The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  “They’re back.”

  Quince squinted, focusing on the house down the street. Lee had determined from his records search on the library’s computer that the house did belong to Porter and Naomi Wright. After lunch they had come back and positioned themselves at the intersection at the end of the street. They figured that Wright had to come home some time. When they had him identified, they would follow him until the opportunity presented itself. Then they would take Mr. Wright and make him disappear. They had not planned on the sheriff’s car returning to the house. If they had, they would have watched from a less conspicuous vantage point.

  “Want me to get out of here?” Quince would do nothing until Lee gave him directions.

  “No,” Lee said watching closely through the window, leaning as far back in the seat as possible to make identification harder if someone looked their way. “Stay put. They might not see us. Just play it cool, and let’s see what happens.”

  Bill nodded, but threw the magazine on the floor and placed his hands on the wheel in case Lee changed his mind and wanted to leave. There were some things he didn’t have to be told.

  Walking back to the Wright’s front door Sharon spoke while looking ahead at the door.

  “Don’t turn around. You notice that big metallic blue pickup at the end of the street.”

  “Yeah,” Kupman said looking at Sharon, his back towards the truck at the end of the street.

  “Saw it in town earlier, parked across from the Gazette office.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it a couple of times today, cruising. Lot of trucks like that around here so didn’t pay it much attention.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think, that as soon as we get inside, I’m going to radio for a unit to check it and the occupants out. Might be coincidence, might not. But we can sure as hell find out.”

  Sharon rang the bell, and Naomi Wright opened the door a minute later. Not quite as emotionally traumatized as she had been earlier, it was clear that she was still struggling with the situation. Sharon wondered which would be easier to take…husband having an affair, or husband who was the potential target of hit men. Not much of a choice.

  “May we come in, Mrs. Wright?”

  Pulling the door open wider, she stepped back so that they could enter. Once inside, Sharon followed Naomi into the living room again. Ronnie stayed by the front door and lifted the portable radio from his belt. Quietly calling for a unit to check out the metallic blue four by four at the end of the street he waited until he heard the radio traffic and the assignment to a day watch unit made by the dispatcher. Replacing the radio in its belt holder, he walked into the living room.

  As the door closed on the house down the street, Sim said, “Okay, Bill, crank it up and let’s go, but take it easy, nothing fancy or fast. We don’t want to attract attention.”

  Quince nodded his understanding and started the pickup. As the truck started to roll, Lee added, “Stay off the main streets. Wind through these back streets until we get out of town and then let’s see if we can find some place quiet to go and have a beer and make some plans.”

  “Plans? Thought we had a plan?”

  Lee smiled at his partner who relied on him to do the thinking. “No big changes, Bill. Just regroup a little.” He thought for a moment and added, “Maybe pick up another truck.”

  “What about Wright? We gonna lose him?”

  “We know where he lives and where he works. We’ll keep watching. He’ll turn up. Maybe he took a business trip, went fishing, visit his mama. Who knows, but he’ll turn up.”

  All of his questions answered, Quince nodded and drove quietly. Fifteen minutes later, they were out of Everett on a backcountry road that paralleled a highway that intersected I-95.

  Inside the house, Sharon sat close to Naomi Wright on the ottoman in front of Naomi’s chair. She leaned forward and spoke, trying to see the woman’s eyes as she asked, “Naomi, are you sure you don’t know where your husband went?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know. Porter wouldn’t tell me.” Her eyes avoided Sharon’s.

  “Naomi, I did some checking at the courthouse today. It seems you and Porter have some property out in the country.”

  Naomi gave a huff and shook her head. “Property! Just Porter’s dirty old hunting shack. He calls it a cabin.” She shook her head, a small wifely smirk playing across her face.

  “Would he have gone to his…cabin?” Sharon asked, sharing in Naomi’s laugh at the idiosyncrasies of men. She lowered her head so that she could see into Naomi’s downturned eyes. “Did he, Naomi?”

  Letting out a long sigh, she said, “He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. He said if I didn’t know, we’d be safe, no one would find him, and then when things cleared up in a few days, he’d be back, things would be normal again.”

  “Did he go to the cabin, Naomi?”

  Raising her head and looking Sharon directly in the eyes, she said, “He wouldn’t tell me, but, he said I could find him if I had to.” She nodded before continuing, “I expect he went to the cabin. That would be the place I could find him if I had to.”

  “We need to go there, Naomi. The people that want to find him are very bad. He should not be there alone.”

  “You’d have a hard time finding it if you haven’t been there before, even with a county map.”

  “Not if you and your children are with us. You can show me the way. We want to put you all in one spot so we can protect the family. Now that he is gone, they will be watching you and your children, looking for him, waiting for an opportunity, trying to find him. They will do what they have to, to find him. Understand?”

  “I don’t know…” She shook her head thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Porter was pretty serious that he didn’t want anyone to know where he was going. Said, where he was going, he could control things and take care of it if anyone came around. He wouldn’t be happy if I brought someone out there.” As an afterthought, she added, “If he was there. Besides, I would never tell them about the cabin.”

  “Naomi,” Sharon said softly, “what would you do if they threatened one of your children? Would you tell them?”

  Naomi Eyes widened and reddened. Sharon felt like an ass, but it had to be done. She had to understand the seriousness of the threat.

  Ronnie Kupman stepped across the room from the doorway where he had watched and listened. “Naomi, you really do need to understand that these people won’t give up until they find Porter. They are professionals. We have to get to him. We have to protect you all. They are very good at what they do. We have three bodies so far that we know of from their list of targets, all killed differently. A fourth, the owner of the truck that killed Timmy Farrin was found out in the sawgrass a few miles from Everett, a bullet in the back of his head. There are no clues, Naomi, none.”

  The woman looked from Ronnie to Sharon trying to understand. Sharon waited a moment for her to accept Ronnie’s words, then added, “Naomi, you aren’t safe. Your children are not safe until we find these people. I know your husband thought he was protecting you, but these people will do whatever is necessary to find him, especially now that their plan is moving forward. It’s not the type of thing that can stop instantly, even if the planners want it to. They have money and power and enough confidence that they feel they can get away with killing state senators and superior court judges.”

  Naomi looked up. “And Timmy Farrin,” she said.

  Sharon nodded. “And Timmy Farrin. We have to find your husband. We want to take you and your children to him and keep you together and protected until we find the people responsible.”

  Ronnie looked into Naomi Wright’s red-rimmed eyes and added, “Before it’s too late, Naomi.”

  Nodding, she sighed as if making a decision and said, “I’ll take you to him, or to the cabin at least. He’s probably there. I’ll get the children packed up tonight.”

  “Good. Tomorrow I’ll come by early, and we will drive o
ut to the cabin. Throw in any food and supplies you have. We might be there a few days until we get this sorted out.”

  “It’ll be all right, Naomi,” Ronnie Kupman said. “I’ll have a unit outside watching the house tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll clear some things with the sheriff and…”

  “No, Porter did not want Klineman involved. He was serious about that.”

  Well, at least everyone was unanimous on that, Sharon thought, listening to Ronnie.

  “I’m not involving the sheriff. He won’t know anything. I just have to clear some days off with him. He won’t know why. Then I’ll drive out. I’ll relieve Agent Price so she can get back on the investigation with George Mackey. I’ll stay with you and Porter.” He smiled trying to ease the tension. “Kind of your own personal body guard.”

  “George is working on this?” Naomi looked up, interest in her eyes.

  “He is.”

  “He shot that man that killed those two people last year, didn’t he?”

  “He did.”

  She nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

  51. How Unfortunate

  The drive back from the mountains above Dahlonega had taken Puckett three hours. Thompson took a different route and stopped for supplies on the way. The cell phone was vibrating on the table beside the lawn chairs as he dropped the sacks holding steaks and a twelve pack on the porch.

  Puckett picked up the phone and pressed the speaker button. There was no need to ask for permission anymore. Thompson was part of the team.

  “Yes.”

  “You have news for us?”

  “Yes. There was an accident today.”

  “I see. Serious?”

  “Very serious. There were no survivors.”

  “How unfortunate.” The insincerity of Montgomery’s sentiment was obvious.

  “Yes, very unfortunate. This one was caused by driver error.” Puckett and Thompson exchanged a mirthful look over their beer bottles, Big Bud trying hard to stifle his laugh and keep the beer from blowing out of his nose.

  The phone had been muted, no doubt while Montgomery and Greene shared their own little laugh at Puckett’s irony. When it was unmuted, Montgomery’s deep, serious voice said, “Other activities?”

  “Everything’s in order.”

  “Good, Proceed with the other projects as we have discussed.”

  The line disconnected.

  The two men leaned back in the lawn chairs on the porch of Puckett’s cabin. It was another fine spring evening after a good day’s work. They might just drink the whole twelve pack. They’d earned it.

  52. What Was It Like?

  “Don’t turn around, old man, and don’t lock the door.” Terrell Perkins nudged him forward with the barrel of the .357 for emphasis. “Back inside.”

  Rubin Martz’s hand turned the key clockwise, unlocking the door he had just locked for the day. The barrel of the handgun pressing painfully hard against his spine gave him no choice.

  As they walked through the door, Martz turned slightly to get a glimpse of the man behind him. He was rewarded with a thump between the eyes from the gun’s barrel that left a trickle of blood dripping down his nose. Stay calm, he thought. Not the first robbery he’d been through and certainly would not be the last. Let him have what he wants, and then let him get the hell out. Until then, just stay calm.

  Terrell Perkins didn’t really care if Martz stayed calm or not. He was there for a purpose, and he knew that Martz wasn’t going to like it. Pulling the knit ski mask rolled up on top of his head down over his face, he pushed Martz forward with the .357’s barrel.

  “In the back.”

  Martz held his hand to the gash oozing blood over his nose and said, “No need to go in the back. The cash safe is in the floor behind the counter. The jewelry is in the cases.”

  “Don’t fucking argue with me, old man. Move.”

  Walking through the door into the back area, Perkins stopped, examining the storeroom. There were shelves lined with stocks of costume jewelry and cheaper merchandise and packaging materials. On the wall beside the office door was a large, heavy safe six feet tall and three feet deep. It was old and had a combination lock that must have dated to the nineteen forties.

  “No safe, motherfucker…that what you said…no safe! What the fuck is that?” Perkins gave Martz a hard shove that slammed him up against the door of the safe.

  “It’s just an old safe. We keep extra inventory in it. It’s the same as the inventory in the cases out front. Just thought you would want to get in and out quickly. That’s all.”

  “Open it.”

  “But…” another shove and Martz’s face slammed against the safe, opening the gash over his nose. The blood flowed freely now. Bending over, he squinted through the blood and began turning the lock’s dial. It took two tries, and then Martz stood up straight, lifting the lever handle, swinging the door open.

  Perkins shoved Martz against the wall and started pulling drawers and trays from the safe. Looking around, he saw a stack of plastic bags on a shelf. Grabbing one, he began filling it with the trays of rings, earrings, bracelets, and other assorted high-end items.

  Martz watched calmly from his position against the wall, waiting, not wanting to interject himself into what the young man was doing, hoping he would hurry and leave quickly. As the man worked at collecting the jackpot he had found, Martz realized that he was the same young man that had been in the store earlier talking to the sales clerks about a ring for his lady. Although his face was covered by the ski mask, he wore the same shiny designer jacket, black with yellow stripes around the cuff, that he had worn on his several visits into the store during the day. Martz knew that he could not allow the man to know that he recognized him. Doing so would change this from an armed robbery to an armed robbery with a witness. Martz was pretty sure the robber would not want to leave a witness behind and had no illusions about what would happen if he showed any recognition of the man. Martz leaned against the wall, keeping his eyes focused on the floor.

  After several minutes of filling the bag with items he felt were the ones of most value, the man in the mask pointed the revolver at Martz and motioned him through the office door.

  “In there. Sit down at the desk.”

  Rubin Martz walked around the desk that his grandfather had used in his small department store on one of the historic Savannah squares. The building had been renovated and turned into upscale condos. But Rubin Martz had saved the desk and its history.

  “You the Jew, right?”

  “Yes, I am Jewish.”

  “You the one called Rubin Martz, right?”

  “Yes.” There was no reason to lie. The man with the gun clearly knew who he was.

  “I know you know who I am.” Martz could see the grin through the ski mask’s mouth opening.

  “No. No, I don’t know who you are.”

  “Sure you do. I’m the brother kept coming in, talking to the girls up front about a ring…one for my lady.” He grinned again, holding up the bag. “Well, I guess I got my ring.”

  “Sorry, I don’t recognize you.” This was not going the way robberies normally did, at least in Martz’s experience. He had a very uneasy feeling.

  “Look, man, I know you know who I am, but you know what? It don’t matter. I’m gonna kill you either way. Just thought you should know that I know, you know.” He laughed at the string of ‘I know, you know’ he had spoken.

  Looking the man in the eyes, Martz wondered why he had forgotten to put the Glock in his waistband as he was leaving. Even after the visit from George Mackey, he had forgotten. He was becoming very careless or very old, he thought ruefully. Looking at the upper right drawer of the desk, he considered the possibility of getting to the Glock before the man in the ski mask shot him.

  Lifting his arm, Terrell Perkins ended Rubin Martz’s speculation on the matter. He squeezed the trigger of the revolver three times. The roar of the rounds and the recoil in his hand felt good, powerful. He took his time
, firing deliberately, although Martz was dead as the first round crashed through his heart.

  The front of Martz’s starched white shirt turned slowly crimson. Perkins looked with curiosity at the white-haired man slumped in the chair. What was it like, he wondered. Alive one second, deader than shit the next. Shrugging, he lifted his arm again and fired one more round through Martz’s head. He walked quickly from the store, his bag of goodies under his arm.

  53. Unanswered Questions

  Sipping one of the beers that Rince had provided, George mostly looked out the window at the green Georgia countryside gliding by three thousand feet below the Cessna. Having experienced one flight in the small plane, he found himself more relaxed, leaving the piloting to Rince and not worrying about some unexpected sudden impact with the ground. The hour-long flight passed quickly and then they were circling the airfield at Everett. George noted familiar landmarks, buildings, big trees, farmhouses. They looked different from the air, familiar, but different at the same time. Interesting, he thought, downing the last swallow from the bottle.

  The plane settled smoothly on the runway and rolled out making a sharp left turn onto the taxiway, pushing George against the right cabin door. At the general aviation building, George waited patiently for Rince’s okay to deplane. The routine was the same…set the brakes, cut the engine, and chock the wheels. When those tasks were completed, Rince hopped energetically from his door and arranged for fuel while George stretched and put the empty bottle in the cooler with the remainder of the beer.

  Bouncing around the plane, Rince jogged over to George as he lifted the cooler. The wiry little pilot seemed to be constantly doing something. Watching him, George thought that Johnny “Rince” Rincefield was the movingest son of a bitch he had ever seen.

  “Ready,” Rince said. “What’s next?”

  “Next,” George said, “Let’s find Sharon, check in with Shaklee and Barnes in Atlanta, and grab some dinner. I’m starved.”