Revenge: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 4)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Here,” she shoved the plate into my hand with some more of the food falling onto the floor. The unappealing food was now diminished by half.

  I noticed that there was no spoon or fork to dine with.

  “May I have a utensil for eating?” I said.

  “You jest.”

  “I asked nicely.”

  “You think I’m going to let you have something you could use as a weapon against me? You’re a bigger fool than even I have imagined. Use your imagination,” she said and left the room.

  She slammed the door.

  I was left alone with my thoughts and the horrible plate half full of something reminiscent of gruel. Since I had never seen what Dickens described in his novels, I was guessing at color and substance. One would have to be hungry to eat what was on the plate held by my chained hands in front of me.

  I was hungry. I moved the plate close to my mouth and took a taste. Maybe it was grits made with rusty water. Palatable, but barely. No seasoning. I ate what I could before my brain told me to stop. Water would have been good.

  The door opened and Saunders re-entered the room.

  “I thought I was going to see my friend and talk with him.”

  “Change of plans.”

  “Since you are feeding me, does that mean you have also changed your mind about killing me?” I tried to sound cheery.

  Ever the positive one always looking for angles into the very souls of my adversary.

  She turned and faced me as she opened the door to her exit.

  “Clancy Evans, you can delude yourself into thinking anything you like. The truth is, I have you and that so-called trained machine of a man in my clutches. Your demise is imminent. It is simply a matter of when I choose to do it. I am under no obligation to grant you a last visit or word with Washington. Sweet dreams.”

  After she closed the door, I could hear her doing something to the door on the other side. I imagined that she was locking or securing it in some fashion. Maybe it was a deadbolt.

  Something was happening. She had changed her mind from earlier. Either that or she was truly schizophrenic. Plain crazy was another assessment I made.

  I eased my stiff body down the pole and laid the plate on the floor. I wanted to throw it, but I decided that such an act might evoke some displeasure from my captor. Crazy people can do some harm if provoked. My winning personality was enough to provoke most people. Saunders was no exception. I had the distinct impression that she disliked me. Can did evaluation of my present predicament.

  I am often given to exaggerated understatements when under stress. I felt like Oliver Twist bound inside of one of Edgar Allen Poe’s stories. The idea of her food offering being gruel was likely the trigger for such a thought.

  Saunders returned abruptly. She kicked the plate away from the pole and laughed at me.

  “Don’t like my cooking?” she said.

  “Nothing personal, but you’re no Julia Child.”

  “Corn meal and some outdated milk. It was all I could find in the house. You’re fortunate I was in a good mood or you would have had nothing.”

  “Lucky me.”

  She spat in my face. Since I couldn’t wipe it off, I had to let it run down my cheek. Yuck.

  Saunders took the keys from her pants’ pocket and unlocked the padlock which secured my chains. As she unwrapped the rusty chains from my wrists she smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. I thought it had a measure of insanity attached to it. She was crazy. I was fairly certain of this.

  “Try something and you will die sooner rather than later. Now, step back, turn around and place your hands around the pole once more,” she said.

  “Could I have some water before you do that?”

  “No.”

  “Then why don’t you go ahead and shoot me? Get it over with.”

  She stared deep into my eyes. She was no longer smiling. I couldn’t tell whether she was thinking of some devious act or she was locked into some trance brought about by some missing cog inside her brain.

  Suddenly she lunged at me and we both went down. I hit the floor hard on my back. My head must have bounced since the dim light of the room went out completely.

  Chapter 7

  I had no idea how much time had passed. My head hurt worse now than when I came to the first time from whatever it was she had hit me with when getting out of the car. I was certain I had suffered a mild concussion from contact with the basement floor cement. An aspirin would have been nice. Maybe two or three.

  I came to staring at the dim light bulb mounted above the door that Saunders used to come and go. It was located inside one of those metal-like cages. I was still prone and trying to allow my senses to return before I moved.

  Saunders was gone. I pulled myself to a seated position. My hands were chained in front of me and my feet were still bound by the plastic zip bands. Probably some technical name out there for those dreaded restraints, but whatever they are called officially, they were tight and I couldn’t break free.

  I surveyed the room once more. Everything seemed to be the same, except for a shiny object which caught my peripheral vision as I looked about. Since I was no longer secured to the pole, I slid my body over to the shiny object.

  An angel somewhere in the vicinity must have seen my dilemma and come by to aid me. Saunders had lost her keys when she jumped me while enraged. God bless irrational behavior. Daddy used to tell me more than once, if you want control, then stay controlled.

  Saunders broke Daddy’s rule.

  The first key failed to open the padlock. Naturally. The second key likewise failed me. Maybe it was a devilish angel who had happened by. I was beginning to lose heart. The third key renewed my faith in angelic beings despite the fact I had never seen one.

  My chains were gone. I took a moment to shake my wrists and enjoy the light weight once more. It felt good. I rolled over to my knees and pushed myself to a standing position. I hopped over to the workbench. I doubted that any of the keys could help free my legs from the zip straps.

  I searched the workbench quickly for some type of wire cutters. Nothing in sight.

  I spotted a red tool box at the end of the bench to my right so I hopped towards it while holding onto the workbench. I fumbled my way through the box, found some regular pliers and tried in vain to cut the plastic bands around my wrists. I grew tired from trying.

  I opened a couple of drawers but found nothing useful.

  Time was likely running out. It usually is in such circumstances. I figured that Saunders would come through the door any moment now. I was desperate to get free.

  As I opened the cabinet door underneath the red tool box, Saunders opened the room door and entered.

  “Looking for something helpful, Clancy Evans?”

  I saw a pair of scissors on the top shelf of the cabinet.

  “You bring me water?”

  She laughed as she walked towards me.

  With her gun in her right hand, she backhanded me across the face and I fell to the cement and against the opened cabinet door. I moved slightly to avoid the full impact of her blow. The barrel of her handgun caught the front of my nose. Pain. Then blood.

  I fell against the workbench but caught myself in time to avoid falling completely onto the hard floor. I wiped some blood from my nose. Then I turned sideways to see what Saunders might do next. She turned slightly as if thinking of her next move or some nasty remark to make as if her words would sting more than a gun barrel to my nose. I grabbed my nose with my index finger and thumb to stop the blood flow. It hurt too much to hold it like that, so I released it. I then tried the back of my hand pushing up against my nostrils. That hurt as well, but I kept it there to stem the red tide.

  “I try to be nice to you, give you some food before your execution, allow you some time to rest and prepare yourself. What do I get in return for all of my generosity? You snoop around and go through things that are none of your business. This is not your stuff. You are a meddlesome cu
r.”

  Saunders was still standing sideways to me with her eyes on the floor. It was as if there was a script down there and she was reading it.

  I used the time to wipe the blood from my mouth and chin. While she was continuing her uncontrolled rage against me, I grabbed the scissors from the shelf inside the cabinet while she was staring at the cement. I hid the scissors between my knees.

  She turned and faced me.

  “Have you no defense, no argument to offer me for your behavior? No snide remark? No quick barb or retort? No vain attempt at humor? Is the great Clancy Evans speechless? Here I was going to let you see Rosey and allow the two of you a moment or two together before the end. You deserve no such treatment now. I should never have trusted you. Never.”

  She appeared to be anxious or maybe just hyper. But whatever it was, it caused her to turn around and put her back to me. Perhaps she was thinking of what to say next or what to do. I have no idea what was in her crazy mind.

  I had a moment to react. I quickly cut the zip straps on my ankles.

  The scissors clicked when I severed the plastic bands. By the time she turned to look in my direction, I was on top of her. With the scissors securely held in my right hand, I hit her across the face with my right fist. The blow surprised her and she fell against a section of the stacked boxes which caused the pile to fall and cave in on her. I think her head hit the door. Some boxes fell on her face.

  Her gun was dislodged from her hand during my attack. I looked for it but didn’t see it immediately. She was frantically throwing boxes away from her body with both hands. I was desperately searching for the weapon but to no avail.

  I decided it was time to run. I moved rapidly to the door that Saunders had used in coming and going from my prison. A clever sleuth is always thinking of such things. I had no idea where that door would lead me, but it seemed to me the logical choice.

  Outside the door of my jail were stairs which I readily climbed quickly. I slammed the door. Then I heard Saunders yell. It was more like a blood-curdling scream, but it was a frightful sound that came from inside the chamber where she had fallen. Even behind the closed door it was rather loud. The woman had a set of lungs.

  I continued my hurried escape once I was upstairs in this strange place. Following nothing more than instincts and rapid visual confirmations, I found my way to the garage where I discovered two late model cars. The garage doors for the vehicles were on some kind of lock or timer, but I hurriedly found a normal side door on the backside of the garage and exited.

  I heard Saunders yelling some more and it sounded too close. When roused, she had a quite colorful repertoire of words. She was using words and phrases that would make many sailors blush. Colorful and inventive.

  Once outside of the garage, I surveyed my surroundings. Dense woods and no other discernible dwellings. I was able to get lost quickly in the foliage by the time Saunders was exiting the garage door behind me. I paused behind a thicket and could see her waving her handgun and cursing me with all she could muster. She turned the corner of the house and took several steps in the opposite direction from my location.

  It was my opportunity to get some distance between us. I moved as quickly and as quietly as I could away from her. Deeper and deeper into the woods. I looked back now and then to check the distance between us. I could hear her, but had no visual as to where she was.

  “I’ll settle with you for this, bitch! Make no mistake about it. I will find you and you will suffer. No more nice from me. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?”

  Saunders was straining to obtain the loudest possible yell. Effective. I heard every word and I was a good football field away from her, if not more.

  I kept running in order to gain distance. I had this fear of being shot. I had scissors as a weapon. She had a .45. Odds heavily favored Saunders. My only recourse was to get away and consider a scheme to find Rosey and get the two of us out. Alive.

  “You come back here you! Are listening to me? Your friend is dead. This little episode will cost him his life. I suggest you return now and suffer the consequences!”

  I stopped to rest and catch my breath. As I listened to her continued ranting and raving, that old line from Shakespeare about a woman scorned popped into my mind but my literary reference did not provide me with sufficient solace. I wanted to do nothing but put miles between Saunders and myself. I shook my head in disgust knowing that I had to go back. I had to find Rosey and get him out.

  As I was running away Saunders’ obscenities, I thought of Sam and I wondered where he was.

  Chapter 8

  It was nearly dark when the rain began falling. One can always count on November to deliver cold rains when you least desire it. The downpour put a real damper on my planning process. It was hard enough to think about mounting a plan to overcome a pathological murderer, but now the weather seemed to be against me. The woe-is-me syndrome was close.

  I tried to be positive as I circled the cabin from which I had escaped a few hours ago. I tried to maintain a good seventy-five yards as a radius. This permitted me to remain securely in the woods on the three sides of the house. The road and front were the fourth side. Each time I reached the exposed side of the house, I doubled back in case Saunders was ever vigilant in her hour of sadness at her recent loss – me. I was searching for a vantage point from which to surprise her. Most homeowners do not build their houses with the idea of protecting all four sides from some invading army or a single sniper. The cabin actually had weaknesses on three sides with the front of the house being the singular strong point.

  That being said, I decided to give Saunders enough credit to be vigilant on one of the three vulnerable sides, if not running back and forth with all three.

  The fast approaching darkness was not aiding my cause. Saunders had a fire going inside the cabin. I could see the smoke as well as smell it. She probably did this from spite just to aggravate my wet, damp, and cold situation. I love the mountains, but this is not the way to enjoy them.

  I waited for enough darkness in order to limit the odds of being shot. I had no idea what other weaponry Saunders had at her disposal, so I could take no chances. I clutched my scissors as if they were some precious weapon designed for this type of battle. I missed my gun terribly.

  At some point during my ever attentive surveillance of the cabin in the cold rain, I realized that I was shivering. The night air was cool and the thought of a warm fire chilled me even more. Finally it was dark enough to move closer to the enemy, so I left my perch next to an oak which had provided me cover for better part of an hour, maybe two. I moved towards the back corner of the cabin in non-rhythmic spurts in case I was being watched. This kept any potential watcher from getting a bead on my pattern. My incremental movements would fit well into my belief that Saunders was schizophrenic enough to be scurrying around the house, window to window, searching franticly for my exposure on her horizon. It was a nice illusion on my part, but it had no basis in reality. As maniacal as Saunders was, an image closer to the truth would have been one with her sitting in a rocking chair nursing a tall glass of bourbon with a semi-automatic in her lap as she patiently awaited my return. While I wanted to surprise her, my real hope was that I could avoid a bullet somewhere in my body. Cold and wet was enough for me at this juncture without adding blood loss from a gunshot wound.

  She had to know that I would return to help Rosey. Friendships can make one vulnerable and predictable.

  I made it safely to the corner near the garage door. There were two windows on this end, but neither of them offered me a view of anything except drawn curtains and a pulled down shade.

  Since Saunders would expect me to approach the house from the backside where it was darker, with fewer lights, and more places for me to hide, I decided to go around to the front. I crawled slowly onto the porch and edged along toward the door. There was a light on in the bay window next to the door.

  When I stood with my back against the wall next to the
front door, I heard a truck start up and then its lights came on. I jumped off the porch and lay prone in the wet grass. It was still raining, but not as hard as the previous few hours. The truck backed out of the driveway and onto the paved road in front of the cabin. The truck turned right out of the drive and took off. I could not see who was driving, but I assumed that Saunders had left. I had heard no other voices during my short stay, but I decided to play it safe and also assume that she might have an accomplice, or two.

  Back on the front porch once more, I looked through the window of the door but could only see a short hallway and small portions of two rooms. There were no other sounds except that of the rain falling on the roof and ground. The sound of the rain made me shiver. At least it was not falling on me at the moment.

  I made my way around to the back of the house searching for a window that allowed some vision inside. All of the windows at the back of the house were unusually high even for a five foot ten inch female detective. I found two cinder blocks and placed them on top of each other in order to peer inside.

  The room appeared to be empty. No persons, no furniture, nothing. Really empty.

  I circled back to the garage entrance and decided to take a chance. I was soaked and needed to find some momentary warmth. The dark garage provided me with enough shelter to eliminate one of nature’s elements. I nestled my shivering body into a corner and crouched behind some trash cans in case someone came along and switched on a light.

  I could think a bit clearer now that the rain was not beating down on me and I was a few degrees warmer. My body heat gradually increased as I nestled into my corner spot. I could think. I could plot yet another strategy.