by Glenn Trust
“Stimes?” Rince and Jake looked at Sharon. “Who’s that?” Rince asked.
“Sorry, forgot you boys were in the air all day. Andy had an encounter with a deputy from Pickham County. Someone we know.”
Andy briefed Rince and Jake about his run-in with Stimes at the Banks’ Store. George confirmed that Boswell Stimes was a Pickham County deputy taking some comp time off from work. No one missed the darkly ominous look on his face that was more than shadows cast by the lantern. George’s face held a promise for Boss Stimes.
“So this Stimes and Budroe are in this together.” Jake looked at George. “And both come from Pickham County.”
George nodded. “Yeah, they do.”
Looking George in the eye, Jake Beery, rookie sheriff of Meacham County, nodded back. Rookie or not, he understood what George was feeling and had a good idea what he was thinking.
“All right,” Sharon continued. “Rince, copy these highlighted roads onto your map so you and Jake can follow up tomorrow from the air. Look for signs of travel. Budroe’s black Escalade anything that might lead to the location of the girls. They have them somewhere around here. Let’s find them.”
“Questions?” Bob had waited for Sharon to conclude. There were no questions. “All right then. Everyone get some rest. We’re all tired. Be careful. No unnecessary risks. Everyone understand?” Bob paused and then added with emphasis. “Andy?”
“I hear you, Bob. No risks. I got it.” He grinned at the group gathered around the SUV in the dark. “What a bunch of mother hens. Relax I’m fine.”
True to his word, Shaklee made no mention of Attorney General Swain’s pending investigation of the killer's death in the mountains. The group broke up, headed out of the woods separately at intervals. George and Sharon were the last to go.
Turning the lantern off, Sharon stood leaning against the hood of the SUV, looking up at the moon. Standing by the front of the car, George’s big frame was silhouetted in the moonlight shining down through the pines.
“He’ll be all right, George. Andy knows what he’s doing. That’s what you told me, remember?”
He turned and looked at her form in the dark. Difficult, strident, sometimes bitchy, Sharon also was the only person who seemed to bring peace to him. Being with her was like oil on rough water. It calmed and soothed. It was always better when they were together. Losing her would be the end of him. He knew that. The investigation of the shooting in the woods might send him to prison, not a good place for cops. It didn’t matter, because going away would be the same as losing her, it would be the end of him, one way, or another.
“Come here, Mackey.”
Stepping close, he stopped short of touching her. The moment reminded him of the first time, in the apartment over the barn. It was as if electricity sparked from one to the other before they ever touched. Electric shocks moved up and down their bodies so close without any physical contact.
“Kiss me, Mackey.” Standing up straight, on tiptoes she slid her arms around his back and raised her face to him, kissing his neck, moving her mouth up to his.
Minutes ticked by as their mouths held contact, their tongues tasting, gently caressing the other. Reaching down, Sharon unfastened the catch on her slacks and let them slide to the ground. Then, loosening his belt and opening his pants, she took him into her hands. He relaxed, allowing a long soft moan to escape.
Pushing herself up a little on the side of the SUV, she pulled him close and wrapped her legs around him. They made love, slowly at first, George’s strong arms around her holding her close, protecting her, wanting to keep her as his. Hips moving in unison, their passion rose, each movement making the next a necessity, a need that grew in them until with a final shudder they rested in each other’s arms.
Holding her close in the dark, George drank in everything, every curve, the tension in her muscles, her scent, the way her breath felt on his neck, memorizing everything for that day when he might be taken away, when he might lose her.
Tomorrow, he would face what waited. Tonight, standing in the dark, bodies pressed together, this was his world. She was his world.
57. Merchandise
Slowing the car, Ramon Guzman motioned with one hand to a gravel road on the left.
“That is the way to Nicks Cove.”
Eduardo Rivera nodded. “The place of the prostitutes, yes?”
“Yes Eduardo. The place of the prostitutes. We are not far now.”
“We do not go into this place, Nicks Cove?”
“No, that would not be wise. The girls have customers. We might be seen or recognized.”
“Yes, of course.” Rivera leaned back in his seat.
The drive from the hotel on the interstate had taken a couple of hours. Rivera was ready to inspect his investment, make the necessary arrangements and board a plane back to Trinidad, but he would not leave until he was assured that all was in order and that their plans were moving forward. Young Guzman seemed to have all the answers, wanted to be trusted. But he would see for himself. Eduardo Rivera was a careful man. He had not survived so long in a dangerous world by being inattentive to details. His past was littered with the bodies of enemies who had not been as careful as he had.
Guzman steered the big SUV down several different roads, all out in the country, surrounded by woods and marshy swampland. After a few miles, he slowed. At the point where another gravel road met the pavement, Rivera saw a man standing, waiting expectantly.
Rolling down the passenger window as Guzman turned off the asphalt, Rivera smiled broadly at his faithful lieutenant. “Francisco, it is good to see you.”
Nodding and walking to the car, Paco returned the smile with a look of pride at the greeting from his jefe. “And you, Patron. It is very good to see you as well.”
“All is in order here?”
“Yes, yes. Everything is in order.” He pointed down the road. “Emilio is standing guard with one of the Americans. The other is resting in their big trailer.”
“And the others?” Guzman leaned forward to become part of the conversation and not blocked out by Rivera’s bulk.
“Budroe and the one called Stimes, left a while ago to attend to business.” Paco shrugged. “They seem to have much business, not all of it here.”
Rivera smiled. “That will change soon. Lead us in Paco. I would like to look around.”
Turning to the Jeep at the side of the gravel road, Paco climbed in and led the way bouncing back to the clearing.
“It may be best that they are not here at the moment, Eduardo.” Guzman said, following Paco far enough back to avoid the dust raised by the Jeep.
Rivera nodded. “Yes, I agree. It will be easier to look and plan without their eyes intruding.” He looked at Guzman. “What about the two American guards.”
Guzman shrugged. “They are good soldiers, I suppose. They do as they are told. They see little, and they understand less.”
Rivera smiled. It was a good start to their plans.
The shed was old and musty, the smell of aged wood and dirt that had not seen daylight in decades. But it was solid. Rivera walked through with Paco, Emilio and Guzman while the American, Mike, stood guard at the door. Rivera stopped before each girl at their cot, examining them closely. With an air of Latin courtesy, he did not touch the girls but had them stand in turn. With brief hand and facial signals, he had them display their hair and smile so that he could see their teeth. Having them disrobe to their underwear, he inspected every inch of their body for imperfections, pointing out to Guzman a mole here, a scar there. To the girls it had the uncomfortable feeling of a medical exam by their grandfather, embarrassing and overly personal. The sensation was intensely offensive. Coupled with the embarrassment of Rivera’s scrutiny was the feeling that they were merchandise on display, examined for their worthiness and serviceability, which, of course, is exactly what they were to Rivera. He would not accept product that was not of the highest quality.
When one of the girls obj
ected to dropping her pants, Rivera waited patiently while Emilio coaxed her. Placing the muzzle of his pistol under her chin, he lifted it so that she was looking into his dark eyes, the gunmetal cold against the soft skin of her throat.
“Usted debe hacer lo que dice el Patrón, pequeña.”
“You must do as the Patron says, little one,” Paco translated
Wide-eyed, staring into Emilio’s deep brown irises and empty black pupils, she was transfixed like the rabbit looking into the eyes of the snake that is about to eat it. Mechanically, she slid the pants down and unfastened her blouse, her eyes never leaving Emilio’s.
Stepping back, Emilio moved to the side. Rivera continued his inspection of his merchandise, unruffled by the temporary delay.
Standing before their cots, Juanita and Monica looked at the older man walking up and down the shop, examining everything, including the girls. Inspecting the washing facilities, water soap, towels he nodded his approval. Lifting the seat to one of the chemical toilets, he turned his nose up and let it drop with a bang. Walking on, he made a comment to the man Guzman, who walked slightly behind. Both men laughed.
Having completed his tour of the shed, the facilities and his merchandise, Eduardo Rivera and his small entourage walked out into the hot sun of the clearing.
“What do you suppose that was all about?” Juanita whispered to Monica, her eyes on the guard at the door.
“I think,” Monica said, sitting down with a thump on her cot, eyes staring at the floor. “I think that we won’t be here much longer.”
Looking out through the open door into the sunlight, Juanita saw the group of men walking across the clearing towards the trees. The guard pushed the door shut, and the sunlight was gone. Dropping to the cot beside Monica, they held hands. It was the only thing in their power to do.
“Let us walk to the trees where it is cooler.” Rivera started across the clearing. Head turned to the side, as he walked he spoke to Paco. “Can you bring Emilio to join us?”
“Yes. I will ask the other American to stand guard with his companion while we meet with you. They will understand.”
Rivera and Guzman walked thirty feet or so into the woods, and waited.
“What do you think of our operation, Eduardo?”
You have done well, Ramon.” Rivera wiped his brow with an embroidered linen handkerchief that he took from his pocket. “Very well.” He smiled at Guzman. “I am pleased my young partner.”
Guzman nodded and smiled in return as Paco and Emilio walked up.
Rivera turned to his men his face serious. “All is ready?”
“Everything. We know what to do.” Paco spoke. Emilio gave a simple nod.
“And if we move the schedule forward? You can manage such a change?”
“We have considered that possibility. Our plan is simple and ready when you are ready. The timing is of little importance to us.”
“Good, very good.” Folding the handkerchief neatly and replacing it in his pocket, Rivera said, “I suggest we go to your trailer and find something cool to drink.” A moment of concern crossed his face. “You do have something cool to drink, don’t you?”
Smiling in unison with Emilio, Paco answered, “Yes, Jefe, we have something cool to drink. Mexican beer, tequila, rum…” He smiled at Rivera. “Gin, as I know you like your gin and tonic. And plenty of ice.” Turning back to the clearing in the lead, Paco said over his shoulder, as if it was a truth he had discovered, “It seems there is always plenty of ice in America.”
58. Bad Luck
From behind the counter, Andy saw him step out of the passenger side of the black Escalade. Boss Stimes leaned back, stretching and scanning around the parking lot and pumps. The driver side door opened, and Roy Budroe pulled his heavy frame out. He hitched his pants up saying something Andy couldn’t make out from inside the store.
Stimes, nodding with a smile, led the way, jerking the glass door open. He stepped aside so that Budroe entered the store first.
“Where’s the shitter?” Budroe glanced at Andy behind the counter.
“Back in the corner.” Andy motioned with his head to the rear of the store. “Not really a public restroom, though.”
“Yeah, right.” Budroe kept walking to the rear of the store. “Well, let’s just say I’m not the fucking public.”
Smiling, Stimes turned to the counter, and Andy. Taking a can of snuff from a display by the register, he laid it on the counter.
“How much?”
“Three-fifty.”
“Ought to be fucking free, much stuff as we buy in here.” He laid a five on the counter, and Andy made change.
Stimes took a large pinch, and packed his lip full, his eyes riveted on Andy’s.
“Do I know you?”
“Naw, I don’t think so. Just the other day when you were in. I was sweepin’ up.”
“Yeah.” Stimes nodded in recognition. “The fuckin’ retard.” He smiled.
Making no response, Andy looked calmly into his eyes. There had always been the danger that Budroe, and now Stimes, might recognize Andy. Dressed in torn blue jeans, frayed shirt, weathered ball cap and wearing nearly a week’s growth of beard, it was not likely that he would be recognized. He didn’t move like Andy Barnes, Atlanta Homicide investigator; he didn’t act like him. He moved and acted like the guy hired to sweep up and stock shelves.
“Where’s the other guy? The boss?”
“He’s not here. Had to take his mother to the doctor.”
Stimes let out a snorting laugh. “Take his mother to the doctor!” He shook his head. “He’s a fuckin’ retard too.”
Budroe came up to the counter, picked out a disposable lighter from a display rack beside the smokeless tobacco, and held it up.
“Dollar-fifty,” Andy said.
“Really?” Budroe put the lighter in his pocket. “I think it’s a promotional giveaway, don’t you?” He looked at Stimes who laughed with him.
Muscles tensed, Andy forced his body to relax into the posture of the simple floor sweeper. Roy Budroe was not going down for shoplifting a lighter. Andy had other plans for him.
Shrugging and giving his best good-natured smile, Andy said, “I guess, if you say so.”
Budroe nodded. “Good boy.” He peered closely, lowering his head slightly to look into Andy’s eyes under the brim of the ball cap. “Do I know you?”
Andy shook his head. “Naw, sir. I don’t think so.”
Stimes laughed. “Yeah, I asked the same thing. Looks familiar, but he’s just the retard that sweeps up around the place.”
“Hmm.” Budroe stood up straight and started for the door. “Coulda sworn I’d seen him before.”
“Naw,” Andy said. He was not ready for them to leave. “Not unless you been to Tallawitchee.”
“Talla…where?” Budroe said with a laugh.
“Tallawitchee. Over in Alabama. That’s where my people’s from.”
Laughing, Budroe pushed the door open and walked out followed by Stimes.
“Fuckin’ retard. They all look the same anyway.” Stimes’ insult was clearly audible through the closed glass door.
Reaching in his pocket, Andy pulled the cell phone out and punched the speed dial button, waiting impatiently for an answer.
“Go ahead, Andy.” Andy could hear the background whine of the plane’s engine behind Jake Beery’s voice.
“Where you at?”
“We’re headed back to refuel. Almost there I can see the airport.”
“Shit.”
“Why, what’s up?”
Andy was out from behind the counter, outside the store locking the front door. “They were just here. Budroe and Stimes.”
“Both of them?”
“Yeah, they’re together. Something’s going down. I need you to follow and find out where they’re heading. That’s gonna be their base of operations, I’ll bet. That’s gonna be where the girls are.”
Andy could hear Jake relaying the information
to Rince as he cranked the old pickup.
“Rince says we can be back overhead in about thirty minutes. We’ll just take a splash of fuel to get back in the area and see what we can see, but we won’t be able to stay up long, that way.”
“Not good enough. We need you fueled and overhead for the long haul.” Andy pulled slowly onto the road, looking for the Escalade. It was about a half mile ahead. “I’m following the black Escalade at a distance. See what I can see. You let George and Sharon know and see if they can get over here. Then get back on line with me. I’ll relay through you.”
“Right. Call you back in a couple. Be careful Andy.” Jake disconnected to make the call to George and Sharon.
Keeping his distance from the black Escalade, Andy’s mind whirled, trying to come up with a better idea than the one he was working now. There wasn’t one. Someone had to follow and find out where Budroe was headed. That had been the purpose of Rince and air support. But shit happens. Planes run out of fuel, just bad timing…bad luck.
Closing the distance on the Escalade, Andy tensed in his seat. Tailing a car on these country roads was a delicate matter. The lack of traffic made each vehicle stand out, impossible to blend in with surrounding vehicles. The winding turns and side roads made following at too great a distance ineffective. It was too easy to lose the vehicle as it pulled off around a bend in the road.
Peering through the windshield, Andy watched the Escalade disappear around a bend in the road. Trying to close the gap between the two vehicles, he pressed the accelerator to the floor. Hopefully he could gain on them, without drawing attention while the car was out of his line of sight, and he was out of theirs.
Damn. Shit happens, he thought again. Bad luck.
59. See What You Can See
“Say that again.” George pressed the speaker button on the cell phone so that Sharon could hear.