by D. M. Pulley
“But this isn’t right, Jas. You really think you can do anything to fix it? You think she’d want you to?”
“No. But someone has to. What about that detective? His number’s on the back of the book.”
“Where you gonna find a phone out here, huh?”
“There’s a phone at the Tally Ho, isn’t there?”
“Well, yeah. But Pop will feed us to the pigs if we go runnin’ off like that.”
Jasper regained his footing and stuffed the book down the back of his overalls. “You don’t have to come. Just tell ’em I ran off again, alright? Say you saw me headin’ back to where Grandma’s house burned down.”
“You’re crazy!” But Wayne didn’t try to stop him as he took off along the bottom of the ditch.
It was slow going up and over fallen trees, with his boots heavy with mud, but Jasper couldn’t risk being seen. He kept his ears perked for the sound of his father’s truck. He had no idea what he might tell the barkeep, Mr. Sharkey. He’d have to make something up about an emergency.
As he approached the end of Harris Road, a car’s headlights blew past on Lakeshore. Jasper crouched in the shadow of the ditch until it was gone, then scrambled up into a small cluster of trees lining the field. The crops were too low to give much cover. He glanced back over his shoulder toward his uncle’s farm. Harris Road was dark and quiet. The lit windows of the Tally Ho glowed a half mile away at the edge of the road. Jasper searched for the safest route through the open field. There was none. He would just have to run for it and hit the deck if he heard a car. One, two . . .
He took off running through the soft dirt with the heavy book banging against his back. His eyes stayed fixed on the windows, glancing back every ten strides at the road behind him. On the third look back, a pair of headlights appeared through the grove of trees lining the road.
Shit. He flattened himself to the ground and watched them inch up Harris toward him. The lights stopped moving two hundred yards from where he lay, and for a horrifying instant, Jasper was certain he’d been spotted. But they began to roll again and continued on toward Burtchville. The sedan wasn’t familiar.
See any strange cars? Sheriff Bradley’s voice repeated in his head.
Jasper stood back up on shaking legs. By now, his father would have discovered he’d gone. He could only hope that Wayne had pointed them soundly in the wrong direction and they were busy wandering the back fields and not climbing into his father’s truck. He started running again.
The Tally Ho was empty except for one man slouched at the table near the window where Jasper peeked in. He was wearing a tan uniform. Jasper watched through the bug screen as the barkeep approached his table.
“Shouldn’t you be gettin’ home, Cal?”
“Just one more for the road, Clint. I’ve had one hell of a day.” Jasper recognized the sheriff’s voice.
“Won’t Mrs. Bradley be missing you right about now?”
“You mind your bar. I’ll mind my wife. One more and I’m gone.”
“Comin’ up,” Clint agreed and grabbed the empty mug.
Next to the taps at the end of the bar sat a black telephone.
Jasper tried to work up the nerve to knock on the door. Sheriff Bradley knew his uncle and might drag him home by his ear, but he was the sheriff the federal marshal had been talking about. He’d found the bags of “product” Galatas wanted back. They were going to try to trick him into giving them back. Jasper sucked in a breath, knowing he had no choice. He had to talk to him, no matter the consequences. He headed around the back of the building to the door, but the sound of tires on gravel stopped him cold as another car pulled into the lot.
Jasper jumped behind the corner. The tavern door opened and closed.
“Evening, Clint. Evening, Cal. Mind if I join you?”
Jasper crawled back to his window. His eyes bulged as the same federal marshal who had been talking with Galatas at the reservation sat down next to the sheriff.
“Hey, Chuck,” Sheriff Bradley said with a slur. “What brings you here at this hour?”
“Need a beer. Same as you.”
The barkeep set down a mug in front of the marshal.
“Thanks.” The marshal clinked the sheriff’s mug with his own and took a swig. “So. You had any luck trackin’ down more of that horse?”
Sheriff Bradley grabbed his mug and drained it in one go. He smacked the empty glass on the table. “Only found two sacks so far. We sent them down to Detroit, like I said.”
“You will tell me if you find more, won’t you, Cal?”
“It ain’t exactly your jurisdiction, is it?”
“If it is what we think it is, this here’s federal. And we don’t want a bunch of strangers pokin’ around disturbin’ the peace, do we? Think of all the phone calls you’ll get.”
Sheriff Bradley nodded and stood to leave. “You’re probably right. I gotta get home to the missus.”
Marshal Duncan stood as well and held out his hand for a shake. “Good seein’ you, Cal. Listen, I have uh . . . a little situation up at Black River. Do me a favor. If you get a call tonight, take your time answering the phone. Can you do that?”
The fog seemed to clear from Sheriff Bradley’s eyes for a moment. “What are you sayin’, Chuck?”
“I’m sayin’ I need a little latitude tonight. I’m sure you understand.”
“I’m not sure that I do.”
“Course you do. We’ve given you a bit of latitude here or there up at the res . . .”
Sheriff Bradley held up an unsteady hand. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”
Marshal Duncan pulled a small picture from his pocket and showed it to the sheriff. “Course you do. Remember her? A few months back?”
Squinting as the photograph went back in the pocket, Jasper could make out the ghostly pallor of a girl sprawled naked on a slab. It looked like one of the photos he’d seen at the clinic. “You understand what I’m sayin’ now?”
The sheriff lowered his hand and voice to almost a whisper. “That there had nothin’ to do with me.”
“Sure it did, Cal. Wasn’t it your cruiser that dumped her at the door of the clinic? Dr. Whitebird took copious notes, plenty of pictures too.”
“But that was just protocol. She wasn’t one of mine. She was just some junkie that got lost. I couldn’t help her.” His face was growing red.
“But you could help out a buddy, right? We’ve got a blood type on that friend of yours. He left evidence all over her. The file’s real thick on this one.”
“This is—this is bullshit, and you know it. You can’t just come in here waving wild accusations.” The sheriff was practically spitting in the marshal’s face. He pushed past his chair with an awkward stutter toward the door.
“Fifteen minutes, Cal. That’s all I’m askin’.”
The sheriff waved his hand in disgust at the marshal and slammed open the door.
“You say hello to the wife for me now,” Marshal Duncan called after him.
Once the sheriff had left, the marshal dropped a dollar on the table and abandoned his beer.
“Have a good evening, officer,” Clint called from behind the bar and went back to washing mugs.
Jasper stayed under the window, staring wide into the empty field. The sound of a car engine turning over and tires on gravel barely registered. Ayasha, he thought. They were talking about her.
CHAPTER 58
Can you explain why the Detroit Police Department has no record of you or Detective Russo’s alleged investigation?
“Evening. Can I help y—” The barkeep turned toward the door and stopped talking. He leaned over the counter. “What are you doin’ here, son? Ain’t it a bit late?”
“I—I need to use . . . I mean, excuse me, sir.” Jasper steadied his shaking voice. “May I please use your telephone? It’s an emergency.”
“Boy, it’s past eleven o’clock at night. You can’t be calling anybody at this hour. Where�
�s your folks?”
“They’re um . . . our car broke down a ways back. We—uh—saw the lights on here. I’m supposed to try to call for help.”
“You’re gonna need Tony down in Burtchville. I’ll ring him.” Clint picked up the phone and started to dial.
Jasper’s eyes circled the room, desperate for a way out of his disastrous lie. “Um . . . I’m supposed to call our mechanic in Detroit. I—uh—I have the number.”
Clint stopped spinning the dial and glanced over at Jasper’s stricken face. He hung up the phone. “Drop the act, kid. What are you doin’ here?”
Jasper glanced at the door, debating whether or not to run, but he’d come this far. “My—my mother needs my help. I can’t really explain, but please, sir, can I use your phone?”
Clint walked over and squatted down to get a look at him. “You’re Althea’s boy, ain’t ya?”
Jasper bit his tongue.
“Althea’s always been a friend. Can see her face all over yours. Your uncle know you’re here?”
Jasper shook his head.
“Who you tryin’ to call, kid?”
“A detective. From Detroit. I found something and . . . I just.” Jasper didn’t even know anymore, but she’d given the Bible to him. She had trusted him. It had to mean something. He couldn’t let her down.
“I know who you mean.” Clint grabbed the phone and dialed a number. “Pete? It’s Clint over at the Tally . . . A bit slow. You? . . . Say, you still got a Detroit cop over there drinkin’ up all your coffee? . . . That’s the one. Could you send ’im on over. He’ll know . . . Okay, see you Sunday.”
He hung up the phone. “I don’t know what your mom’s got herself into, kid, but it’s big. I’ve seen and heard a lot of strange stuff in my day, but nothin’ like this. I hope you know what you’re doin’.”
Jasper really didn’t. He stood there at the bar a moment feeling utterly lost until a thought came together. Althea’s always been a friend. “Mr. Sharkey? Can I ask you somethin’?”
He lowered his gaze down from the window. “What?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
Clint didn’t speak at first. He just stood there weighing his words, the way a man who rarely speaks of anyone or anything does. He finally said, “I made a promise to your mother to keep that to myself. Some pretty bad people were lookin’ for her.”
“I’m not a bad person,” Jasper whispered.
Clint smiled at him. “No. You’re not, are you? It was at the end of last summer. She walked through that door pretty shook up. Said she’d left her car somewhere. Said these people were lookin’ for her. Asked if I’d heard anything. I could tell somethin’ about her wasn’t right.”
“Did she stay here?”
“Nope. She got herself cleaned up, had a few stiff drinks, then she took off.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Wouldn’t say. I offered to drive her somewhere, but she just waved me off. Said the only thing I could do was to never tell a soul I saw her . . . so I didn’t.”
A pair of headlights pulled up into the lot. The barkeep opened the door for Jasper and said, “I hope you find her, kid.”
“Thanks,” he whispered. A black sedan was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Despite everything he’d just gone through, he felt an inexplicable urge to run the other way as the car window rolled down.
“Jasper!” the detective beamed brightly from behind the wheel. “I was hoping to hear from you. Get in.”
Jasper couldn’t believe he was climbing into the car of the very man who had chased him through the streets of Detroit. His stomach tightened as he sat down on the leather bench and closed the door, but Jasper didn’t see any other way. He couldn’t trust the sheriff or the marshal or even his own father.
“So what’ve you got for me, kid?” the detective asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Jasper eased the book out from the back of his pants and flipped it open. The detective glanced at a ledger page glued inside then back at the road. He was taking them north up Lakeshore. As they passed the turn to Harris Road, the knot in Jasper’s stomach twisted. They weren’t going back to the farm.
“So?” the detective said, unimpressed. “Is that all?”
“Well . . . no, there’s a lot more pages like this one, and then there’s this.” Jasper turned to the sheet full of names and phone numbers.
The detective pulled the car to the side of the road and grabbed the book. He studied the list with a low whistle. “This is the entire Galatas network.”
Jasper worked up the nerve to ask, “What’s this all about?”
“Drugs, money, women,” the detective muttered, not paying the boy much mind. He flipped through the accounting ledgers again. “I’ve been trying to nail Galatas for five years. Trafficking, racketeering, the works, but nobody will testify. I thought your mother would but . . .”
“Do you know where she is?” Jasper blurted out. “I have to find her.”
“Kid, if I could find her, I wouldn’t be here talkin’ to you. I can’t help you. Not with just this to go on.” The detective tossed the book back onto Jasper’s lap.
“But there’s more,” Jasper pleaded. “Something bad is going to happen. Tonight. Something really bad. I heard them talking. Marshal Duncan wants Sheriff Bradley to not answer the phone if it rings. Fifteen minutes, he said.”
The detective flipped off the headlights, leaving only the moon to light his face as he glared down at the boy next to him. “You need to tell me everything you know, Jasper. The lives of innocent people depend on it. We don’t want to let them down, do we?”
Jasper shook his head violently.
“So talk.”
It was a relief to tell a grown-up all the things he’d witnessed that day. Galatas and Duncan in the woods, Motega, his dead sister, everything. The detective wrote down every word, raising his eyebrows from time to time at the revelation of his dead half-sister and especially at the implication that Duncan had some sort of picture he’d used to blackmail the sheriff.
“Very good, Jasper. That’s very good. If I asked you to, could you show me where you saw Marshal Duncan and Galatas talking?”
“Yes, but—” He wanted to ask about his mother again. The detective cut him off.
“Why don’t we go take a look?”
“Now?” The rotten feeling tightened its grip. “But it’s late. My uncle and dad . . .”
“They would want you to do what’s right, Jasper. I’m an officer of the law, and it’s against the law to obstruct an investigation. You don’t want to break the law, do you?”
He shook his head again, but his gut was telling him to get out of the car. It was the same feeling he’d had when that bus driver had walked toward him. He reached for the handle, but the detective was too quick and put the car back into gear.
The road up to Black River was hard to find in the dark. Jasper was almost too late in spotting it, but the detective slammed the brakes just in time, nearly driving the boy’s forehead into the dash.
“Hold on, kid.” The detective chuckled and pulled up the steep drive with his headlights off. He cut the engine behind the rubble of the clinic and ordered him out of the car. “Okay, Jasper. Lead the way.”
His legs went numb as he led the man around the clinic and down the path toward the game house. This isn’t right, he thought. This is dangerous. But he kept walking as if he could feel the detective’s gun between his shoulder blades.
Halfway up the path, they heard voices. The detective crouched down, grabbed Jasper by the overall straps, and dragged him into the trees. Broken moonlight streamed through the branches, lighting their way as they inched closer to the sound.
“What do you mean it’s not here!” a voice bellowed. “You make me come here in the middle of the night and you do not have it? This is lies. You have nothing.”
“Have you found many bags?” a deep voice demanded. It was Motega. The detecti
ve halted Jasper behind a tree.
“We’ve just begun the search,” Marshal Duncan piped in. “We’ll find them.”
“You won’t find more than three. That is how many I left.”
“What do you mean how many you left?”
“Let this man speak, Charles.” It was Galatas talking.
The detective yanked Jasper’s shoulder straps and pushed him forward to get a closer look. Every snap of a twig stopped his heart. They would hear them. They would find them and kill them.
His father was right. The detective didn’t care.
“Do you see what is left?” Motega asked the men, motioning to the collapsed game house. “Do you see the trees? Do you see the ground?”
Jasper looked up as though Motega were commanding him. All the branches over his head still had their leaves. The fallen tree on the ground in front of him was covered in moss.
“What is it you are trying to say?” Galatas demanded.
Marshal Duncan surveyed the area, then slowly shook his head. “He’s sayin’ the twister didn’t come through here. Shit. He’s sayin’ he tore down the game house himself along with the storeroom.”
“Your men ran like scared children when the great winds came.” Motega grinned at Galatas. “I did not.”
“I see.” Galatas nodded and went quiet for a moment. “Charles tells me you want us to leave Black River. This is right, yes? This we can do. You deliver what you stole, and we leave. Do we have a deal?”
“You do not honor deals. I have seen this. Besides, I already have what I want.”
“I do not understand. What is it you have?”
“You.” Motega pulled a knife from his waistband. “You are here.”
“Charles?” Galatas took a step back. “I have no more time for these games. Will you please make this one talk?”
Marshal Duncan pulled his gun from his holster and pointed it at Motega.
Jasper lurched back only to have the detective clamp hands hard over his mouth and arms. He whispered in his ear, “Shh, kid. Galatas will burn for this. Just watch. Watch and remember it all for the jury.”
The hot breath in his ear made his whole body recoil. Stay down, boy. This isn’t going to get any better for you. Jasper shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He strained against the detective’s grasp, and a pain shot up the arm held in by the sling. He was pinned.