by Jon Mills
He slipped into the Shelby and the smell of new leather put him at ease as he turned over the key. The engine rumbled, and he eased the car out of the parking lot. He tapped the address into the GPS and headed southeast. He figured if he only stopped a couple of times, he’d be there by five at the latest. Three minutes later he was on the main road, and an hour after that he was well on his way to Marlinton.
He crossed the country by way of US-35 east and I-65. The farther away from the city, the more the landscape changed into wide-open spaces. Either side of the highway were farmhouses, and old barns set back from the road, along with the occasional run-down diner or gas station. The vast landscape shimmered in the morning sun, and for a short while, his mind was at peace. No longer in the past, or the future, just in the present. He passed through Merville, Lafayette, Indianapolis, Dayton, Charleston and a whack of small towns that seemed stuck in the dark ages. In the last leg of the journey, he passed through Monongahela before making his way into Pocahontas County. It was like stepping back in time. Over five hundred and seventy-eight square miles of scenic beauty. In the distance, he could see the Allegheny Mountains surrounded by an ocean of red spruce, balsam fir, and mountain ash trees. Every few miles he would see signs for Snowshoe Mountain Resort, Greenbrier River Trail, Droop Mountain Battlefield State Park and the Cranberry Glades. The place was an absolute gold mine for outdoor enthusiasts. Not that he would get to enjoy it the way others would. He liked to keep his mind on the job. In. Out. No messing around. However, he had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be so easy.
Still, it would be home for the next few weeks.
Jack stepped out of his car and surveyed the Locust Hill Inn and Restaurant on the outskirts of Marlinton. He’d been driving almost non-stop for ten hours and it felt good to stretch his legs. The tension in his neck and shoulders remained, a reminder that he should have stopped more frequently. It was a hot day, even though the sun was beginning to wane behind the trees. The lodgings were set back from the road. A long winding road led up to the inn which overlooked the rich landscape and was framed by green mountains and mist. It was a short distance from the downtown and close to the Greenbrier River Trail.
As it was getting darker, the red-brick, two-story home was lit up like a Christmas tree. Jack wandered up the steps and entered the main door. Inside he was a greeted by a young lady who offered refreshments. He declined and headed over to the main desk. A large, burly man in his late fifties was on the phone. He acknowledged Jack with a raised finger and quickly told whoever he was speaking to that he’d have to get back to them.
“Welcome. Welcome. And you would be?”
“Jack Winchester.”
“Right.” He flipped through a book in front of him, then tapped the keys on his computer and his face lit up. “There we go. Room for one, five nights.”
“It may be longer.”
“Sure, just let us know. If we can’t keep you in the same room, we have a cabin as well as other rooms here in the house. I just need a credit card.”
“I don’t have one.”
The man frowned. “That’s a first. How did you book it?”
“The website said I could pay in cash upon arrival.”
“Um. You wouldn’t mind showing me which site that was, would you?”
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, it’s just that guests usually book in advance with a credit card.”
“Look, sure, I’ll show you the site but I’m tired. I’ve driven for over ten hours. I would just like to go to my room.”
The man pursed his lips and put his finger up again. He stepped away and disappeared out back. When he returned, he was with a heavyset lady who was wearing far too much makeup. Her earrings looked as if they were shower curtain hooks — thick, ugly, something from the 1980s era. Her outfit wasn’t much better. A large flowery dress with one too many colors.
“Ed, I’ll handle it. Just go and serve the customers.”
He looked red in the face as he wandered off, flashing Jack one more embarrassed look.
“Sorry about that. My husband tends to do everything by the book.” She looked him up and down. “I’m not sure where or how you managed to book a room but it would have meant using a credit card.”
“I didn’t use a card. Look, if this is going to be a problem. I’ll just go find another place.”
Jack turned to leave, and she was quick to stop him.
“No. No, it’s okay. Years ago we used to let folks reserve a room without a credit card and it worked for a time but then guests wouldn’t show up and it made filling rooms challenging. You probably came across one of the old sites. Anyway, it’s been kind of slow this week, so you’re in luck. We will, however, need all the money upfront if you are paying in cash. It’s eighty-eight dollars for the night or a hundred and twenty-five for the cabin.” Jack pulled out a wad of notes and thumbed off enough to cover a week. Her eyes lit up. If push came to shove, he could always find another place. A week would do for now. The woman was quick to snatch up the money and tuck it away inside her bra. So it’s that kind of place, Jack thought.
“Follow me. I’m Beth Robertson by the way. My husband is Ed.”
He noticed several couples were eating in a dining area off to the right. A pretty waitress flashed him a smile before threading around tables with a jug of iced tea. Beth led him up two flights of stairs.
“I hope you don’t mind the attic. It’s our newly renovated third floor. Queen-sized bed, bathroom and there is a balcony that overlooks the pond. If you get up early enough, it provides a breathtaking view of the mountains. Every one of our guests who have stayed here has said how much they love it.”
“It will do fine.”
All the floors were made of oak hardwood. When he reached the attic, it was quite spacious — nothing special but nice. A bed with a dark patterned spread was off to the left. There was a cream-colored sofa ahead of him and a bathroom with shower to the right. A large flowery rug covered most of the floor and a small flat-screen TV was positioned on a redwood dresser. Beth crossed the room to a dingy air-conditioning unit stuck into the wall and gave it a thump. It let out a groan revealing its age before the fan kicked in.
“It’s on the brink of giving up the ghost, so give it a knock if you find yourself sweltering.” She glanced around. “There are fresh towels in the bathroom, the Wi-Fi password is in the envelope on the dresser, there is a cozy robe behind the door and breakfast starts at seven and ends at nine. We serve a full cooked breakfast.” She breathed in deeply while sticking her oversized hands into the front of the apron. “Any questions?”
Jack dropped his bag on the bed.
“Green Bank. How far is it from here?”
“About twenty-five miles north. You have friends there?”
“Nope.”
“Not much to see up there. It’s a very small town.”
Jack fished around in his jacket and pulled out a scrap of paper with the address that Jenna Whitmore had given him. He handed it to her. “You know this location?”
“Of course. You have to go back the way you came. Stick to 8th Street and you will see 3rd Avenue on the left. Can’t miss it. If you get lost, just look for signs for the Opera House. It’s across the street from that.” She paused before handing it back. “You here on business or strictly pleasure?”
He took it from her and placed it back into his jacket. “A bit of both.”
She frowned as if confused by his answer. “Right, then I will leave you to it. Any questions, don’t hesitate to phone the front desk or come down.” She paused at the staircase. “Are you hungry? We have a nice restaurant that is open until nine. The weekends tend to get busy, so if you want to make sure you aren’t disturbed I would suggest getting there at five.” She turned and made it a few steps down before shouting over her shoulder, “Oh and we don’t allow hookers here. So if you have any ideas about that, it’s out of the question. There are no porn channels either.
We run a clean house.”
And just like that, she continued on down until he heard a door shut. Jack exhaled hard and perched on the edge of the bed for a few seconds before getting up and heading over to the window. Outside a 4 x 4 and a Chevy rolled in with fishing gear in the back. A couple of rough-looking fellas hopped out. One spat a wad of tobacco on the ground and headed inside.
Yeah, he certainly wasn’t in Chicago anymore.
Jack removed his jacket and slung it over the end of the bed. In the corner of the room was a small fridge. Curious, he went over and cracked it open. Sure enough, inside were several bottles of water as well as some snacks and small bottles of spirits. There was a note on top of the fridge that gave him a list of all the prices. He took out a small bottle of Jack Daniel’s, twisted the cap off and took a hard pull on it before walking over to the window and looking out. A small amount of rain began to fall. He had a sense of foreboding. Small towns were nice to visit but he’d often found the people tended to operate outside the law.
A silver sedan crawled into the parking lot and parked near the front. A man and woman got out and covered their hair with their jackets as they made a rush for the house. While he surveyed the property, he gave Jenna’s number one more try — again it went to voice mail. As much as he wanted to relax before going over to see her, he was beginning to think that perhaps that peculiar call in the middle of the night had more to it than his tired mind could comprehend. If it was her, this job had already become more complicated. As Mother Nature began to unleash her fury outside on West Virginia, Jack felt far from anything he was familiar with. He was alone in his thoughts as he finished off his drink and wandered into the bathroom. There, he stripped and got under the shower to wash off the grime of the day. Being in and out of the vehicle, smothered in heat one minute and in air conditioning the next, had taken its toll. The room soon became humid and filled with steam. After getting out, he wiped away the condensation on the mirror and gazed at his weathered face. Closing in on forty, he still had a thick head of hair, though the sides had a few silver strands. How many more years can you do this? He thought. He wasn’t old but he wasn’t getting much younger. The closest he’d got to a normal life was in Florida, or his time with Dana in Maine.
He unzipped his bag and laid out on the bed a fresh pair of jeans, a dark shirt, and his Glock. He took a few minutes to get dressed, then gazed at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Not too shabby. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself and yet in his line of work, it was hard not to. He had to poke his nose where it wasn’t wanted, cross paths with the violent and dance with the law at every turn.
Jack pushed the Glock into the back of his pants before covering it with his shirt.
He snatched up some money, his phone, and keys and headed out the door a little after five forty-five. On the ground floor, Beth spotted him while she was giving instructions to the pretty waitress.
“A table perhaps?”
“Actually, I’m heading out.”
“Oh. Tomorrow then, perhaps?”
He nodded and went out onto the porch. Rain hammered the vehicles in the lot and turned the muddy driveway into a slow-moving stream. There were several other couples waiting for the rain to die down before they dared step out. They looked him up and down while he stood there.
“Crazy weather, huh?” A gruff-looking man tried to engage with him. He looked over and gave a nod before making a dash for his car. He didn’t want to get into it with anyone. Questions were always the same. Where are you from? Why are you here? What do you do? Too many questions could lead to trouble and right now he was enjoying the peace. Trouble would eventually rear its ugly head and when it did he would be ready, but now, he was content to observe.
Chapter 6
The drive from the inn to 3rd Avenue was a short ride. It took less than ten minutes. He might have got there sooner if it wasn’t for a traffic accident. Some pickup truck had slammed into the side of a minivan just past 9th Street. Flares lit up the night as two cop cars and a tow truck cleared it up. One of the officers was redirecting traffic down 10th, along 9th and back up onto 8th. As he crawled behind a tractor, he took in the sight of the small, peaceful town. He passed by a Catholic church, colorful mailboxes that were positioned at the end of driveways, a shabby-looking gas station and an elementary school. Before entering the town, there was nothing but wide-open space, and now it was like the town itself had been nestled in the forest. He noticed a small building that was dedicated to providing tourists with information on the area, a post office that looked like it had seen better days and several small banks. He noted it was absent the big chain stores. Most small towns in America were like that. They pushed back against change and anything that might take away from the mom-and-pop stores that gave a place its character and charm.
For a town that was supposed to have problems with drug use and prostitutes, it didn’t exactly appear to be noticeable. No women loitered on street corners. No one was hovering around cars trying to deal.
He reached the turn off for 3rd Avenue and continued until he saw a sign for apartments. Jack hung a left and brought the Shelby up just outside the building. He sat in the vehicle as rain wiggled down the pane of glass. Was this it? He turned on the dome light inside and glanced at the address, comparing it to the one outside. Yep, this was it. He glanced around at the parking lot and the path that led up to the apartments before hopping out and making a mad dash for the entrance. Once inside he shook himself like a dog. His clothes were wet, his hair and beard streamed with water. It smelled musty and like piss in the apartments as if some wino had staggered in and taken up residence. He glanced at the wall where there were some steel mailboxes. He spotted Jenna’s name on one before entering the stairwell. Fluorescent lights flickered on and off, making the corridor on the second floor seem darker. He made it to her apartment at the far end. There were four other apartments farther down. He knocked a few times but got no response. Jack put his ear to the door; it was quiet. The only sound came from an apartment farther down. Someone had a TV on.
“Jenna,” he said. Again nothing.
Jack bit down on the side of his lip. His brow knit together as he made his way to a large window at the far end. As he shimmed it up, some of the flaking paint fell away. The wood was rotten, and it badly needed to be replaced. Outside was a black steel fire escape. Jack slipped out and gave it a kick with his boot just to make sure it was sturdy. As he climbed out, he had visions of it coming away from the mortar. The rain continued to fall in sheets and his clothes would soon be drenched. The cold began to leach into his bones and he shivered. He leaned beyond the fire escape to a window ledge for her apartment. There was next to no lighting for him to see clearly. A large oak tree blotted out what light was coming from the moon. Jack eased himself over to a thick drainpipe, giving it a shake a few times before trusting it with his entire weight. What the hell are you doing? He shook the rain out of his eyes and stepped across to where the ledge of the window was. One slip and he was going to land in the industrial-sized dumpster far below. The lights were out in her apartment. He reached down and tried to pry the window open. It was locked. Shit! With one hand on the pipe, the other balancing precariously against the brick, he glanced around to make sure that no one was watching. He contemplated not doing it for a minute and then, against his better judgment, went ahead and shattered the pane of glass with a sharp kick of his boot. A sudden crash and it burst sending shards across the floor like stones on ice. Not wasting any time, he unlocked the latch, pulled it up and ducked inside.
He winced getting a few small slivers in the palm of his hand. Glass crunched beneath his soles as he made his way in. Once he made it to a light switch, he flicked it on and gazed around at the cramped quarters. Rain poured in through the window, soaking the laminate flooring. He searched for a sheet or towel, anything he could place over the window temporarily. Once done, he began a preliminary sea
rch. By all appearances the apartment was undisturbed. The bed hadn’t been slept in, and there was nothing to indicate that anyone had broken in except for the damage he’d created. The first thing he did was to phone her cell to check if she’d left it there. It started to ring on his end but not in the apartment. So she left. Where did you go?
Deputy Larson was pissed. Not only had his shift started by being pulled into the chief’s office to explain another complaint from Aaron Gance but they’d also screwed up the schedule and somehow he’d got lumbered with Ethan Rigby. He couldn’t stand the guy, and now here he was trying to get some supper and the asshole was invading his bubble.
“I’m telling you, Larson, it’s a good investment. You take an extra thousand bucks and put it in this stock and you are going to be made. I swear this company is on the up-and-up. It’s easy money.”
All he wanted was a little peace and quiet. Rigby sat across from him in Dories Lounge, picking at his teeth while gazing at all the women’s asses as they walked by.
“Ah, I don’t know. Things are tight right now. With the baby and all, Kerry wants us to save.”
“Does Kerry carry your balls?” He snorted and reached across the table and slapped him on the arm. “I’m just kidding.” It took a lot of restraint to not lunge at him and wipe that smirk off his slimy face. Rigby was in his mid-fifties, five foot six and his stomach threatened to burst the buttons on his uniform. His face sported a thick black mustache that made him look like a ’60s porn star. “Seriously, don’t tell her. I’m sure you spend money without her knowing.”