THE INNOCENT: A Cowboy Gangster Novel

by CJ Bishop

  “Half an hour, maybe,” Axel said. “The roads are icy.”

  “All right. Don’t put yourself in danger, but get here as soon as possible.” Devlin asked the boy’s age and approximate weight. Axel explained about his malnourished state and where they’d found him. He didn’t go into grisly details, just that living conditions—if one could call it that—were horrendous and that the boy had been exposed to extreme cold for an extended period of time. “I’ll get the ER team set up and ready to admit him the moment you arrive. Bring him through the emergency entrance.”

  “Is there anything we should do for him right now?” Axel asked anxiously.

  “Just get him here,” Devlin murmured, a deep concern in his voice that frightened Axel.

  He ended the call and placed the phone on the dash. “They’ll be ready for us at the hospital,” he told Kelly. “Devlin…he’s a good man and he’ll make sure your brother gets the best care possible.”

  “He’s a doctor?” Kelly whispered and wiped her eyes.

  “An intern, but yeah. If your brother has to stay in the hospital for a little while, he’ll be the one looking after him.”

  Kelly laid her head against the window and pressed her lips to her brother’s hair. “How did you guys know about the orphanage?”

  “Clint—the cowboy I was with—he helped rescue some kids from sex traffickers. Some of them had come from the orphanage.”

  Kelly stared at him, tentative hope in her eyes. “Who…who were the kids that were rescued?”

  “Uh…Jacob, Eric, and David—though I’m not sure if David came from the orphanage. And I think the oldest girls’ names were Nina and Kim.”

  Kelly’s chin trembled, and fresh tears formed. She closed her eyes tight, her face against her little brother’s head, and whispered brokenly, “They’re alive.”

  •♦•

  The foul odor struck Clint anew when they entered the large room. He wondered how long it would be before his stomach stopped churning after being in this shithole. He shoved the man across the room as they headed for the kitchen, his weapon drawn and ready.

  The smells coming from the kitchen weren’t as vile as those in the other room, but they weren’t pleasant either. If Clint had the patience and fortitude, he’d lock all these fuckers up in an ice-cold cell, make them shit in the corner and eat this same fucking slop until they froze to death, asphyxiated by the smell of their own shit and vomit, or choked to death on the disgusting gruel.

  A swinging door led into the kitchen and a radio played country-rock music, the volume turned low. Dishes rattled, and feet shuffled across the floor as the cook hummed along to the current song. Clint pushed the door open with the tip of the gun barrel and nudged his captive to enter.

  The cook—Vinny—had his back to the door and wasn’t aware of their presence in the room. He was Clint’s height and moderately overweight; very thick and heavy. He wore a white t-shirt with matching pants and apron. His black hair was cut short, nearly to his scalp.

  Clint let the door swing closed, which made just enough sound to grab the cook’s attention. He cast an absent glance behind him, catching a glimpse of the other man without fully turning around. “What’s up, Olson? Any special requests for lunch?”

  “Yeah,” Clint drawled. “Your ugly-ass head on a platter.”

  Vinny jerked around and stopped short when he saw the gun aimed at his “ugly-ass” head. His wide eyes darted to Olson. “What the fuck…?” He gripped the edge of the counter. “What’s going on, Olson? Who the fuck is this?”

  Clint answered. “Your judge, jury…and executioner.”

  The cook frowned. “What? Why…”

  “Call me crazy,” Clint said. “But I’m a little put off by the abuse and rape of innocent children.”

  Vinny’s frown deepened. “This is about those little fuckers out there?” He started to add more then screamed amidst an explosion of gunfire as his right ear blew off the side of his head. He went down hard, knees cracking against the tile, his screams escalating as he clutched his gushing wound.

  “Yes,” Clint answered casually. “It’s about them.”

  “Fuck!” Olson cried out and stumbled away from Clint. “What the fuck?!” He backed toward the wailing cook as Clint slowly advanced.

  “What’s this?” Clint veered to the large stove where a huge canning pot sat on a low-flame burner, the contents simmering. It was immediately evident that this was the source of the unpleasant odor stinking up the kitchen and oozing out into the hall. Clint looked inside the pot. The yellowish muck bubbled near the top, the ingredients of the foul concoction unidentifiable. “Let me guess…” Clint looked at the two men. “Lunch for the kids?” He sauntered their way. “Of course, being a cook, I’m sure you’ve tasted it a few times to make sure it’s just right?”

  Vinny the cook huddled on his knees, shaking, gagging on his erratic cries. He fumbled for the hand towel that hung from one of the drawer handles by his head and wadded it up, stuffing it against the side of his head. Tears of pain streaked his twisted face and he hunched over, squeezing his eyes shut in sheer agony.

  “I asked you a question.” Clint raised his foot and hooked the man’s chin with the tip of his boot and forced his head up. The slight movement wrenched another sharp cry from the cook. “Do you taste-test the food you serve these kids?”

  Vinny choked and coughed as Clint slid the toe of his boot down over his juggler and added pressure. “No,” he croaked, and through his pain, disgust pinched his face. “Fuck…no.”

  “Well, how can you know if it’s edible?”

  He gagged on his own spit. “I don’t…care.”

  Clint withdrew his foot and the cook’s chin dropped to his chest, his breath raspy and quickened. Squatting in front of him, Clint used the gun this time to lift his face. “Bet you’d care if you had to eat it.”

  Vinny’s bloodshot eyes darted to Olson as the other man made a sudden break for the door. Clint’s hand snapped around and he fired off a quick shot. Olson screamed and hit the floor, his shin bone splintered and bleeding all over the tiles, bits of bone protruding through his flesh. “Fuck! Guuhh!”

  Clint looked at the cook then rose to his feet. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt and apron and heaved him off the floor. “Come on over here and take a whiff of this shit.” He hauled him to the stove and Vinny fell against the appliance. Clint snatched the bloody towel from his hand and tossed it aside, then gripped the back of his neck and forced his face over the top of the large pot. Blood streamed across Vinny’s cheek and dripped into the goopy liquid.

  “Don’t…” the cook rasped.

  “What’s wrong? Doesn’t it smell good?”

  Vinny’s face twisted and he strained against Clint’s hand.

  “Why don’t we heat it up a bit more?” Clint cranked the knob to max heat and flames licked up around the base of the pot. In seconds, the contents came to a full boil, the bubbles popping and spitting scalding muck on Vinny’s face.

  “No…” Vinny’s eyes pinched shut and he tried to turn away from the stinking, boiling mess.

  “Now, for a little taste.”

  “No!” Vinny screamed as Clint shoved his head into the foul gruel, his protests abruptly silenced as the scalding contents engulfed his skull. He thrashed in wild panic, tipping the pot. Clint released him and stepped away as the man tumbled to the floor and brought the pot down with him, his screams resuming as he whipped his head back and forth, frantic hands slapping at the sticky, blistering hot goop coating his face and head and running down his neck and chest.

  “What do you think?” Clint walked around the man, avoiding the nasty mess on the floor. “Need more salt?”

  Chapter 19

  The car had hardly come to a full stop when Kelly’s door was jerked open and Raimi was lifted from her arms, laid on a gurney, and rushed through the emergency entrance. She was escorted from the car by a nice-looking, dark-haired man wi
th kind eyes.

  Axel quickly exited the vehicle and came around to the passenger side. “This is Devlin,” he told Kelly. “Dr. Devlin Grant.” Axel looked at the man. “This is Kelly.”

  Dr. Grant smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Kelly.”

  She was led inside and taken to a small private waiting room. A young blond girl stood up when they entered. She looked about Kelly’s age and her smile was as warm and friendly as the doctor’s.

  “This is Savannah,” Dr. Grant said. “My sister-in-law. I had her bring in some clean clothes for you to put on. There’s a private bathroom down the hall, with a shower so you can wash up.”

  The girl picked up a bag from one of the chairs and came forward almost cautiously as if afraid she might frighten Kelly. “I’ll take you,” she said softly.

  Kelly glanced uncertainly at Axel who stood in the doorway. He nodded and smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “What…what about Raimi?” she whispered. “Is-is he going to be okay?”

  “He will get the best of care,” Devlin assured her. “The second I know something, I’ll let you know. But I don’t want you to worry.” He paused and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I know it’s impossible not to worry about a sick loved one. But try not to worry too much. He’s in good hands.” He motioned to the other girl. “Why don’t you let Savannah help you get cleaned up and into some fresh clean clothes. That alone will make you feel much better.”

  Kelly nodded and murmured, “Thank you.” It all felt like a dream. Her mind couldn’t fathom being free of the orphanage. She had long ago accepted her fate—that she would die in that hell, or one equally as horrific. She hadn’t believed for one moment that she would escape or be rescued. A good world outside the orphanage had been nothing more than a fairytale to her and she hadn’t believed it truly existed.

  “Come on,” Savannah said gently and motioned to the door.

  Kelly paused when she passed Axel. “Are…are you going to stay?” She felt safe with him and didn’t want him to go yet.

  He nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  She started to go then paused again. “Thank you,” she whispered shakily, her eyes filling. “Thank you for saving us.”

  Axel blinked and smiled, and seemed at a loss for words. Kelly glanced at Savannah and the girl had tears in her eyes as well. She led Kelly out of the room and down the corridor. The hard floor was cool against her bare feet but not nearly as cold as the floor at the orphanage. This floor almost felt warm in comparison.

  They entered the bathroom and Savannah closed the door behind them and locked it, so no one would walk in on them. Kelly stood motionless, anxious and uncertain.

  “We’ll get the water heated up.” Savannah moved around her and reached into the small shower stall and cranked on the water. She faced Kelly. “I can help you if you like. Or if it would make you feel more comfortable, I can step out.”

  The thought of being alone made Kelly tremble. “You…you can stay,” she mumbled.

  “Okay,” Savannah said softly. “Let me help you get out of this.” She gently lifted the filthy gown over Kelly’s head and dropped it in the corner by the door.

  Kelly knew that the horrid stink of the orphanage was still with her, but the other girl exhibited no disgust or gave any indication she even smelled the foul odor. Just that little bit of care and courtesy made her want to cry.

  “Test the water,” Savannah said. “Make sure it’s not too hot.”

  Kelly nodded and started to reach inside the shower when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She froze in fear at the sight of herself. Her chin trembled and the image before her blurred. “I look…dead.” Her throat worked, and tears slid down her gaunt, sallow face.

  Savannah wrapped her arm around Kelly’s bare, bony shoulders. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured. “You just need to get healthy.”

  On the back of the door was a full-length mirror and Kelly faced that direction as her entire body was reflected back to her. She choked on a sob. “I look like a monster.”

  “No, you don’t,” Savannah said quietly. “You’re just undernourished. Once you start eating well again, you’ll gain weight.”

  Staring at her frightening reflection, Kelly couldn’t imagine looking like a normal human being again. Her focus shifted to the many bruises on her emaciated body. She turned slowly and went still when she caught a glimpse of her back.

  “Oh, my God,” Savannah whispered and tentatively touched Kelly’s back. “They did this to you?”

  Kelly swallowed thickly; Barron’s belt had left its mark.

  •♦•

  Olson screamed when Clint tightened the strip of cloth around his mangled wound, none too gently. “Can’t take the chance of you bleeding out.” He stood and hauled the man to his feet. Olson balanced on his good leg, excreting sharp cries as Clint moved him over to where the cook lay on the floor, shuddering and twitching. Boil blisters covered his face and neck and scalp, and his wound was bubbled up where his ear used to be.

  Horrified at the sight of the cook, Olson exclaimed, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Clint chuffed brittle and kicked the man’s leg out from under him, dropping him face first into the steamy mess on the floor. Though no longer boiling, the gruel was still plenty hot, and Olson yelled out as it burned his cheek. Clint ignored him and took the other phone cord from his pocket and bound up Olson’s feet. He went around the kitchen, slicing off small appliance cords then returned and used one of the cords to fasten Olson’s hands to his feet behind his back. He screamed out again as his leg was wrenched at an awkward and very painful angle.

  Trying to get as little of the nasty slop on himself as possible, Clint used the other cords to bind up the cook in the same manner. He didn’t have much to say other than slurred, garbled sounds. The man’s mouth had been opened in a scream when his head dunked into the boiling mix—the inside of his mouth was no doubt as blistered as his face. That was okay—Clint wasn’t in the mood to chat.

  He rose to his feet and washed his hands. On the counter was a wooden rolling pin and he picked it up. He walked over to the two men. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll be back for you soon.” He cracked them both in the head, laying them out cold.

  Clint left the kitchen and returned to the main large room. The kids had hardly moved, though some were on their feet now, wandering around, never venturing too far from the “group”. He wasn’t sure if they could even understand him if he spoke to them, but he gave it a try.

  “Everyone come over here.”

  The kids on their feet went still, then obeyed. The others stood up. They all lined up in formation as if this was routine. The nasty slop clung to their hands and faces. Some had bits of it in their hair.

  “I want you to follow me, all right?” He moved slowly toward the door. The kids seemed confused and remained in line, unmoving. “Come,” he said a bit more forcefully. “Follow me.” They responded more readily to his forceful tone and slowly, hesitantly shuffled after him. When he opened the door and went through, they stopped. “Come,” he said again.

  One of the older boys—it was hard to tell his exact age as his body seemed shrunken from his severe malnutrition—shook his head. His eyes were slightly glazed as if he were only half there cognitively. “Can’t leave,” he mumbled. “Have to stay here.”

  “No,” Clint said. “Change of rules. I’m in charge now. And I want you to come with me out of this room. All of you. Do you understand?”

  The boy’s forehead crinkled uncertainly. “But…”

  “No,” Clint spoke sternly. “You listen to me. Do you understand?”

  The boy blinked…then nodded.

  “Good.” Clint’s tone softened a bit. “Now, come with me.”

  This time, the children followed, trailing him down the hall and through the entryway and on into the warm living room. He moved the furniture back, making room for them to sit on
the carpet before the fireplace.

  “I want all of you to come over here and sit on the floor.” The kids obeyed. “I want you to stay sitting down until I get back. Do not go near the fire.” He walked to the door and looked back. All the children stared at the fireplace, mesmerized by the flickering flames. “You’re safe now,” he told them, unsure if any of them could even comprehend the notion of being safe. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore.” He started to turn away and leave the room when the older boy twisted around and looked at him. For a fleeting moment, his eyes focused and he was there…then they glazed over again an instant later and he went back to staring at the fire.

  Clint closed the door to the living room and walked into the entryway and stood by the desk. He made his call to Cochise and learned that the buyers had been arrested. Clint explained the situation at the orphanage and instructed the Egyptian to bring a vehicle large enough to transport the kids, and have Cruz and some of his men come along as well.

  “We’re going to do this here,” Clint said with a brittle edge. “So, we’re going to need some things from the guest room.” He gave him a list of the requested items. “And bring a lot of warm blankets.

  “You going to have Axel in on this?” Cochise asked doubtfully.

  “He isn’t here. One of the children were in critical condition, he took him to the hospital.”

  “You’re out there alone?” Cochise asked. “How many are you up against?”

  “Just three,” Clint said. “Axel took one down before he left. I got the other two.” He paused and rubbed his mouth. “This is a fucking hellhole,” he murmured. “These fuckers…they need a special kind of hell brought down on them.”

  When the Egyptian hung up, Clint started to make another call then paused as a vehicle pulled up outside. He put his phone away and approached the window to the left of the door and looked out. An old model moving van was parked out front. A man climbed out and headed up the walk. He wore a ratted baseball cap, thick jacket, and gloves. Clint stepped back from the window and retreated to the desk and waited.