The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  Budroe arranged rooms for them at the StarLite Motel across the road from the bar. Lee had noted the StarLite on the way into Roydon. He wasn’t too thrilled at the prospect of spending a night there. It was run down and dilapidated. He wondered if it had bed bugs. Roy assured him that they would have the best rooms in the house, and that while it wasn’t much to look at, he made sure the staff kept the sheets bleached and bathrooms clean. This might be Roydon, but they had standards for the services they provided. He launched into a dissertation about customer service, even in his line of work. Quince was indifferent, sipping his beer and allowing Lee to make the sleeping arrangements.

  In the end, Lee acquiesced. It was a reasonable commute from Roydon back to Everett, and they needed a base of operations close by, but not too close. Roydon was perfect.

  55. Something Stronger

  The three ambled quietly along the sidewalk towards the Colonial Hotel. Rince’s usually overflowing exuberance was subdued. They had talked quietly at dinner in Fran’s Café on the courthouse square, the conversation mostly about the next day’s tasks.

  At one point, Rince had asked about the ‘Predator’ case. He was disappointed when neither George nor Sharon wanted to say much about it. It was a memory they preferred to put away.

  Coming up to the brick front of the hotel, George shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down the street.

  “So, reckon I’ll see you two in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got an early day,” Rince said. “Have to get to the airport early and get to Atlanta to pick up Andy.”

  “What time you want me to pick you up?” George asked. His eyes still focused down the street.

  “You don’t have to do that, George. I can grab a taxi or something.”

  Laughing, the big deputy turned his eyes on Rince. “This isn’t Atlanta, Rince. Not gonna find any taxis or hotel courtesy vans. Not much call for them.” He smiled. “What time?”

  “I’d like to be in the air by six. Pick me up, say around five?”

  “Five it is,” George said nodding and then turning his gaze back down the street.

  “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I could do with a nightcap. Where can we get a drink, George?” Sharon smiled up at him as he took his eyes away from the street and looked at her for the first time since leaving the café.

  “Not much right here in Everett. There’s a couple of places out by the interstate, if you want a beer or something.”

  “I’m in the mood for something a little stronger,” she said, smiling like a college sorority girl out to get in trouble.

  “Not for me,” Rince said. “I need to get some sleep. Flying tomorrow.” He turned, pushed the door to the old building open and walked through saying, “Good night,” over his shoulder.

  “How about it, Mackey? You up for it, or you gonna stand me up too?”

  Looking at her, George tried pushing things inside deep down inside, where they would be hidden and couldn’t be found. He felt like Sharon could see right through him and wondered what she saw. Hell, he didn’t know himself. It was all very confusing, so he did the only thing he could do. He took a deep breath, resigning himself to whatever was happening.

  “I don’t like to drink in public around Pickham.” He shrugged, it was something she would understand. “Too many eyes watching when they know you’re a deputy.”

  “Oh.” Sharon nodded. “Yeah. Right. Can’t really disappear like in Atlanta. Everyone knows everyone, I guess.”

  “Yep. No doubt about that.” He smiled and said, “Got a bottle at home, though.” Then thinking he might have gone too far, he added quickly, “If you still want something stronger than a beer, that is.”

  Placing her arm through his, Sharon began walking towards his county truck parked down the block. “Come on Mackey. I need that drink.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were pulling down the gravel drive to Fel Tobin’s place. George parked under the oak near the barn.

  “That you George?” As always, Fel was on the front porch of the house sipping beer from a can, watching the night.

  “It’s me, Fel.”

  “Is that the lady GBI girl with you?”

  “It is, Mr. Tobin,” Sharon called out into the dark separating the barn from the house.

  “Well, come on up and have a beer.”

  “Thought we’d have something a little harder…uh, stronger,” Sharon called back, not seeing George’s face turn red in the dark. “George said he has a bottle upstairs.”

  “That he does. That he does.” Fel paused while he sipped his beer. “You two have fun then. Talk to you next time.”

  “Okay, Mr. Tobin” Sharon called. “Good night.”

  “’Night ya’ll.” George led the way up the stairs as Fel hollered out, “Get the little fucker!”

  Sharon turned and saw one of Fel’s yard cats crouching in the grass, dimly lit in a small circle of yellow light thrown out through the kitchen window. No doubt, the cat was about to pounce on some unsuspecting creature scurrying through the damp night grass.

  At the top of the stairs, George pushed the unlocked door open and stepped aside for Sharon to enter. Walking through the door, she turned in the dark room watching George standing in the doorway, watching her. Silhouetted by the soft moonlight outside, he seemed uncertain, hesitant.

  “What you waiting for, Mackey? I’m thirsty.” Sharon walked to the door, took his arm, and pulled him into his own apartment.

  “Sorry, right.” George fumbled with a light switch and then walked to the small kitchen area that was a part of the living area. Opening a cupboard, he took out a bottle. “Jack, okay?” He lifted the bottle of Old No. 7 for Sharon to see.

  “Perfect.”

  Fumbling in another cabinet, he found two unmatched glasses. He poured two thick fingers into each and then walked to where Sharon had remained standing, watching him.

  “Don’t have any ice,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t want ice. I want whiskey.” Sharon lifted the glass to her lips, threw her head back, and downed half of the whiskey in one swallow. She smiled.

  George laughed, downing his in one large gulp. He felt the warm, mellowness immediately.

  Throwing her head back once more, Sharon swallowed the rest of the Jack. Taking George’s glass from his hand, she leaned over and placed both on the coffee table. Standing up straight, she took a step forward.

  They were inches apart, not touching, but almost. George could smell her fragrance. A wisp of loose hair fluttered in the air around her head and touched his face. They stood in the dimly lit room, feeling an almost electric sensation, so close but not touching, waiting.

  The hair brushed his face again. He lowered his head so that his face was in her hair, drinking in her fragrance, the texture of her hair, the tingle of it against his face.

  Stepping forward, Sharon brought their bodies together, putting her arms around his shoulders and resting her head on his chest. Standing together, bodies touching and not wanting to move and lose physical contact with each other, Sharon lifted her face, kissing him softly on the underside of his chin.

  George’s head came down, in a mixture of surprise and desire. His lips found hers, and they kissed tenderly, softly, for what seemed an hour to him, but was only a few seconds. Then breaking the kiss, they stood, melded together, each soaking in the touch and feel of the other.

  Sharon’s lips parted as she raised her face to him again, and George’s head came down. The kiss was deeper. Their tongues found each other, Sharon bit gently on his lip as the kiss lengthened. George’s hands slid down her back, caressing the curve of her bottom, her hips, her thighs.

  Breaking the kiss, Sharon stepped back. Her hand loosened his belt and then slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he kicked out of his shoes. Sliding the clothes off of him, she stood back and looked at his thick, muscular body. This was no body builder on steroids working out in a gym. George Mackey was a working man, every bit o
f muscle earned through toil.

  As he watched, Sharon unbuttoned the white blouse and dropped it to the floor. Sliding out of her shoes, the gray slacks dropped to the floor, and she stepped out of them. She reached behind releasing the bra strap and then pushed her panties down, letting them float softly down her legs to the floor.

  They stood looking at each other and feeling things that neither had felt in a long while. Stepping forward, George held her body to him, feeling his passion rise as she pushed against him and then separated her legs just slightly, straddling his thigh.

  They kissed again, their hands moving over the other’s body, touching, exploring. Lifting her so that their bodies did not break contact, George carried her to the next room and laid her gently on the bed.

  Reaching up, Sharon took his arm and pulled him down onto the bed.

  “Come here, Mackey.”

  “I’m here, Sharon,” he said lying beside her, their bodies touching, her breasts to his chest, her thighs to his thighs. Her hands moved over him. He exhaled a soft deep groan.

  Sliding on top of him, taking him inside, Sharon moved her hips, the rise and fall of her body binding them deeply together and then releasing again. He moved in rhythm with her motions, his hands gripping the curve of her thighs until they both groaned, this time not so softly.

  Day Five

  *****

  Certainly, there is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else thereafter.

  *****

  Ernest Hemingway - "On the Blue Water," Esquire, April 1936

  The evil of the world is made possible by nothing but the sanction you give it.

  *****

  Ayn Rand – Atlas Shrugged, 1957

  56. Something Was Changing

  The tickling, tingling sensation of her finger tracing circles on his bare chest was pleasant and somehow arousing. Nestled in his arm, Sharon lay against him, one leg thrown over his hips, pressing close against him, her finger moving sensuously across his skin. She twirled it in a circle around one nipple and then the other. George felt the arousal building again.

  Sharon felt it also, sliding her hand down his stomach to touch him. George let out a long breath as she stroked him slowly. Turning to his side, he rolled Sharon on her back. He was on top this time as her legs spread open and her hips rose to meet him.

  Looking down at her, they moved together, each stroke firm and tender at the same time, ending with their hips and thighs meeting, lingering together for just a moment before separating. They came as her hips rose, holding him there, keeping him there.

  She moved back to his side, his arm holding her close.

  “That was nice.”

  “Uh, hmm,” he said, the afterglow settling in and filling him with a sense of peace. The world was right, at least for now.

  “You’re not bad, Mackey.”

  “That the voice of experience talking,” he said, pulling her closer so that her leg draped over him once more.

  Punching him lightly in the chest, she let out a small laugh. “It’s pretty clear you haven’t exactly been celibate all your life.”

  He smiled in the dark, holding her close, feeling her breasts against him. “No, not celibate,” he said, adding, “But it has been a pretty good while since I was with a woman.”

  “With a woman? Sounds like we’re playing cards or watching the sunset. Is that what this is?” She snuggled closer, her hand moving across his chest again. “Being with a woman? All the time, I thought we were having sex.” She leaned over, putting her mouth on his nipple. “Pretty good sex, too.”

  “Damn good sex,” he said emphatically, giving her bottom a small slap.

  “That what this was, George,” Sharon said, more softly, “a piece of ass, a good lay?”

  He turned his head. “You know, Price, you have a dirty mouth and a strong redneck streak running through you.”

  “No denying that.” She laughed softly. “Redneck to the bone, dirty when I want to be.”

  George looked up into the dark. Seconds passed, then a minute, before he spoke. “I don’t know what this was…is, Sharon.” He paused, thinking. “It was good. It felt…” he stopped again, searching for the word that would fit. “Right. It felt right.” Having spoken it, he let the word sit on his tongue. It did feel right.

  Sharon made no reply. He felt her head nod up and down on his chest in agreement. It did feel right. There was no need to examine it further.

  Rising from his arm, she kissed his cheek gently and stepped from the bed. He watched her pad barefooted across the room and into the small bathroom.

  “I have to clean up, and you need to get me back to the hotel so I can change clothes. I have an appointment with the Wright’s, remember? And you have an appointment with Mr. Johnny Rincefield, aviation support to the GBI task force.”

  George could hear her throw the shower curtain back on its metal rings as the water began to flow into the tub. Stepping from the bed, he walked into the main room. At the counter that served as his kitchen, he measured three heaping scoops of coffee into the basket of the coffee maker and started it dripping.

  The bathroom was already steamy from the hot water. He smiled, taking in the sight of her standing under the spray, and stepped in to the small shower tub with her. Water ran down her hair and face. Small droplets seemed to cling to the ends of her nipples before releasing and falling into the tub.

  They washed each other gently, touching and caressing. There was no sex this time, only the touching and exploring with their hands and fingers, stroking and learning each other. They were finished with lovemaking, for the moment. When the washing and touching was done, they stood face to face, holding each other, their bodies wetly pressed against each other. The water beat down on them, washing over them and taking away pains that they had not even been aware existed. Blended together into one under the water, both sensed that something was changing.

  Bob Shaklee came running from the bathroom and across the bedroom, the toothbrush clamped in his jaw. He jerked the cell phone ringing on the nightstand and punched the answer button to silence it. He was too late. Celia Shaklee was sleepily reaching across the king bed to his side, searching for the phone in the early morning gloom.

  “Sorry, babe,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  Walking from the bedroom into the hallway, he answered the phone, holding it to his ear, and said quietly, “Shaklee.”

  “Is this Agent Robert Shaklee with the GBI?”

  “It is.” Shaklee’s voice took on a firmer tone, more professional tone. “Who’s calling?”

  “Agent Shaklee, this is Grady Moore with Savannah PD. I’m the uniform division commander. I have Paul Burnson, commander of the investigative division, with me.”

  “Right. So?” Bob paced through his home to the back deck and went outside. Standing in the early morning air in his underwear, he felt chilled, but the night’s drowsiness left him more quickly. “What can I do for you?”

  “A member of your task force, a Deputy George Mackey, was here yesterday.”

  “Yes, yes I know. What’s up?”

  “Mackey told us to give you a call if anything came up that the task force should know about. Especially, he said, if there was any news about Rubin Martz.”

  “Right, I know. So you have news about Martz. What is it?” He walked to the edge of the deck and let his toes dangle over the edge as he looked down at the azaleas in the bed that needed watering.

  “He’s dead.”

  57. Do What We Do

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Bill Quince slowed the old tan pickup, bringing it gently to the curb at the end of the Wright’s street. “Oh,” he said, looking to the left down the street.

  Both men focused on the brown county sheriff’s car parked in front of the Wright’s home. In the dim predawn light, it was hard to see into the vehicle, but they could make out a dark silhou
ette on the driver’s side.

  “Shit,” Lee said again.

  “What you think that means, Sim?” Quince scrunched forward, peering hard and trying to get a better look at the sheriff’s car.

  “Means they’re watching the house.”

  “Why you reckon that is?”

  “How the hell do I know?” Lee stared at the ass end of the sheriff’s car halfway down the block. Why? Good question. “Someone tipped them off, maybe?”

  “About what?”

  Lee’s head turned towards his partner, a look of disbelief on his face. Sometimes old Bill was just a little too dense. About us, you dumb shit, he thought, although he did not say it to the big man, and simply replied, “About us.”

  “Why?”

  Another good question. Why?

  “I don’t know. Maybe they know something.”

  “Who? The local sheriff?”

  That really was a good question, and Lee had to stop and think about it for a minute.

  “I don’t think so.” He thought some more. “The sheriff in Pickham County wouldn’t know much about what was going on up in Atlanta. I don’t think they could connect anything down here to anything up there.” He stopped to think some more. Quince, giving his partner time to think because that was what he was good at, said nothing. “Could be anything. Prowlers, maybe. Deputy just catching some sleep on a quiet street before the end of his shift. Maybe he beat the shit out of his wife. I don’t know, but connecting the Wrights to Atlanta don’t seem likely.”

  “So now what?” Quince’s questions were always simple.

  “Nothing has changed,” Lee said and turned in the seat to look at his partner. “We get paid to snatch Wright and make him disappear. That’s what we do then. Right?”

  Bill Quince nodded, soaking in Lee’s reasoning like a sponge soaking up some loose drops of spilled water. He could understand that. It’s what we do. We do our job and we get paid. Right.