“Now I’m nauseous.”
Jessica ignored him and kept talking to her brother.
“I’m not necessarily saying no, but I would like to know why you—Jimmy! Jimmy was that a gunshot? Jimmy!”
In an instant, he was on his feet and at her side, his ear pressed beside hers at the phone, but on the other end was silence, then, the line went dead.
***
After phoning back repeatedly and getting no answer, they used the Internet to track down the phone number that the call originated from; it was a phone at a gas station in Brownsville, Texas.
Jessica looked over at her husband with a worried expression.
“What if that shot we heard was the station being robbed? Jimmy could be hurt. Maybe we should try calling the police there.”
“I know a way that might be better,” he said, as he took out his phone and dialed.
***
Chief of Police, Jack Dent, and his wife, Officer Traci Dent, arrived thirty minutes later with news. At forty-two, Dent was seventeen years older than his twenty-five-year-old wife, who he had wed just weeks ago.
Traci Dent was of Portuguese descent and sultry looking, and when they had started dating, no one was more surprised by it than the Chief of Police himself.
Chief Dent took a seat on the sofa and spoke to Jessica.
“On the way over here I spoke to an Officer Mitch Ferguson of the Brownsville P.D. He confirmed that the sound you heard was a shot; in fact, the slug blew apart the phone that your brother was using. The station owner told Officer Ferguson that a car pulled up in front of the station and fired several shots at a blond man in his thirties. Afterwards, the station owner ducked behind the service counter and the blond man ran out through one of the bay doors, jumped into a car and headed onto the highway with the other car chasing him.”
Jessica swallowed before asking her question.
“Jack, was there any blood at the scene?”
“No, Jessica, Officer Ferguson told me that there was no sign that your brother had been injured.”
“Thank you for looking into this.”
“What does your brother do for a living?” Traci asked.
“Jimmy? Well, Jimmy is a bit of a drifter. He works, but it’s usually one get rich scheme after another, but he’s never done anything illegal. I don’t know why anyone would be shooting at him.”
“Jack,” he said. “Are the police looking into it?”
“Yes, but they really don’t have much to go on.”
“They have my brother’s name; that should give them a place to start in locating him.”
“It does, and I know you’re anxious, Jessica, but this all just happened less than an hour ago; it may take a little time before they find him.”
Jessica began to speak, but then her eyes grew wide and she bolted out of the room.
Dent looked at her husband.
“Was it something I said?”
“She’s suffering from morning sickness.”
Chief Dent grinned.
“You two are pregnant? Fantastic, but she’s not showing at all, is she?”
“Not yet.”
Traci walked over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Congrats, have you two thought of names yet?”
“We’ve got several possibilities, but nothing firm.”
“If it’s a boy, will it be a junior?” Dent said.
He shook his head.
“No, I’ve never much cared for my name, sometimes I wish that I could go through life without one.”
Jessica returned and offered apologies, but then was congratulated by the Dents.
“Thank you, but what about you two, any plans?”
The Chief grew pale at the thought.
“My two daughters from my first marriage are enough of a handful already, but maybe someday.”
“Definitely someday,” Traci said.
“When will we know more about my brother?”
The Chief stood and Traci followed suit.
“I should be hearing back from Brownsville later today, when I do; I’ll give you a call.”
Jessica walked over and gave him a hug.
“Thank you, Jack.”
***
Dent called back about three hours later.
The news from Brownsville was that there was no news. There were no James White Jr.’s or any other variation of that name registered anywhere in the Brownsville, Texas area.
The police there were still investigating the drive-by shooting at the service station, but like most cities, they had more crime than cops.
“Hopefully your brother will contact you again soon.”
“Yes... hopefully, and thank you, Jack.”
Jessica ended the call and walked out to her husband’s workshop, a workshop where he was experimenting with 3-D technology.
“There’s no news, and he wasn’t registered in any of the hotels or motels.”
“Could he be staying with a friend?”
“Maybe... but I don’t know who they might be. I really don’t know my brother that well though, do I?”
“If that’s true, then it’s his fault. In all the time I’ve known you, he’s rarely been a part of your life.”
“He and Daddy, well, they just never really got along, and when my mom died, Jimmy took it harder than any of us and left home not long after her funeral.”
He studied her for a moment, then reached over and took her hand.
“You’re worried sick about him, aren’t you?”
“Shouldn’t I be? It looks like someone may be trying to kill him.”
“I’ll go to Brownsville and look for him.”
“You mean we’ll go.”
“No, I mean I’ll go. In your condition and with your morning sickness I don’t think you should be traveling.”
“You have a point there, but I don’t like you going off alone. It sounds like it could be dangerous there.”
“If so, I’ll handle it,”
Jessica smiled.
“Yes, I have no doubt of that.”
CHAPTER 2
Jessica agreed that there was no point in him traveling to Texas until the following day, because many of the people he wanted to talk to would be unavailable in the evening, and there was still a chance that Jimmy might call back.
However, when Jimmy failed to make contact again, he took a flight and landed at Brownsville/South Padre Island International Airport shortly after nine a.m.
He rented a car, got a room at a local hotel, and drove to the police station on East Jackson Street, where Officer Mitch Ferguson worked.
The moment he stepped from the rental the heat engulfed him. The temperature was well into the nineties and the humidity was oppressive.
He thought better of the suit coat he was wearing and tossed it, along with his tie, into the back seat, before rolling up his sleeves and walking into the station’s air-conditioned relief.
He was in luck; Officer Ferguson had just arrested a drunk driver and was still in the building.
After a fifteen minute wait, Ferguson led him into the break room and sat with him to discuss what he learned.
“Nothing really,” Ferguson said. “If your wife hadn’t called, we’d still have no idea who was shot at.”
Ferguson was tall, nearly his height, with short blond hair and green eyes.
“And no one fitting his description is being treated at any hospitals?”
“No, and we put the word out to contact us if they did. It looks like your brother-in-law got away from whoever was chasing him.”
“Yes, but he hasn’t called back and it’s got my wife worried.”
“I’ll tell you what, let me have your contact info and if anything pops I’ll let you know, okay, sir?”
“That’s all I can ask, and thank you.”
***
As he left the break room, one of the plainclothes detectives, a chubby man with a florid face followed behind, and wa
tched him through a window as he got back into his rental. As the car pulled away, the man jotted down the license plate number in a notebook and then walked back to the break room.
He had planned to ask Ferguson casually about the man he’d been talking to, but when he arrived back at the break room, he watched Ferguson transfer the info the man had written down on a business card and copy it onto his phone, Ferguson then tossed the card into a wastebasket and left the room.
Once he was the last person in the room, the detective strolled over to the trashcan and removed the business card, which had the name of the hotel the man was staying at written on the back. He then took out his phone and dialed.
After five rings, a gruff voice answered.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Miller, let me speak to Sierra.”
“Hold on.”
Miller was on hold for over three minutes, but then a new voice spoke.
“What is it, Miller?”
“Mr. Sierra, I’ve got info to sell on that Jimmy White business, you still interested?”
“Hell yes, the bastard got away yesterday.”
“Do you have a pen handy?”
“Yeah, give it to me.”
Sierra took down the info, along with a detailed description, and said two words.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it? That’s all you need. Grab the brother-in-law and put the word out that you’ll kill him if Jimmy doesn’t step forward.”
“Yeah, but what if Jimmy doesn’t care if I whack him?”
“Then you’ve lost nothing but a little time, oh and the money you’ll be paying me.”
“All right, I’ll send Cavello and his crew to grab him and you’ll get your money the usual way.”
“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Sierra.”
“That’s because I’m always the one doing the paying.”
***
After speaking with Officer Ferguson, he stopped by the gas station where Jimmy made the call.
The phone he had used was a shattered mess and the station owner pointed out two additional bullet holes in a doorframe.
The man said he had no idea what Jimmy was driving, and was unable to recall what sort of vehicle the shooter had.
He stopped to eat on the drive back to his hotel and filled Jessica in on his conversation with Officer Ferguson.
The hotel had an underground garage, and as he parked his car, another car pulled up behind him, blocking him in, then the back doors opened and two men approached.
Both men were Hispanic, both large, and in the vehicle they got out of, another man still sat behind the wheel.
“Hey, dude, are you Jimmy White’s brother-in-law?”
“I am; who’s asking?”
“Never mind that, but you’re coming with us, got it?”
“I’m not going anywhere, and if you know where Jimmy is then tell me right now.”
The two shared an amused look and drew closer, then, the one on the left pulled up his sweaty shirt to reveal the gun stuck in his waistband, a cheap looking .38.
“I’ll shoot you as soon as look at you, so don’t give us any shit,” the man said.
Before the man had finished speaking, he had reached over and placed his hand was on the gun, and before yanking it free, he fired off a shot while it was still down the man’s pants.
The man’s khakis turned crimson while he was already spinning towards the other man, who was wide-eyed and fumbling at a side holster for his own weapon.
He slashed the second man across the face with the barrel of the gun, even as he heard the car door open behind him.
After taking the second man by the collar and belt, he held him up as a shield and rushed towards the third man getting out of the car. The third man had barely gotten out of the vehicle when he slammed him back against it by using the second man as a battering ram.
The sound of a shot rang out, and an instant later, the man in his arms went limp. He released the freshly made corpse, causing him to slide against his partner, and as the third man struggled to get free of the dead weight, he smashed the butt of the gun atop his head, rendering him unconsciousness.
He looked over at the first man and saw that he was attempting to crawl away; leaving in his wake a blood trail that reminded him of the ooze a snail leaves behind. He walked over and stared down at him. The bullet must have ruptured his femoral artery because he was losing blood by the pint. The man looked up at him for just a moment, before releasing a soft wheeze and dying.
One look at the second man told him that he too was dead, while the third man was alive, but already developing a knot atop his forehead,
He looked around expecting to see faces peeking at him from behind support columns, but saw none; apparently, they had been alone on this level of the garage. A quick look up revealed that the security camera was far enough away to place him in a dead zone, and that nothing had been captured on video,
He looked at the men’s car, a black Chrysler 300, and he remembered seeing it parked out on the street, near the entrance to the garage, he then reasoned that the three thugs had been waiting for him to return.
But, how did they know who I was and that I’m staying here?
He checked the unconscious man for more weapons and found a serrated knife hanging from a belt holster. He removed it, along with the man’s cell phone and scooped up his fallen gun from the garage floor.
Next, he reached back into his rental, retrieved his discarded tie, and used it to bind the hands of the third man. Afterwards, he reached inside their car, hit the release switch, and once it popped open, he tossed the unconscious man into the trunk and drove the Chrysler away.
CHAPTER 3
Brownsville, Texas is a city of nearly 200,000 and growing. He was glad of this, for as a stranger it made his movements less notable.
After checking to see that the man in the trunk was still unconscious, he went on a little shopping trip at a local supermarket. He walked directly to the hardware aisle, where he grabbed the heaviest hammer he could find, along with a box of latex gloves, on his way to the register he snagged an oversized black T-shirt with a Dallas Cowboys logo on its back.
The shirt would not only help him to blend in, but it was also roomy enough to hide the bulge of the gun he had taken from his captive. Once at the register, he included two cold bottles of water.
When he returned to the car, he listened at the trunk for a moment before tossing his supplies on the passenger seat and getting back on the road. He followed the signs and found himself driving about the port area, even near the water as he was, there was still little breeze and the humid temperature was oppressive.
As shouts and thumps began to emanate from the trunk, he parked the car in the shade of a derelict warehouse and began cleaning the gun with a kit he had discovered in the glove compartment.
The gun was a Beretta FS92 with walnut grips, normally a fine weapon, but the man in the trunk had neglected it so much that he marveled that it had fired at all.
The pounding noise at the rear intensified and he ignored it. He figured that the temperature inside the trunk must be well over a hundred degrees, and the heat would help to soften the man up.
Once he had the gun cleaned and fully loaded, he walked back towards the rear of the car. In his left hand was the bottle of water, along with the hammer.
He sprang the trunk open and the man blinked at the bright daylight. His shirt was spotted with his partner’s blood and drenched in sweat. The man was middle-age with a dark complexion and graying brown hair. He stared down at the man and saw him looking back with frightened eyes.
“Who sent you to get me?” he said.
The man said nothing; he was too busy licking at dry lips as his eyes fixated on the dew-coated bottle of water.
He switched the bottle of water to his right hand and spoke.
“Answer my questions and I’ll give you the water, say nothing or lie to me a
nd I’ll give you the hammer.”
The man’s eyes grew wide as he noticed the hammer for the first time.
“Sierra, I was sent by Donato Sierra and my name’s Cavello.” he said, and revealed a Spanish accent.
“Who is Sierra?”
The man seemed to consider the question, and as the answer came to him, he appeared to grow emboldened by it.
“Sierra is a member of the Cartel, the Cártel de Matamoros. You’re in deep shit, buddy.”
The man’s bound hands were gripping the lip of the trunk. With a lightning fast move, he brought the hammer down upon the little finger on the right hand, shattering the bones inside it and causing it to ooze blood.
The man fell deeper into the trunk, howling as he cradled his damaged finger in his other hand. Once the fresh agony of the wound lessened into simple suffering, he stared down into the man’s tear-stained eyes.
“That was just a reminder of which one of us is in deep shit, now, why did this Sierra tell you to grab me?”
Cavello gazed up at him with fresh hate in his eyes, but he answered without hesitation.
“He was going to use you for bait, so that Jimmy White would show himself.”
“How did you know where I’d be, what I looked like?”
“We got a tip from a cop.”
“Ferguson?”
“Nah, never heard of him, the cop’s name is Miller.”
“Why does Sierra want Jimmy?”
“White ran off with Sierra’s wife, Reina.”
He sighed at this news. Jimmy was in deeper trouble than he thought.
“Were you the one who shot at Jimmy?”
“Hell, I’m a better shot than that; it was Ramón, one of the guys back at the parking garage.”
“How did you know where Jimmy would be?”
“We followed him. We were sitting on a friend of his, and when he came by, we followed him to the gas station.”
“What’s Jimmy driving?”
“An old blue Ford, damn thing smokes like a chimney but it sure is fast. Now listen, I’ve answered all your questions, let me go so I can get this finger looked at.”
“I’ll let you know when we’re done, this friend of Jimmy’s, what’s his name?”
“David Olden,”
“Where’s he live?”
The TAKEN! Series - Books 5-8 (Taken! Box Set Book 2) Page 19