by Deb Baker
I had no intention of meeting Burnett on his terms. Crevice Road was my target, and I had to get there fast before he could carry out his plan to harm Little Donny and leave there to meet me.
The funeral home appeared in view ahead of me. I must have been traveling at a hundred miles an hour when I blew by. Cora Mae, Kitty, and Grandma were out in the parking lot, wandering around, searching for Kitty’s car. Other mourners were filing out of the building, shaking hands and hugging each other.
I wanted to stop and pick up Cora Mae and Kitty but I couldn’t spare an extra second. Besides, I couldn’t deal with Grandma Johnson right now.
Kitty glanced up at the moving van streaking past and her mouth dropped open and stayed there. She couldn’t see me through the tinted windows so she had to assume I was one of “them.”
I hate my old lady reflexes.
By the time I found the automatic window control, slid it down, and called out to them, we had passed into Maple County, and the only one who heard my cry for help was my buddy, Fred.
He stretched and kissed my face.
chapter 21
We soared over the ruts at such speed that we didn’t even feel the bumps and bangs. If I pulled the entire transmission off the van, I didn’t care as long as I got there before anything bad happened.
“Smell this,” I said to Fred, rubbing the bed sheet against his nose. He knew the drill. Fred sniffed and snorted even more when I attached his leash, a tricky maneuver while keeping a watchful eye on the road, but I’ve always been a multitasker. What woman isn’t?
Ted Latvala’s house loomed directly ahead. My palms on the steering wheel felt sweaty. I glanced at the Glock resting between my legs.
Joe the Man lived close enough to Latvala to offer support - if he was sober - but I couldn’t risk a moment’s delay. I had visions of a revolver slowly rising in a cold, steady hand and a grimace on my grandson’s face as he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end.
I shook the image off.
The plan was simple and ill-prepared, as all my plans were. I’d drive in slowly like I belonged there. Unless someone came right up to the van, I wouldn’t be recognized.
I’d do anything to get Little Donny back in one piece, even if it meant shooting a gaping hole right through the windshield and picking off every single one of them.
All those years of target practice were about to pay off. At the beginning I’d crabbed and complained that the family should take up a more meaningful hobby, but they’d voted me down. Every Sunday afternoon when the kids were small, we’d have “family time” with a weapon slung over our shoulders and a box of ammo at our feet. BB guns, pellet guns, and tin cans at first. After that, as the kids grew, we graduated to shotguns and pistols.
Fred began to make whimpering noises, licking his lips and working himself up for the hunt. His entire hundred-pound mass, seated patiently on the passenger seat during most of the drive, heaved into a standing position as though he could sense that we were near our destination.
I was about to see him in action.
I forced my foot onto the brake and slowed for the turn into the weapon-making camp. I’d only attract unwanted attention if I barreled in at seventy miles an hour with two wheels off the gravel.
We crept past the side of the house without seeing anyone. A light was on in the welding workshop and the large building’s bay doors were open, so I cautiously pulled in next to another, identical moving van, ready for trouble.
No one was there.
I hopped out and opened the other van. The smell hit me first. It was loaded with feathers and bird droppings. Illegal bird sales and gun trafficking. What an operation. They truly believed in diversification.
I wound the end of Fred’s leash around my wrist. I didn’t have to coax him out of the van, but when I started in the direction of the workshop, he locked his legs and resisted.
I tried pulling the lug. He wouldn’t budge. I looped the leash around the top post of a wood fence running next to the building and hoped he wouldn’t start howling. As long as he had me in his sights, I thought he’d stay quiet.
Crouching down, I ran for the back of the workshop and peered in, careful not to touch the windows that were wired to set off an alarm.
Ted Latvala, wearing safety goggles, worked on something at a table. Sparks flew. Faintly, I could hear country and western music playing from a radio on a shelf above his head.
Little Donny wasn’t inside.
Latvala began to whistle along with the tune on the radio. Either he didn’t know that his partner in crime was systematically picking off witnesses or he didn’t care.
A bolt of fear shot through me. What if Little Donny wasn’t even on the property?
Don’t think that.
Maybe they had him in the house. I ran back to Fred and turned toward the house. He wouldn’t budge.
Then I realized why. Fred was supposed to tell me where Little Donny was, not the other way around. If my canine partner insisted that Little Donny wasn’t in the house, that was that. I had to trust him.
“Okay, Fred,” I whispered, clutching the leash. “Tell me where he is.”
At first, Fred didn’t move. Then he sniffed the ground. Slowly, he made his way back into the building housing the vehicles. Back out again.
“Please, Fred,” I said, softly. “Find a trail.”
He worked his way around to the back of the building, taking his time, checking out every little patch of ground. I saw the expression on his face change. His body became rigid and he began to move.
Fred dragged me toward the woods at a fast clip and headed down a deer trail. The way we were thrashing through the pines and hardwoods I knew one of two things would happen soon. Either Fred would sweep me off my feet and pull me along on the ground until I lost my end of the leash, or Burnett would hear us coming a mile away and set up an ambush.
The crazed dog dug in his hind legs and strained ahead like one of the local sled dogs during our annual mid-distance race. I wouldn’t have had much luck controlling him even if his weight didn’t hover close to mine. Beefy No-Neck hadn’t done much better at handling him.
Fred swept me off my feet just like I’d feared and I crashed to the ground, skimming through last season’s layer of dried leaves and a few of this year’s. Fred paused when he started pulling my additional weight and looked back. We slowed and he gave me a moment to regain my footing. Then we were off again.
Where several deer paths merged, Fred lost the trail. He ran in circles while I got my bearings and caught my breath. I could tell when he found it again because his ears straightened up and his head swung eagerly toward a trail to our left.
By then I had his leash wound around a young maple. “Sorry, Fred,” I whispered. “But you have to wait here. You’re enthusiasm will get us killed.”
The howling started as soon as I disappeared out of sight and a minute later I heard a voice ahead.
“What’s that?” I heard Little Donny say. “Wolves?”
I sidled up behind an old oak tree and saw Warden Burnett sitting on an ATV, a revolver loose in his hand. “Shut up and finish,” he said. “I have to go meet your granny and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Little Donny stood in a shallow hole, holding a shovel. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and left a streak of dirt across his cheek. He looked scared.
Burnett had watched too many crime movies. He was making my grandson dig his own grave.
I should plug him right between the eyes for that. I was a little worried about the distance between us but I couldn’t get closer without exposing myself. I’d take the best shot I could from here.
Another howl.
“It sounds like a whole pack of them,” Little Donny said, pale and nervous.
“Lay down. Let’s see if you fit.”
I got my favorite new handgun in position, wishing I’d had time to shoot a few practice rounds.
Before Little Donn
y could comply, the crashing of a large animal resounded through the forest. Another howl, closer this time, as branches broke and leaves crunched.
“What if it’s a bear?” Little Donny said.
“Bears don’t howl,” Burnett answered, starting to look worried.
I felt the displacement of air as Fred swooshed past me, the leash bouncing behind him.
Burnett glanced up in shock and saw a black wild animal descending on him. He lifted his weapon and took aim.
I pulled the trigger of my Glock.
And heard another shot almost simultaneously. Burnett had fired at Fred.
Fred seemed to hesitate, although he didn’t drop. He continued running forward, his legs pumping much slower now, easing off, winding down.
I screamed and ran from the protection of the tree. Little Donny put his arms out in front of him as though warding off an attack.
Then Burnett grimaced, dropped his gun, and fell off the ATV backwards.
Fred pounced on Little Donny, driving him backwards, and grabbed a firm hold on his pants.
Burnett groaned and clutched his knee. I kicked his revolver away, picked it up, and bent over to admire my handiwork. Not exactly a bull’s eye, but close. With any luck, his kneecap was shattered.
Since Little Donny was indisposed and it looked like Fred would live, I took the opportunity to hit Burnett in the back with the shovel. Then I commanded Fred to release my grandson and hugged Little Donny, ignoring the tears pooling in his eyes.
Then I checked Fred for gaping bullet holes.
He was absolutely fine.
I wondered if all those wardens running around in the woods with firearms were required to prove they could shoot straight before they started pointing them at local residents.
What a lousy aim.
“That’s the guy,” Little Donny said, pointing at Burnett. “I saw what he did at our bait pile. And he hit Uncle Blaze in the head with his gun.”
“Blaze is going to be okay,” I said. “Did he see that it was Burnett who conked him?”
Little Donny shook his head. “Blaze was asleep at his desk. He didn’t know what hit him.”
Stands to reason, I thought. The man should retire before he gets himself killed.
I noticed Burnett was making all kinds of faces as he rolled around on the ground. That had to hurt.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll send somebody back for him.”
Little Donny wanted to tie him up with Fred’s leash. “How will he hold his knee if we bind his hands,” I reasoned, suddenly hit with a blast of compassion. “We’ll get you help,” I told Burnett, but wasn’t sure he heard me.
Little Donny hopped in the driver’s seat of the ATV and we rode back slowly, with Fred running loose alongside the machine.
Stopping right before the tree line and cutting the engine, we discussed strategy.
“I’m not leaving without the van,” I said.
“We should drive the ATV to a neighbor’s house and call for help,” Little Donny said. “There’s another guy around here somewhere.”
“If you mean a really hairy guy, he’s in the workshop.”
“That’s him.”
“He isn’t paying any attention.” The trusty Glock and my most recent display of hot shooting accounted for most of my inflated bravado. Having a strappy grandson and a devil dog at my side also helped.
Bring ‘em on.
chapter 22
The van wouldn’t start.
“I hate it when things go wrong,” I said, turning the key again.
Nothing. Total silence. Not even a sputter or grinding noise.
We sat in the van inside the building and stared at the ignition.
“Let’s get out of here,” Little Donny said. “We can walk out and come back with support.”
“What if they move the van and we lose our evidence?”
“We still have Burnett cold.”
“I want it all,” I said. Before the day was through, I planned on nabbing the entire gun and bird ring. Right now, there was no way of knowing if any of the others were accessories to the murders. Every last one of them was going down. Burnett, Latvala, the driver I’d zapped, and any other stragglers we could round up.
Then the alarm went off, the same piercing alert that I’d set off when I touched the workshop window. Did Latvala know we were in the building and hit the alarm to call in reinforcements? Or had someone else triggered it?
I shook my head. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” I muttered.
Little Donny turned to open his door.
“Stay here with Fred,” I said. “Don’t move from this van no matter what happens.”
I dashed to the edge of the open garage bay and peeked out toward the noise. I saw Kitty and Cora Mae scrambling for cover. Dickey’s deputy truck idled in the driveway with Grandma Johnson sitting in the passenger seat. Her head barely cleared the bottom of the windshield, but I saw those snarly eyes.
Kitty must have taken Dickey’s truck to chase the moving van and blundered in without thinking it through. The pin-curled wonder should learn to look before she leaps. I should know.
Now we all were in a pickle.
The alarm abruptly stopped and Latvala stormed out with his rifle.
I was too far away to get a shot. All I’d manage to do if I fired was announce my position.
Kitty and Cora Mae screeched in unison when they tore open the bird shed door to hide inside and felt falcon wings beating at them. Cora Mae had her hands over her hair and both of them ducked down before turning and running toward the house, leaving the coop door open.
Birds started flying out. Some of the young ones had probably never flown free before. Birds of all sizes continued to stream out and take to the air. Diving, dipping, circling, most of them coming to rest behind the coop in a towering maple. A few made for the trees along the woods and perched atop the pines.
Cora Mae and Kitty must have thought they had landed in Hitchcock’s classic thriller, The Birds, because they were making more racket than the confused raptors.
The screen door slammed and they were inside the house.
Latvala loped to the bird coop, realized he was too late to stop the birds, turned sharply, and ran back to the driveway. He spotted Grandma Johnson.
She took one look at the hairy man with the rifle, lunged over to the driver’s seat, and ripped backwards into the road. She continued in reverse so long I thought she’d never find the brake or the correct gear. The truck jerked to a halt, then it took off down the road, heading toward Stonely. Latvala ran down the drive, fired at her, and a side window blew out.
I almost dropped my Glock. Since when did she know how to drive?
A cell phone rang.
Latvala reached in his pocket and answered it. As he came closer, I could hear part of his conversation.
I heard him say, “This has gotten out of hand, Burnett.” He walked back up the driveway, looking for his next escaped quarry. “You’re on your own.”
His eyes scanned the treetop. A zillion night hunters’ eyes followed him.
Rats. I forgot about Burnett’s cell phone.
“You want me to shoot all of them?” Latvala said in disbelief. “How many are here, anyway? Some old midget just got away. I’m telling you, I’m clearing out. I think they’re even in the house.”
He listened for a moment.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to relocate. I can do it again. Latvala, Jones, Wazinski. I’m due for a new name. At least the shipment went out. I’m picking up the money and disappearing.”
Another pause while he listened.
“Don’t threaten me,” he said. “Sure I dropped him off in the woods and I roughed him up a little to get the message across, but you killed him. I’m outta here.”
He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. It rang again but he ignored it.
Sirens wailed in the distance as Latvala ran for a truck parked in the drivew
ay. Before I could chase him, I saw Kitty bolt out of the house with Cora Mae trailing.
“Drop the rifle,” Kitty shouted from the side of the house. She held a machine gun in front of her. Kitty looked exactly like a wanted poster.
Latvala took one look and dropped the rifle.
Cora Mae appeared from a hiding spot behind Kitty and sashayed over, dangling her handcuffs from an index finger. She’d found more uses for those things.
“It’s over,” I called to Little Donny. “You can come out now.”
The sirens grew louder and two state troopers pulled into the driveway. By then, Kitty had chucked the machine gun in case the cops thought she was the perp.
Little Donny, Cora Mae, Kitty, Fred, and I formed a circle around Latvala, who sat on the gravel with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“I called nine-one-one from the house,” Cora Mae said. “They sure got here fast.”
“Hey Johnny G.,” Kitty called, recognizing one of the officers. “Have I got a story for you.” She lumbered over to the squad car and bent over the open window, exposing the back of her legs clear up to her panty line.
“I’ll go talk to them, too,” Little Donny said.
“Help!” Latvala called out. “They’re holding me against my will.”
I kicked him in the shin. “Shut up,” I said. “You’ll get your turn to talk, but you’re last on the agenda.”
“How did you get here?” Cora Mae asked me while Kitty and Little Donny told their version of the story to the cops.
“I was driving the van,” I said.
“I didn’t know that,” Cora Mae shrieked. “We wanted to follow it but couldn’t find our car. Kitty looked in Dickey’s truck and can you believe it, he left his keys in the ignition? What kind of police officer would do that?”
“One that doesn’t know Kitty,” I replied.
“We saw it turn onto Crevice Road but then we lost it, and we ended up at the house down the road.”
“Joe the Man.”
“Exactly,” Cora Mae shrieked again. “How did you know?”