A Taste of Honey

by Tom Benson

  When he tried to take his weight on his hands, his arms folded under him again. He finally made it to his feet but found it hard to walk, let alone run. He was sobbing when he eventually became mobile and stumbled toward the cabin.

  “Fuck!” he shouted from within the cabin, realizing that Honey had not lied. The wooden table had been moved across and up against the small toilet door. The only items belonging to him were his car keys on the middle of the table. He grabbed them and ran out of the door still naked, soiled and stinking.

  He paused on the porch and then jumped down to the grass and fell because his legs couldn’t take the weight. He scrambled up and ran as fast as his frozen, soiled legs would carry him. He glanced at the woman as he passed, and realized she now wore a leather jacket, T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. At her feet was a black backpack with a white baseball cap sitting on top. She looked almost normal, except for the weapon and the pose.

  She was holding the Magnum in one hand, the barrel pointing upwards in front of her, as if she was taking part in a duel at dawn. She stood perfectly still, silhouetted against the golden horizon seen from such an altitude. Apart from her hair lifting gently in the late evening breeze, only her eyes and lips were moving.

  “Twelve ... thirteen ... fourteen ....” she called out, in a tone devoid of emotion.

  Honey stepped into the center of the overgrown trail and looked along the trail where Sorrenson had run. She heard the revving of a car engine within the trees, and then saw a flash of white and then red light in the semi-darkness as the vehicle reversed out of the parking space.

  She said, “Twenty,” and then listened as the car skidded from side to side bouncing off trees, like a shadowy black demon with red eyes chasing twin beams of light. The car disappeared down the forest trail, and the sound of the motor faded into the night. There was still an occasional bang as the vehicle bounced off a tree. It was almost a minute before there was a loud screech as rubber found gravel and tarmac.

  Honey strolled across to the cabin and placed the ranger’s radio inside on the table. She decided to leave the door open so that when the woman’s colleagues arrived they would know immediately where to go looking. The woman might be traumatized, but it could have been worse.

  There was no need to be covert in a darkening forest, so Honey slung the backpack over her left shoulder, donned her baseball cap and set off. She carried the Magnum in her right hand.

  At the compound, she stopped and opened the gate. She unloaded the Magnum onto the grass and then threw it just a few yards inside. It landed beside the laptop and the tranquilizer gun. A few yards to the left were Sorrenson’s clothing and his ivory-handled Colt pistol, which was also unloaded.

  Honey removed her leather jacket and folded it into her backpack. She knew she would be warm soon enough. As she strapped her pack over her shoulders, she saw the dark shapes arriving to investigate the latest offerings. Five pairs of wild eyes looked at Honey.

  Before she set off, she removed her latex gloves and stuffed them into her pocket. In her left hand, Honey carried her map, and in her right she gripped her pen-light. Around her neck, her compass hung on a lanyard. She used the main trails for most of the way back to her car. It was easy going, but still took her almost two hours to walk and jog.

  She found there were only five cars apart from her own in the lot. There was a little moonlight, but it was sufficient. She flipped the trunk and dropped in her backpack and other equipment.

  After a brief stop away from the forest to clean the license plates, Honey drove along the nearest highway until she reached the motel she’d spotted on the journey south. By 1:30am, she had sent a short text to a man in Pittsburgh, enjoyed a hot shower, and was climbing into a comfortable, if firm bed.

  ***

  Chapter 14

  Journeys

  .

  Sunday, June 22nd, 2003

  Louisville, Kentucky

  Honey arrived on the outskirts of Louisville at noon. She had slept well at the motel a few miles from the base of the Appalachians. Following her rest, she had started her day with a shower and a full breakfast, before taking a leisurely drive west on Route 64.

  She decided on T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers for the day, so that she could feel relaxed. In deference to Kathy, the hairdresser who had created her new look, she brushed her hair but didn’t wear a cap. It was only then that it struck her; a week had passed since her identity transformation.

  Honey was looking forward to liaising with Bert again. From the outset, he had given the impression of being a good man and one who could get things done. Apart from the meeting with Bert, the remainder of Honey’s day would depend to some extent on how things had gone with Sorrenson after he left the cabin.

  The meeting with the PI was to be at Iroquois Park, west of Louisville International Airport. The meeting was scheduled for 1pm. Light traffic and a steady drive placed Honey nearby at noon, so she pulled into a gas station with adjoining diner.

  As she enjoyed coffee, she was aware of the TV volume being turned up. She turned halfway in her seat to listen to the outside broadcast. A dark-haired television reporter in her late 20’s was standing outside a detached house creating the maximum drama.

  The woman looked like a cosmetics model as she gazed through the lens to appeal to her viewers. Honey imagined her having a mailbag full of complimentary letters, mainly from male viewers.

  “This is Caroline Connelly reporting for ISITV just outside Shelbyville, Indianapolis. Neighbors reported that the man known to live in the house here behind me is an unmarried detective with the local police.” She half-turned to let the camera zoom in on the blue and white police incident tape that twisted and fluttered in the breeze around the house and a dark green sedan in the drive. The camera zoomed in to show that all of the car windows were down, and the tires caked in dry mud.

  The reporter went on; “It seems that the man arrived home in the early hours of the morning in a state of undress. One neighbor said he was naked when he got out of the car in the drive.” Caroline raised a shapely eyebrow and looked silently into the lens for a moment before continuing.

  “The man was apparently overcome by three men wearing black overalls and ski-masks. He was dragged to a waiting SUV, parked nearby. The SUV sped off and the naked man, whom we believe to have been Detective Ben Sorrenson, has not been seen since.”

  Honey continued to drink her coffee and didn’t give Sorrenson another thought. A few customers in the diner were speculating about why a man might have been driving home naked at some unearthly hour. There were several theories being passed around, but none would ever guess the truth. Of that much, Honey was certain.

  At 12:35pm, Honey stood up to leave and saw that there was a newsflash - an update on the kidnapping story about the naked detective. The TV volume was loud, so she paused to watch the supplementary bulletin.

  “This is Caroline Connelly reporting for ISITV. There is now a strong rumor that in the house behind us, a room has been converted into a gallery of sorts. One wall it seems is covered with photographs of young women.” The reporter glanced over her shoulder and then faced the camera again. She paused and fluttered her long dark lashes.

  “It’s beginning to look like Detective Sorrenson had a fixation with the two teenage daughters of the convicted gangland murderer, Jake Sparelli.” Caroline’s eyes were bulging with her excitement at the breaking story. She engaged her viewers and many fans with conjecture.

  “Sparelli is serving a life sentence in the State Correctional Facility, but he is known to still have many friends and contacts on the outside. Word of the photo gallery may have been leaked to Sparelli. We’ll keep you up to date with this incredible story.”

  Word of the photo gallery may have been leaked to Sparelli, Honey thought, but how did that little snippet get leaked to the press? Bert had obviously done a good job at setting up the detective, and he probably had a secret password for getting in touch with the media?
/>   *

  At 12:50pm, Honey pulled into the parking lot opposite the east side of Iroquois Park. She crossed Park Road and started walking around the western edge of the lake in the park. Two minutes later, she became aware of somebody standing up from a bench ahead of her.

  “Good morning Honey,” the man said and fell into step with her, his thumbs hooked into his front pockets. He was wearing a baseball cap, leather jacket, shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

  “Hi Bert,” Honey said, glancing sideways at him. “I just caught a news bulletin on TV a short while ago regarding Sorrenson. It looks like you’ve managed a thorough job.” She reached a long manila envelope from insider her jacket and handed it over. “Thank you.”

  “That’s what you’re paying me for,” he said, “and however devious some of my methods might be. I give the client the best service I can.” He placed the envelope into an inside jacket pocket without checking the contents.

  Honey noticed the silent declaration of trust and allowed herself the faintest smile.

  They walked on in silence for a short while. Honey was aware that the PI was stealing the occasional glance at her as they walked, but she didn’t complain. He was a good-looking guy for his age, and it felt like a subtle compliment. She turned to look at him before speaking, and they continued to walk, both enjoying the bright day and the light breeze.

  Honey said, “Now that I know you’re capable and punctual, and you know I can pay,” she glanced at him, “would you like another job?”

  “Go on,” he said.

  Honey produced a photograph and handed it over. “I’d like you to locate this guy for me. The photograph is a few years old, but I don’t think he’ll have changed that much.”

  “Apart from the usual amendments,” Bert said, “like hair length and color, beard and mustache. Sometimes they appear and sometimes they disappear. Contact lenses are another favorite.” He looked at the photograph. “Wanted dead or alive?”

  “Once we locate him, I’ll deal with the choice.”

  “So, may I take it that the ‘dead or alive’ part is not negotiable and not meant to be humorous?”

  “Unfortunately for him,” she said, “no.”

  Bert glanced at her. “Is this a copy?”

  “Yes, so you can hold onto it. You can destroy it once we’re sure we have him. I’m afraid he has a history of drifting from state to state, so I can’t give you any specifics on his possible whereabouts.”

  “Have we got a last known name or alias to work on?”

  “The name Strickland is a possibility and he might now have a gunslinger mustache.”

  Bert nodded. “Is there a time schedule on this?”

  “No, but I would like to deal with him sooner rather than later.”

  Bert stopped walking, and Honey stopped to watch as he put the photograph away. She explained that she had already sent a copy of the details to a friend in the NYPD, and she had given the name to a man in Pittsburgh who had lots of underworld contacts.

  Her theory was that between a police detective, a PI, and a resourceful pimp, somebody would trace the guy. She told Bert he’d receive his fee no matter who found the man.

  He said, “I appreciate your integrity, and there’s not a lot of that around.”

  “I believe if somebody earns something, they should get what’s owed, whether it’s a cash payment or a sinister end to an unworthy life.”

  Bert said, “It looks like it’s almost as dangerous to cross you as it is to cross me.”

  “That makes you a dangerous guy to cross then,” she said without humor.

  Bert nodded and smiled. He decided by the look in the woman’s eyes that she would be a deadly adversary. She was young, attractive and from what he had learned, had a will of iron. He tried to imagine how good it would have been to have her as a partner when he was on the force. Bert thought his companion would make a superb police detective.

  They started to walk again alongside the lake towards the northern end. Bert had never been a man for small talk, but he enjoyed Honey’s company. He had no interest in anything other than a professional relationship, but he was intrigued by the contrast of her natural good looks and her cold demeanor. To his delight, she responded to his light chat, albeit with short answers, but it was a conversation.

  Bert said, “I sometimes ask myself if I’ve left reality behind, but then I get by with a special theory.” He remained quiet for a moment as they strolled.

  “Go on,” Honey said and glanced at him.

  “My theory is that the shit I dig up on some people serves to remind me that I’m actually closer to reality than some of the folk I have to trace for clients.”

  “I suppose Sorrenson is a case in point,” she said quietly, “a lowlife bastard.”

  “I was just wondering,” he said. “Have you got any more targets in the near future, apart from the guy in the photo?”

  It was Honey’s turn to stop. They faced each other, searching each other’s eyes.

  She said, “I was thinking about asking you to check out a guy who may still be reporting for work, or who may have already opted to keep a low profile.”

  “Has this one got a name?”

  “Detective Investigator Tony Morgan and he works out of Indianapolis.”

  Bert nodded, and they started to stroll again. He glanced at his companion.

  He said, “Does this guy Morgan have any direct connection to Sorrenson?”

  “He is, or was Sorrenson’s partner and he is normally detached to a suburban police precinct.” She paused. “I didn’t want to monopolize your time with another task, plus it would start getting very expensive.”

  “I happen to like what you’re about Honey, so leave that one with me, and I’ll be the judge of whether or not you have to pay.” He smiled at her and nodded, giving her a further confidence boost in his services. “Do you think this guy Morgan will be on the move now that Sorrenson is out of action?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but according to Sorrenson, Morgan might have headed up to Michigan to hide out on a boat he has berthed there. My mission is ongoing, and Morgan is the next candidate for a visit. It sounds like his boat is moored near Muskegon.”

  “Just be careful,” Bert said. “Don’t let anger affect your judgment.” He looked into her eyes. “I let it affect me once and I was almost killed, because rage blinded me.”

  “Thanks, Bert,” she said, “but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m just concerned about whether or not I get paid for finding this guy in the picture,” he said and a faint smile crept over his lips. “Watch your back, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said and allowed him a brief smile. “I’ll watch my back, and you’ll get your money.”

  “Good on both counts,” Bert said. They looked at each other, and there was an unspoken recognition of mutual respect. Honey could tell from Bert’s eyes that his advice and the concern he had expressed were genuine, and it restored a little of her faith in mankind.

  “Well,” Bert said, “I’ll be leaving you now. My car is in a lot just over the other side of the park.” He paused and tapped his coat pocket. “I’ll give you a buzz when I get something on our friend on the poster.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “By the way, why didn’t you ask me what I saw on the news bulletin earlier? You seemed confident that everything worked out.”

  “I was parked about 100 yards away when the bad guys turned up in the SUV. They were waiting for him for around two hours before he arrived home. I watched the whole sequence of events.”

  “Did you manage to follow them?”

  “I know where he was taken, yes,” Bert said, “but I’ll let you hear about that later.”

  “The media seemed to be well-informed early on,” Honey said and raised a brow.

  “They probably got a late call from a concerned citizen,” Bert said. “Sometimes the local police need the media to hound them so that they start questioning each other.”


  “Is there something you’re not telling me about?”

  Bert winked. “Bye for now Honey.”

  “Bye, Bert,” she said and then she turned and walked back along the footpath towards where she’d parked her car. As she strolled along the path, she felt reassured, and ready to continue. Morgan was her stepfather, but he might as well have been the Devil incarnate.

  *

  “Hi,” Honey said when there was a response. “Could I speak to Detective Morgan, please?” She was in a phone booth just off the highway. She had heard a tiny click on the line before an apology. Honey checked the sweep hand of her watch.

  She said, “Do you know when he’ll be back?” The person on the other end waffled on about procedures and asked for some details so they could get back to the caller. Honey checked her watch ... 15 seconds. She hung the handset on the cradle and shook her head.

  For a moment, Honey stood in the booth and looked around. She went back to the car and pulled out her atlas. It was time for another long drive, but she would plan a detailed strategy before she got too close to her destination. She dropped the atlas on the passenger seat and headed east for the intersection with Route 65, heading north out of Louisville.

  When she reached the outskirts of Indianapolis, she drove around the west circuit passing the townships to avoid the city. The roads were busy but not as much as they might have been if she’d driven straight. On the north side of the city, she continued at a steady speed; there was no hurry.

  About 50 miles north of Lafayette, she pulled in for gas and visited the local diner. She had a lot of driving to do, so didn’t want to eat a large meal, but after her snack she treated herself to another coffee. It was while she was enjoying the second coffee and watched a car being badly parked that the sound on the TV caught her attention.

  “This is Caroline Connelly for ISITV. We’ve been reporting today on the kidnap of Detective Ben Sorrenson from outside his home near Shelbyville, Indiana.” She glanced over her shoulder and screwed up her eyes when she faced the camera again.