Good Day In Hell

by J. D. Rhoades

  “Where are we?” Roy muttered. He got up and strode angrily across the room to change the channels. He flipped through channel after channel, stopping on the news stations. CNN, Fox, MSNBC…

  “Wait a minute,” Stan said. “You got cable out here?”

  Laurel shook her head. “Bought a satellite dish from Wal-Mart. And we got a bootleg descrambler from this guy I know. Ain’t no use bein’ famous if you can’t see yourself on TV.”

  “I’ll check the local yokels,” Roy said. He picked up a small box wired to the back of the TV. There was a slider switch on top of the box. “This here’s wired to a regular antenna,” he said. “For the local stations.” He moved the switch. The clear picture gave way to a snowier screen. It was showing a talk show about parents and troubled teens who dressed too provocatively.

  Roy banged on the top of the set in frustration. “We should be wall to wall by now,” he snarled. “Every station. CNN. Fox. The works.”

  “We just got started,” Laurel said. “We’ll get there.”

  “Maybe we should call that reporter,” Stan said. He took the cell phone out of his pocket. The tiny letters “NS” were blinking on the top of the screen. “But we’re too far out to use this,” he said. “We’ll have to get back to civilization.”

  Roy nodded. He seemed to have calmed somewhat. “We’ll do that,” he said. “After the next scene.”

  “Scene?” Stan asked.

  “The church was scene one,” Laurel said. “The diner was scene two. Tomorrow it’s time for scene three.”

  Stan’s confusion didn’t do anything to help his mood. “What’s scene three?” Roy grinned. His mood seemed to be improving. “Oh, scene three is the best yet.” He walked over to Laurel and took her by the arm. “C’mon,” he said. “We need to get some rest. It’s gonna be a long night.”

  Laurel gave Stan a worried glance as Roy led her toward the back of the house. “Maybe you’d better get some sleep, too, Stan,” she said. Roy led her down the hallway. He heard a door close.

  Stan stood in the middle of the living room, his hands clenching and unclenching. He wanted to go back there, grab Laurel, tell Roy he wasn’t going to share anymore. And that Roy wasn’t going to touch him anymore, either. But he was afraid. Just like always. He was afraid of Roy, sure, but he was also afraid that Laurel might not like it, that she might laugh at him and go with Roy anyway. I hate being scared, he thought. I fuckin’ hate it. His stomach knotted. He felt like he was going to throw up. Instead, he walked over to the cooler, opened it, and took out a beer. He cracked it open and walked outside. The van door was still open and he walked over to close it. He saw the black deadly shapes of the rifles lying inside. Stan stood and looked at them for a long time, taking sips of the beer. Then he pulled the door shut. He went and sat down on the porch, looking at the van, thinking.

  “Dad?” Marie said. She held the phone tightly to her ear with one hand while the other hand covered her ear to drown out the noise of the conversations in the squad room.

  “Hey, girl,” her father said. “They got you working hard?”

  “Pretty much,” Marie said. “Dad, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “In the laundry,” Marie said, “there’s a pair of jeans I was wearing yesterday. I need you to go through the pockets.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  She glanced around at the squad room. She didn’t want to attract attention at that point. “You’ll know it when you find it, Dad, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Okay,” he said. She heard the rattle as he put the phone down on the counter. She saw Shelby walking through the door on the other end of the squad room. He saw her and waved. He started toward her. She raised her index finger, then pointed at the phone. One minute. He nodded and veered off toward the coffeemaker.

  Her father’s voice came back on the line. “Looks like an empty cartridge casing,” he said. His voice was expressionless. “A .45, I’d say.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too,” Marie said. “I need you to bag it and bring it to me here. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” he said.

  “You mind telling me what’s going on, kiddo?” “Not just yet, Dad,” she said. “It could be nothing.”

  “Or it could be evidence,” he said. “Right?”

  “I don’t know yet, Dad,” she said.

  “Well, if it is, any half-bright lawyer’s gonna jack you up on chain of custody.”

  “Dad …”

  She heard him sigh. “Sorry, kid,” he said. “Old reflexes. I’ll have to bring Ben with me. There’s no one else to watch him.”

  I know,” she said. “It’s okay. And thanks.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Love you.”

  “I love you, too, Dad,” she said. She hung up. She walked over to where Shelby was sitting, putting a packet of sugar into his coffee.

  “Pull up a chair,” he said. She sat. “Got some news back from the SBI lab on that casing from the gas station,” he said. “It’s a match to one found in the church.”

  “How about the diner?” she said.

  He shook his head. “They didn’t use a .45 at the diner. But the .45 ties the gas station and the church together…”

  “And the rifle ammo ties the diner and the church together,” she finished.

  “Yep,” Shelby said. He took a sip of the coffee. “Good thinkin’, by the way,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said. “The guy we caught give anything else up?”

  “Oh, he was singin’ like a li’l bird for a while there. Seems he was a supply clerk at Bragg. They got a lot of old stuff there. No one knows why the army doesn’t just destroy it or sell it off as surplus. But it never gets used. And all the records are kept on computers.”

  “By him,” Marie said. “So he figured he could gimmick the records and no one would ever miss them.”

  Shelby nodded.

  “So who’d he sell to?”

  “Didn’t know real names, of course,” Shelby said. “Just an older man and a young woman.”

  Marie felt a chill. “Any idea where they were from?”

  Shelby shook his head.

  “Was one of the guns a .45?”

  Shelby looked at her shrewdly. “Could’ve been. He said there was a pistol, and the era’s about right. He was givin’ us a list, but then the FBI come and took him.”

  Marie’s heart sank. “The FBI?”

  Shelby nodded. “Coupla suits all the way down from D.C. ‘Course, the first time that boy heard the word ‘federal’ he lawyered hisself right up. Ain’t said a word since, except…” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  He took another sip of coffee. “Now, don’t get upset, Jones,” he said. “You know how these boys’ll say anything to get over.”

  “What?” she insisted.

  Shelby looked at her. “Garrett says you tortured a false confession out of him. Held him down and pepper-sprayed him till he told you what you wanted to hear.”

  “WHAT!?” Marie yelled. All conversation in the squad room stopped. She could feel all the eyes on her, so she dropped her voice to a savage whisper. “For Christ’s … for crying out loud, Shelby! Held him down? The guy’s got, what, three inches and thirty pounds on me? Not to mention he’s a God …” she was practically strangling trying to change her language, “he’s a flippin’ paratrooper?”

  Shelby had put the coffee down. He was holding both hands out parallel to the ground in a calming gesture. “Easy, Jones, easy,” he said softly. “Ain’t nobody took this seriously yet. Like I said, these boys’ll say anything, once they get lawyered up. And they found a couple of pounds of methamphetamine in the trunk of his car. They figger he swapped the weapons for it. No one’s gonna listen to a drug trafficker.”

  “Except I already have a reputation as a fuckup,” Marie said.

  “Well, you ain’t got one with me,” Shelby said. “Or Tom Wardell, neither, f
rom what I hear.”

  “Yeah. Well,” Marie said. “There’s something about me you may not know.”

  “I know your partner got killed,” Shelby said. “And sounds to me like it was his own fault.”

  “I didn’t make any friends by telling people that.”

  “Long as you tell the truth, Jones, you got a friend in me. And in Wardell. He’s talkin’ about you all over the department.” Shelby’s ugly face split in a grin. “Li’l Speedy.”

  Marie rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lord,” she moaned.

  “Hey,” he said, “a nickname’s a good thing. Shows you fit in.”

  She smiled. “I guess. You hear anything from upstairs about this?”

  He shook his head as he picked the coffee back up. “Naw. Don’t sweat it, Jones.”

  “Thanks, Shelby,” she said. “You’ve been a good friend.”

  He raised the cup to her. “No problem.”

  “There’s something else, though,” she said. “Another cartridge I want to run through the lab.” He gave her the raised eyebrows as he took a sip of coffee. She took a deep breath and told him about Keller, about going out to Randle’s trailer looking for Laurel Marks, about finding cartridge casings on the ground. She left out the part about Keller breaking in and getting shot by the trap-gun. “So when I heard Garrett talking about an older man and a younger woman,” she said, “I started thinking.”

  Shelby looked thoughtful, “And where’s this .45 casing?”

  “I stuck it in my jeans pocket,” she confessed. Shelby winced.

  “I know, I know,” Marie said. “I didn’t think it was important. I just picked it up. My dad’s bringing it to the station. Bagged. He used to be a cop. Plus, there’s a lot more casings out there. They were all over the ground. We can send someone out there to pick a clean one up.”

  “Okay,” Shelby said. He stood up. “Bring it right to me,” he said. “I’ll get to the lab and rush it through. If it’s something we can use to put a name to those devils that done those two shootings, they’ll jump on it. But you better be ready to talk to the FBI pretty quick, an’ your friend, too.”

  Marie took out her phone. “I better let him know.”

  Keller was almost to the gate when the patrol car passed him going the other way. He glanced in his rearview mirror to see it turning around. He sighed and pulled over. As he did, his cell phone chirred softly. He pulled it off his belt and checked caller ID. It was Marie. He considered answering, but the patrol car pulled in behind him and hit the blue lights. He’d have to call her back later. He hit the “ignore” button and holstered the cell phone.

  Keller recognized the cop who tapped on his window, a patrol sergeant named Merrick. They had always gotten along well enough. Keller hoped that wasn’t about to change.

  “Keller,” Merrick said. There was amusement in his voice and Keller relaxed a bit. “What you doin’ out here, stirrin’ up the rich folks?”

  “Looking for a jumper,” Keller said. “Her parents live here.”

  “The Marks girl?” Merrick said.

  Keller was surprised. “You know her?”

  Merrick nodded. “Oh, yeah. I was the one who came out here with Social Services the night they took her and her brother.”

  “You think her father molested her?”

  Merrick shrugged. “First she said yes, then she said no. I’ll tell you one thing, the dad’s a big enough asshole to have done it.” He looked back as another car pulled in behind the patrol car. “Ah, shit. Speak of the devil. Best give me license and registration, Keller. Let’s make it look good.”

  “Got it.” Keller pulled out his wallet and handed the license to Merrick. He was reaching into the glove box for his registration when Marks came blustering up.

  “That’s him,” he said. “That’s the guy who was at my house. I want that son of a bitch arrested.”

  Merrick stood up as Keller handed him the registration. “Arrested for what, sir?”

  “He assaulted me!” Marks shouted. Merrick cocked an eyebrow, looked Marks up and down. “Really, sir?” he said. He looked at Keller. “You hit this guy?”

  “Never laid a hand on him, Sergeant,” Keller said.

  Merrick handed the registration back. “I tend to believe him, sir,” he told Marks. “See, there ain’t a mark on you. I know Mister Keller a little. And when he hits somebody, it’s pretty obvious they been hit.”

  “He threatened me!” Marks snarled. “That’s still illegal, isn’t it?”

  Merrick turned to Keller. “What about that, Mr. Keller?”

  Keller shrugged. “His wife invited me in. When Mr. Marks got home, he told me to leave. He acted like he was going to get physical about it. I, ah, advised him against it.”

  “Pretty good advice.” Merrick nodded. He turned back to Marks. “And he was invited in, so it ain’t trespassing.”

  “God damn it, what do I pay my taxes for?” Marks fumed. “Are you going to do your job, or do I have to—”

  Merrick cut him off. “You need to get back in your car, sir,” he said, leaning on the last word. “Mister Keller’s leaving. You best do the same. And Mister Keller?”

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “Don’t come back.”

  “No problem.”

  “I want your badge number,” Marks said in a low, furious voice. “So help me God, I’m going to—”

  “My badge number is 714,” Merrick said. “My watch commander is Lieutenant Boggs.”

  Merrick’s partner, a hulking black cop with the build of a weightlifter, had come up to join them. “Officer Thomas,” Merrick said, “would you walk Mister Marks back to his vehicle?”

  “Glad to,” Thomas said. Marks looked like he was about to say something else, but thought better of it. He turned on his heel and stomped back to his car, Thomas following in his wake.

  “See what I mean?” Merrick said to Keller in a low voice.

  “Plenty of assholes around,” Keller observed. “Doesn’t mean he raped his own daughter.”

  “Who knows?” Merrick said. “But you best be movin’ on, Keller.”

  “Okay,” Keller said as he started the car, “and thanks.” Merrick waved as he drove away.

  Keller noticed there was a different guy in the guard shack as he drove out. As he drove, Keller remembered the phone call from Marie. He pulled out the phone and hit the speed-dial. Marie pulled the cell phone out of her pocket after the second ring.

  “Hey,” Keller said.

  “Jack,” Marie said. “We got a match on the bullet used in that gas station shooting and one of the bullets in that church massacre.”

  “Okay,” Keller said.

  “And they’re running a cartridge casing, same caliber, that I picked up out at the trailer last night.”

  “Wait a minute,” Keller said. “You think maybe Laurel Marks and Randle are the church shooters?”

  “We got the guy who we think sold them the guns used in the shootings at the church and the diner. He said the buyers were an older man and a younger woman.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Keller said.

  “Yeah. Jack, I’m going to have to talk to the FBI. There’s a couple of agents here at the station.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Okay.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m going to have to tell them about the trailer. They’ll probably want to talk to you.”

  Another long pause. “Yeah,” Keller said finally. “No way around that.”

  “No,” she said. “There isn’t. I wanted to give you a heads up.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Jack,” she said, “you’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “I’m pissed at this situation,” he said. “Not at you.”

  “You’d better hold off for a while on Laurel Marks,” Marie said. “If she’s one of the church and diner shooters, let the FBI handle it.”

  “She’s still got our paper out on her, Marie,” Keller said. “As far as I�
��m concerned, she’s fair game.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it!” Marie snapped. “If she’s involved in this, she’s gone totally bugfuck. And she and her buddy are heavily armed.”

  “Yeah,” Keller said. “I may need to ask Angela for a raise.”

  “Jack,” Marie said helplessly.

  “Don’t worry,” Keller said. “How likely is it that I’ll find her before the feds do?”

  “Knowing you, pretty damn likely,” Marie muttered.

  “What?” Keller said.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Jack, please go home.”

  “I am,” he said. “I’ve got a lead, but I’m not going to get to it tonight. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” she said. “Fine.”

  “Love you,” he said.

  If you really loved me you ‘d go home and stay there, she thought. “Love you, too,” she said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Stan was lying on the couch drinking a beer and watching the TV when Laurel came out of the bedroom. She had on a pair of cutoff jeans and a man’s shirt tied and knotted under her breasts. She came over to the couch. Stan moved his feet so she could sit down. He didn’t look at her.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He took a sip of the beer. “Hey,” he said finally.

  “Anything good on?”

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  “You still mad at me?” she said. He shrugged again. “I’m not mad.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “You are.” She looked nervously toward the bedroom door. She leaned over and whispered to Stan. “Listen,” she said. “If I tell you somethin’, you can’t ever let on to Roy that I told you.”

  He looked at her for the first time. He pitched his voice low as well. “What?”

  She glanced at the door again. “Nothing happened, Stan. We didn’t do nothing.”

  He snorted and looked back at the TV. “Right.”

  “I mean it, Stan,” she said. “He’s havin’ one of his spells.”

  Stan sat up. “Just what is it that he’s sick with?”