his hands on her shoulders and helped guide her she left a trail of kisses down his chest and stomach. When she reached her int
ended location he gasped audibly.

  She looked up at him and licked her top lip slowly for his entertainment. Her face was the picture of raw lust.

  “Someone's getting excited,” she said playfully.

  “Mmmmmmmmm, Savanna, pleeeease don't stop,” Jack said as she honored his request.

  ***

  Gene sat in the study with his father. Dal Raven was 83 years old, wheelchair bound and racked with COPD and arthritis. He was still sharp mentally and gauged the reaction of his oldest living son.

  Behind the large oak desk in the study, Gene was angry and his face was so red it was almost purple. His hands shook in rage. A very worried D.C. Cyprus stood and listened. His job was on the line and he could feel a giant drop of sweat traveling down his spine.

  “What do you mean he snuck out?”

  “He took off. The last time we could confirm his presence on the estate was 9:18 p.m.,” Cyprus said.

  “How about our state of the art security cameras?” Gene asked.

  “Disabled for 15 minutes and we checked the garage. None of the family vehicles are missing,” Cyprus said.

  “He had help,” Gene exclaimed as he smashed his fist into the desk so hard he felt a sharp pain immediately. Masking the pain and regaining his composure, he looked back to the security chief. “Find out who he bribed and do it soon.”

  “I have men checking the staff vehicles. If one is missing, we'll know soon and we can send a few people out to search for that vehicle,” Cyprus said.

  Old man Raven coughed loudly then spoke with a raspy voice.

  “Search hell! Send a crew over to Hurst Street in Stone City. You'll find him there,” Dal said.

  Gene exhaled and nodded.

  “He's right. Send a crew to 409 Hurst Street to retrieve him,” he said.

  Cyprus turned his head slightly to show he was listening to an incoming message on his earpiece. He then spoke into a microphone in his cuff.

  “Copy that. Great work. Alpha two out.” He looked to Gene and Dal. “Seems a car belonging to one of my men guarding the rear entrance is missing and so is he.”

  “Name?” Gene asked.

  “Dean Stasser,” Cyprus said.