The Traitor's Revenge (Wallis Jones Series 2016)

by Martha Carr

  Stanley knew he was right. He even knew a moment like this was coming since the day Ray died, less than a week ago. He couldn’t even comprehend what everyone was after much less why it was worth killing someone like Ray. He ran toward the open door and slid in the front seat saying a small prayer that it wasn’t a mistake. The man started driving toward Main Street as he put out his hand.

  “Helmut Khroll,” he said. “We’ve got to get you to a safer spot and then maybe explain a few things.”

  “Thank God,” said Stanley.

  “Well, close,” said Helmut Khroll, “just a journalist,” he said, smiling as he gunned the engine and headed back uptown toward the suburbs.

  Chapter Three

  Wallis tried to calm down enough to take the drive down Huguenot Road toward the other side of the James River at the posted speed limit of 45 mph. She knew the four lane winding road was a common speed trap and she wasn’t in any kind of shape to take her chances with the local police tonight. There was no one else on the road. Richmond had a habit of closing down after dinnertime.

  Normally, Wallis had a faith in the entire legal system that dictated she’d be okay in the end despite the flaws. A speeding ticket was merely an expensive nuisance. But nothing was the same anymore. She wasn’t even sure of Norman. That last thought was making it difficult for her to focus on anything else.

  Just as the front wheels of the Jaguar touched the Huguenot Bridge a car suddenly appeared in Wallis’ rear view mirror. The old silver Volvo sedan seemed to come out of nowhere.

  It must have come up from the Pony Pasture, thought Wallis, taking a deep breath and glancing back and forth between the Volvo and the bridge. There was a hidden entrance just to the side of the bridge that wound down to wide open fields that ran along the James River.

  She tried to see who was driving the car but there was only the occasional street lamp lining the bridge and that was making it impossible.

  She took a quick glance over the far side of the bridge and in the moonlight she was able to see the rushing water below as it pulsed past a small line of large boulders in the center of the river. Just as she glanced back toward the road the Jaguar shook violently, thrusting her head forward before slamming it back against the headrest.

  The back end of the car began to fishtail on the narrow bridge as the airbag exploded in Wallis’ face, a fine white powder blowing into the air and stinging her eyes. Wallis struggled to keep her eyes open through her tears and the pain as the car behind her attempted to ram her again, catching the right corner of the trunk and pushing the Jaguar against the side of the old green metal railing. There was a sound of metal scraping on metal and the bridge squealing from the pressure. Small sparks leaped along the edge of the passenger side window.

  Wallis pulled the steering wheel hard to the left and stood on the brakes, momentarily lifting herself up off of the seat, the deflated air bag resting in her lap. The car responded by sliding sideways and pushing even harder against the old railing.

  At the last moment as a four foot section of railing began to pull away from the large iron bolts that held it in place, bowing out toward the water in a ‘V’, the car started to correct hard to the left. Wallis started spinning the wheel as fast as she could toward the right, giving the car what she hoped was just enough gas to keep it moving. The car stalled out as the engine fell silent and Wallis watched everything moving swiftly past her window in a vacuum of sound. She tried to wrench her head around to the left as her neck spasmed and she instinctively pulled her chin down, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. As she opened her eyes everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Her body was hanging inside of the seat belt, her torso leaning over the gear shift in between the seats. The view of the hill just in front of her that lead to Cary Street and the route home pulled out of view and was replaced by the white caps on the water as she tried to turn back to see what was coming next. Her fingernails dug into the arm rest against the driver’s side door as she pulled herself over, ignoring the sharp pains in her neck that travelled down into the small of her back. Just as she became sure she was going over the car teetered back and slammed onto the road. The other car finally came into view as the Jaguar came to rest.

  The Volvo had come to a stop when Wallis started trying to correct the spin-out and there was now a sizeable distance between the two cars. Wallis was certain she knew what was coming next and could feel the bile rising in her throat. The Jaguar was caught near the far side of the bridge, its nose pointing at an angle toward the water.

  “Don’t look at the car, don’t look at the car,” she mumbled, willing herself to quickly turn around and make each move count. She wrapped both hands around the keys still dangling from the ignition and gently turned the key.

  “Please work, please work,” she pleaded, noticing her bottom lip was growing fatter. The engine caught and turned over with a slight sputter. “Not a guarantee but I’ll take it.” She turned the wheel back and pressed down on the accelerator as she saw the Volvo quickly growing closer in the rear view mirror. The Jaguar wasn’t picking up speed fast enough. She braced herself for an impact and wondered what it would be like to be floating briefly through the air with a ton of steel surrounding her body.

  Wallis thought about closing her eyes and taking her hands off the wheel just as the headlights from behind started to fill the entire interior of the car with light.

  “I love you Norman,” she yelled, as loud as she could, as the car continued to get brighter, and she raised a hand up in the center of the car where the driver behind her could clearly see, thrusting her middle finger into the air.

  Suddenly, the Volvo swerved around her, the sound of the engine being gunned as Wallis looked to her right, surprised to still be on the road. Sitting behind the wheel was the bailiff, Oscar, with his belly firmly wedged behind the wheel. He was grinning at Wallis, brown tobacco stained teeth forming a large opening. There was a long thin slash down the right side of his face. Wallis thought about what Madame Bella said about a fat old man and what she’d been able to do to him.

  She looked back at Oscar in disbelief wondering why he hated her so much. He was around her car in a moment, squealing across the bridge and running the red light just on the other side. That was when Wallis noticed the car coming from the other direction, wildly honking its horn for her to get out of the way. She quickly pulled into the right lane as the minivan passed and a nervous-looking woman was still honking madly, peering out of her open window but she never came close to stopping.

  “Please don’t call the police,” she yelled, even though the minivan was already disappearing over the bridge. Wallis pressed the accelerator gently and started out slowly, creeping off the bridge, listening to the new sounds the car was making as something under the car scraped the road. She looked over the railing for a moment at the train tracks below as she got to the other side and rolled past the empty parking lots of upscale strip malls.

  Her entire body tensed as she tried to look into the darkest corners, wondering if Oscar was waiting to take another shot at murder. The dark parking lots on either side gave way to the deep woods as Wallis continued up the hill by the rolling lawns of the golf course at the Country Club of Virginia.

  The car was struggling the entire way, barely pushing fifty even though Wallis’ foot was now jammed down on the gas. “I know you’re here somewhere,” whispered Wallis. She emptied out her purse on the passenger seat and fumbled for her cell phone to call Norman. She dropped the small race car in her lap as she quickly dialed with her thumb while trying to scan both sides of the road.

  There was a red light at the intersection of Cary and River Roads that formed a narrow T right in front of the old stately Tuckahoe Apartment buildings that were always reserved for old money. No one was waiting at the light as Wallis tore through, barely missing the cars starting to turn left from the other direction. Just as she sped through the Volvo appeared out of the Tuckahoe’s small circular parkin
g lot and pulled in neatly behind her as the irate honking continued behind them. The phone dropped out of her hand, still ringing as both hands went back on the steering wheel.

  Wallis got to the second intersection at Three Chopt Road and took the corner as fast as she could, the tires squealing against the pavement, the bailiff not far behind her.

  Three Chopt Road was an old two lane road that wound past the front of the country club with old stately homes lining the other side. Cars were streaming past just a door handle away as Wallis took another hill. It was only a matter of time before she would find herself on another stretch of road alone with Oscar.

  Just as she got to the corner of Grove Avenue Wallis abruptly turned right hoping there would be people sitting out at the popular restaurants that lined the upper part of the street. Sitting on the corner to her immediate left was St. Stephen’s Church, an old Episcopal church attended by all of the old first families of Virginia made of white granite from a local quarry back when the entire area was full of mines and the larger Episcopal churches, like St. Stephen’s catered to the owners while the smaller ones were filled to the rafters with the miners. Right next door sat St. Bridget’s, a large Catholic cathedral made out of yellow stone pulled from another local quarry.

  Wallis scanned the street and quickly saw that all of the store fronts were dark. The only light was coming from the wrought iron street lights along both sides. She crossed over into the left lane and took the curb, bouncing along the sidewalk and rolling down the grass toward the wide open parking lot of St. Stephen’s situated behind the church. The bottom of her car bounced along the grass before making a large whomp against the blacktop of the parking lot as Wallis sped for the other side, zipping across the painted white lines. Something fell from the bottom of her car clanging against the pavement as she kept driving.

  The Volvo stayed right behind her as she quickly pulled around the left side of the Episcopal Church and aimed straight for the rectory that sat between St. Stephen’s and the looming cathedral.

  At the entrance to the rectory Wallis threw the car into park and leapt out, scooping up the thumb drive from her lap as she ran for the stone steps. She beat on the side door of St. Stephen’s as hard as she could as the Volvo slowed down. Oscar made a quick circle in the parking lot, coming to rest in front of the Jaguar, blocking it from going anywhere. He turned off his lights just as the large wooden door began to open and an older minister appeared with a worried expression on his face.

  “Father Donald,” said Wallis, as she threw up on his feet.

  “Wallis?” said Father Donald. “Are you alright?” He reached out to gently pull Wallis in by the elbow as she winced “What’s happened?”

  Wallis turned to look at Oscar and wrapped her fingers tighter around the small race car in her hand.

  “Who is that?” said the Reverend, as he looked past Wallis and saw the remains of her car. “Did he do that?” he asked, almost shouting. Wallis nodded and gingerly wrapped her left arm against her bruised ribs. She was starting to realize how close she had come to dying on the bridge. Father Donald stepped out onto the steps and pushed Wallis inside of the church as he grabbed the metal bat he always kept by the door.

  “God helps those who come prepared,” he said to Wallis, giving her a wink as he started down the steps toward the darkened Volvo. “Call Norman,” he yelled, without turning around to see if Wallis was following the order.

  Wallis looked at her car and realized the phone was still sitting on the floor where it had dropped. She took the stone steps two at a time, running across the open space as she watched the Reverend walk swiftly toward the Volvo, the bat raised, ready to swing. She got to the passenger side and pulled on the crumpled door but the frame was too badly bent. The door wouldn’t open. She stepped out into the street just as Oscar gunned the engine and the Reverend swung the bat connecting with the windshield as the glass shattered into small pieces raining back on Oscar’s face. The car swerved, barely missing Wallis yet again as it passed and turned into the darkness.

  Wallis quickly opened her door and felt underneath the seat banging her hand against the springs. She ignored the stinging as her knuckles scraped against an unseen sharp point and felt the edge of her phone, pulling it toward her.

  She hurriedly stood up and ran for the security of the church steps, not looking back to see what was happening behind her till she was once again near the open wooden door. Reverend Donald was running to catch up with her, the bat still resting against his shoulder.

  “You okay?” he asked, as he dropped the bat on the front step, breathing hard. He gently wrapped his arms around Wallis, her arms tucked against her chest, the thumb drive still in her hand.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, as she looked past him and out into the darkness. “I have to call Norman,” she said, suddenly pulling back. “They want me dead and Ned, what if,” she said, dialing the phone.

  Norman answered on the first ring. “Wallis? I’ve been trying to call you back. What was all of that noise? Are you alright? Where are you?”

  “I’m with Father Donald over at St. Stephen’s. There’s been an accident. Is Ned with you? What is a zwanzig, Norman and why do so many people suddenly want me dead?”

  “I’m coming to get you. Ned’s with your mother. Nothing will happen to him there. Wait right there. Don’t leave the Reverend’s side.”

  Chapter Four

  Father Donald led Wallis quickly through the newer wing that was noteworthy for the tall lead-paned windows placed to let in the maximum amount of light. But the same architectural detail offered no sanctuary to those who were trying to elude anyone who might want them dead.

  They kept traveling into the depths of the over-sized rectory passing through a heavy, locked steel door and into the older part of the building that was well over a hundred years old, which for Richmond was often marked as the beginning of time.

  They moved swiftly into a long hall with high ceilings and large imposing paintings of former rectors lining both sides. The passageway was windowless and the only light came from the occasional small table lamp giving off an ethereal glow that in more normal circumstances the few parishioners who ever traveled this hall always found to be comforting.

  Donald pulled out a phone and was quickly typing as he continued to pull Wallis along the corridor. Wallis tried to stop for a moment to get her bearings.

  Their rapid pace down the hallway had been throwing off small shadows that kept startling Wallis and making her snap her head around to make sure they weren’t being followed. Each time she did the sharp pain reminded her of how much she had been thrown around in her car on the bridge.

  She reached out to squeeze Father Donald’s hand to steady herself as she tried to slow him down.

  She had known Oscar for years and just like that he had tried to kill her. Richmond was a city that prided itself on all the small relationships that weave together any small town. Long-time residents liked to think that they could turn to their neighbors and even if they didn’t always get along they could get a helping hand. Wallis had believed that too.

  But there was an entirely different side to things that had become visible to her and pushed and shoved at the boundaries making all of the rules Wallis had grown up with and depended on obsolete. It was making her nauseous all over again to realize how little control was even going to be possible.

  The minister slid the phone back into his pocket and grasped her hand, stepping behind her and firmly nudging Wallis along as they took a short maze of stairs, hallways and doors. He wasn’t going to let her rest for even a moment.

  “Not yet,” he said, softly. “One good thing about not being able to build until we can prove we already needed more space is we end up with so many nooks and crannies,” he said in a hushed voice as they continued to hurry down a hallway that curved slightly toward the end. “God bless steering committees.”

  The hallway ended at another steel door that lead to a sm
all, hidden circular driveway tucked in between all of the large stone buildings just large enough for one car at a time. The Lincoln Continental was parked just by the door in the only pool of light coming from the tall imposing street lamp. Wallis could see her reflection in the thick, dark windows. Her hair was disheveled and she was holding her arm like it was a broken wing.

  “Come on,” said the older priest as he stepped quickly down the short flight of stairs, pulling Wallis behind him.

  “What about Norman? He’s rushing over here.”

  “No, I’ve let him know where to find us,” said the minister, tapping his pocket as he slid behind the wheel.

  “You think this is safe?” asked Wallis, as she climbed carefully into the front seat, favoring her left shoulder.

  “Were you planning on moving in?” said Father Donald, smiling. “It’s best not to sit too long in any one place right now. That way they can’t rally the troops.”

  “Troops?” said, Wallis.

  “Figure of speech,” he said as he drove through the narrow archway and over the mossy bricks till they were on the side street, heading toward town.

  “Where are we headed? It’s not that I don’t trust you but, really, how much experience have you had with intrigue?” said Wallis, glancing in the side mirror repeatedly as she held the seat belt away from her body.

  “I’m an Episcopal priest, my dear. Our entire sect was started out of politics, sex and intrigue and not much else has changed in the intervening years. Are you in pain?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “You are a bad liar, Wallis.”

  “I’ve been told that a number of times.”

  “It’s very charming but perhaps not very useful. I know, odd advice from someone in my profession. We’re almost there,” he said as they turned onto the busy thoroughfare of West Broad Street and the endless seam of upscale shops anchored by a grocery store or a Target. Some of them had already closed for the night as their employees headed home to feed their families. Nothing respectable stayed open in Richmond late into the night except for the Wal-Mart or the movie theaters. Wallis noticed his knuckles were white where he was gripping the steering wheel.