Three Sides of the Tracks

by Mike Addington

  Slink backed the Barracuda as close to the church steps as possible. “Y’all wait here a minute,” he said and hopped out.

  He opened one of the church doors a crack and looked in. Not seeing anyone, he went inside, mask tucked into the back of his jeans.

  The doors to the congregation were open, and he could see the last few rows of pews. Full of people. He scurried to the far wall so he would be out of sight and listened. The preacher was making some announcements. He’d be asking for the donations next.

  Slink hurried back across the foyer and out to the car. “Y’all come on in, but don’t put your masks on yet. Just ease in the door and walk across the foyer with your heads down then flatten against the wall and put on your masks. We can hear them taking up the plates. I’ll know when to move.

  “If they come out to the foyer, we’ll handle it one way, quiet like, but, if they stop at the last row, I’ll say go, and, Smurf, you and Whitey go down the right aisle, and I’ll go to the left. Soon as you hit the doorway, grab the guy holding the trays and drag him back out to the foyer.

  “Smurf, you do that and let Whitey cover you. Whitey, people are going to look around now, so you stay cool. Yell as loud as you can that this is a hold up, and you’ll shoot the first sonabitch that moves. If anybody does, fire one shot from that shotgun toward the ceiling.” Slink grinned. “That’ll get ‘em back in their seats fast enough. Y’all got that?”

  “Hell, yes,” Smurf said and Whitey nodded.

  The three hoodlums hurried inside and flattened against the wall.

  Slink listened but didn’t hear anything. They’re already taking up the collection, he realized when he heard the piano playing but no talking.

  “Put your masks on, quick.”

  Slink realized the flaw in his plan. He couldn’t tell when the ushers were at the back rows unless he himself was in view of the people in the back rows. He listened intently and heard soft thank you’s and the slight sound of a watch or ring hitting the metal rim of the collection plate. The ushers were close.

  A scream reverberated around the church.

  Slink stepped into the aisle and swung the heavy pistol against the closest usher’s face—one who wasn’t holding the plate.

  “Get over here and dump that into this bag,” he told a heavy-set man in his forties.

  The man froze.

  Slink took the three steps in half a second. He grabbed the brass plate from the man’s hands then backhanded him with the butt of the pistol. The man sank to his knees, blood gushing between his fingers.

  Men at the front of the church headed down the aisle. Slink fired a shot inches over their heads, and they fell to the floor.

  “Freeze, don’t you move,” said a voice behind him.

  Slink crouched and turned all in one motion. The .45 exploded, and the off-duty Georgia Bureau of Investigation detective flopped like a puppet on a string as he was lifted off the floor and thrown backwards by the heavy slug.

  Slink twirled quickly and fired another shot into the side of a booth, just to put fear into any others who might feel brave.

  “I know him; they call him Slink,” a man a few aisles away unwisely murmured to his wife. “I can tell by his walk.”

  Slink’s head snapped around. “Well, I guess you win the prize.” He strode toward the man, who cowered against the seat and raised his hands over his head.

  “Think you’re smart, huh?” Slink muttered then shot the man in the thigh.

  “How you like that prize?”

  Slink wheeled and headed toward the door. His eyes searched the pews. Now that he was recognized, he needed a hostage.

  That bitch who screamed would do . . . and her friend. Two would be better than one in case it came to negotiations.

  Slink twisted the end of the plastic bag around his wrist and grabbed a handful of the young woman’s hair, jerked her out of the pew and threw her toward the foyer. He reached for her friend.

  The woman slapped his hand away. “I’m coming. You don’t have to tear my hair out.”

  “Get your ass moving then.”

  “Any of you sonabitches try following us, I’ll kill both these bitches,” he said. “Y’all sit back down and don’t be no heroes. These ladies,” he said sarcastically, “will be left on the steps when we take off.

  “Sit down, I said,” Slink yelled and fired another shot from the heavy pistol.

  Whitey’s shotgun boomed, and the congregation dived under their seats.

  “That’s better. Do what I said, and don’t make me shoot nobody else.”

  Slink shoved the young woman into the foyer, took one last look down the aisle, and glanced over at Smurf and Whitey.

  Smurf held up a plastic bag to indicate he had the money.

  Whitey pointed the shotgun at the huge vase of flowers in front of the pulpit and pulled the trigger. The boom roared through the church as shards of ceramic and flower stems and petals showered the congregation.

  Once at the foyer, the group ran for the car. Slink pushed the heavy outer doors shut and jammed rocks underneath both doors.

  “Get in back, Smurf, and keep them bitches quiet.”

  Slink pushed the first girl, Brandy Drewry, in the backseat.

  The other girl glowered at him and followed her friend.

  Brandy’s face was ghostly white. Her body trembled, and she clutched her friend. “Oh my goodness, Caroline, what are they going to do to us?”

  11

  Surprise

  The door, doorframe, and part of the surrounding wall shattered, and the SWAT team swarmed into the dark house. Dots of light roved over the walls as the guns swept the room looking for a target. Team members protected themselves by leap frogging each other as they went from room to room.

  A lamp came on, but, just as it did, the men burst into the room shouting “down, down, down.”

  Wakened from a deep sleep, Danny raised his hands and lay still.

  Rough hands grabbed his hair and dragged him onto the floor.

  “What the heck’s wrong with you guys?” Danny yelled.

  A boot came down heavy on his back. “Keep your mouth shut. You have any guns?”

  “Which one is it? Keep my mouth shut or have any guns?”

  The boot raised then stomped Danny’s back.

  “Where you keep your guns, smart ass?’

  Danny stayed silent.

  Not Belinda: “Get out of my house,” Danny heard her shout.

  Danny watched the men throw clothes, baseball gloves and bats, and everything else out of his closet. Gloved hands swept across the closet shelf sending a cascade of sports trophies, framed pictures, and model airplanes he’d built as a kid crashing to the floor.

  A policeman lifted the mattress and slung it off the bed then did the same with the box springs.

  “Maybe if y’all would . . .”

  “Shut up.”

  Drawers were pulled out and turned upside down then the cabinet overturned.

  The SWAT team leader pointed to two of the men, “Check the rest of the house. There’s guns here somewhere.”

  “Ain’t no damn guns in this house, I’m telling you,” Danny yelled, now enraged.

  “Where’d you stash them then? You got a lot of nerve coming back here after what you and those scum did.”

  Danny frowned and twisted his neck to look up. “What kind of lies did that Pakistani tell you? He must have a big imagination.”

  “Pakistani, my ass,” Captain Haynes said. “Don’t play dumb, boy. I doubt many Pakistanis go to a Methodist church. If one did, I bet that’d be the last time too. After what y’all done.”

  The frown vanished. “Y’all who? What in the world are you talking about?”

  The captain’s open palm slapped Danny hard enough to twist his neck and slam his face into the oak floor. “Robbing a church, boy; that’s what I’m talking about, as you damn well know. Hell, you weren’t even smart enough or have enough time to take off your clothes.
Guess you didn’t figure we’d know about you since you stayed outside with the car.”

  Danny looked down at his blue jeans. “Going to bed with clothes on brings a SWAT team?” he said with a mock serious expression. “I was reading an Aitch Embee book and fell asleep. Does that solve your mystery, Sherlock? And I sure didn’t rob a church. That’s crazy. Who would—?”

  “Uh huh. Well, unless Aitch Embee can alibi for you, you’re gonna have a lot of time to read his books. Hold out your hands. You’re under arrest for armed robbery, attempted murder, and kidnapping.

  “Put the cuffs on him, Walter.”

  Walter jerked Danny’s hands together and put the handcuffs on. The handcuffs clicked until the meat of Danny’s wrist stopped them.

  “Damn it, you trying to break my wrist?” Danny bellowed, as the cuffs cut into his flesh.

  Walter pulled him up by the cuffs causing the metal to cut deeper. Blood dripped onto the floor. “How’s that feel? Better? You low-down shit,” Walter goaded.

  Danny leaned forward at the waist then threw his torso backwards. The back of his head slammed into Walter’s nose. Walter almost went down.

  Fists pummeled Danny from every angle. Nightsticks cracked against his head. Boots stomped his stomach, back, legs.

  Danny sank to the floor, and the beating continued until the captain called them off.

  “Okay, boys. We need a body to take in. That’s enough . . . for now anyways.”

  Danny lay still, trying to breath. He hurt all over. Hurt bad. Worse than anything he remembered.

  Belinda tried to get into the room, but a cop stopped her at the doorway.

  “Can’t come in here, ma’am. This here’s a crime scene.”

  “Crime scene, my hind foot. Y’all are going to pay for this. I promise you that.”

  “Now, ma’am, your little darling robbed a church tonight. Shot two people and took two young girls off. I wouldn’t expect much sympathy if I were you. In fact, I’d be thinking twice about showing my own face . . . if I were you,” Captain Haynes said with a sneer.

  The blood left Belinda’s face. “A church. What church? Danny hasn’t robbed any church.”

  “We got plenty witnesses, ma’am. Just go on back in your room and lie down. You don’t look too good,” the captain said.

  Belinda opened her mouth, but no words came out. She turned slowly and stumbled back to her bedroom. She heard the commotion as the entourage left the house.

  Who should she call? Who could she call? A church. Danny couldn’t have been involved in anything like that, but the police seemed awfully sure. But then, weren’t they always.

  Finally, Belinda roused herself and apprehensively dialed the number. A woman answered.

  “Angela, this is Belinda Taylor, umm, Hathaway,” she said, her voice quivering so much that she could hardly pronounce the words. “I have to talk to Martin. I’m sorry to call, but . . . he . . . he’s the only person I can call.”

  Angela heard the quivering voice and also the despair in Belinda’s voice. “I’ll get him right away, Belinda. Hold the phone.”

  “Belinda, Belinda, what’s the matter? What’s happened? Are you okay?” Martin asked.

  Her words rushed out. “Oh, Martin, Martin, police stormed into the house and took Danny. They beat him something terrible before they dragged him off. They say he robbed a church and took some girls. He couldn’t have because he was home with me. He came in around five, five-thirty, and didn’t go back out. Martin, I’m so afraid.”

  “I’ll go down there right now. There won’t be any more beatings, I can guarantee you that,” Martin said, feeling his face getting hot. “Just take it easy. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m quite sure he hasn’t robbed any church. I’ll have him home for you as soon as I can. Okay?”

  “Oh, Martin, thank you, thank you, thank you. And . . . tell Angela I said thank you very much. She was kind not to ask any questions,” Belinda said, struggling to keep the host of emotions from overwhelming her.

  “I’ll tell her. See you soon. Hold it together till I get there. I promise you things will be a whole lot better than they are now. Okay?”

  “All right. I will.”

  12

  Confrontation

  Martin threw on khaki pants and a silk golf shirt while relaying Belinda’s message and the story of Danny’s arrest.

  “I’ve heard some insane stories in my life, but I think this one takes the cake,” Angela said.

  Martin paused and put his hands on Angela’s shoulders. “It gets worse. I was hoping for a more opportune time, but I’m sure you’re wondering why I’d get involved in all this. I found out a few days ago that Danny’s my son. It happened before you and I married, and, well, I just found out myself a few days ago. For sure, that is. I don’t want you to think I’ve been keeping it secret all these years.”

  Angela’s mouth was wide open and her eyes big as plums. She stared for what seemed an eternity then just waved a hand for Martin to leave.

  Martin kissed her on the cheek on his way out. “I’m sorry about all this,” he whispered.

  * * *

  The front door of the police station banged against the wall, the doorknob punching a hole in the sheetrock.

  Policemen gathered around the desk sergeant’s counter jumped. A few hands moved toward their pistols.

  Martin glared at each officer in turn as he strode to the counter.

  All of them dropped their eyes, except the desk sergeant.

  “I won’t bother telling you how big the lawsuit is going to be that will include any of you personally involved in beating and arresting Danny Taylor. For now, I want to see him.”

  “You can’t see him. No visitors,” the desk sergeant said with a slight sneer. The extent to which he’d confront Martin Townsend went only so far.

  Martin’s hand banged the counter. “Get off your ass and go get Danny Taylor. I’m his lawyer.”

  “You’re not a lawyer.”

  “If I have to go home and get my diploma from Duke University School of Law, you’re going to have more sleepless nights than you can count, although I doubt your ability to count very high.”

  “You’re a lawyer? I thought you were a banker.”

  Martin leaned across the counter, his face inches from the desk sergeant’s. “Get Danny Taylor.”

  The sergeant’s face was a collage of confusion as he fumbled for the cell keys. He rose and headed for the cells.

  Angela’s shock at Martin’s news didn’t come close to the disbelief on Martin’s face when he saw Danny. He barely recognized him as he shuffled toward the interview room, scarcely able to walk from the kicks to his legs and back. Martin heard wheezing when Danny breathed, obviously caused by broken ribs and bruised chest.

  “Call an ambulance,” Martin shouted at the desk sergeant.

  “I can’t . . .”

  Martin pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. The operator hesitated for a moment when she heard the location but continued when Martin said, “This is Martin Townsend the third.”

  Martin put his arm around Danny and helped him onto a chair. “It’ll be all right, son. This won’t ever happen again. You have my word on that. And most of these assholes won’t have a job tomorrow. I promise you that too.”

  Danny could only nod.

  Martin dialed 411 and got the number for Nancy Gresham, a reporter for the Benton Daily News.

  “Nancy, this is Martin Townsend. Get down to the police station. And make sure to bring your camera.”

  There was a pause. “On my way.”

  Frightened for his job, the desk sergeant stepped forward. “Now, you just wait a minute, counselor, or whatever you are. You can’t come barging in here like you’re the president, telling us what to do. I’m taking this one back to his cell, and that’s the end of that.”

  Martin squared up. “Then you’re going to have to beat the hell out of me first because the only way you’re getting to him is thro
ugh me.”

  Martin pulled out his cell phone again, and, this time, he speed dialed. “Bart, get your butt down to the police station. I’m here, and there’s something you’d better see for yourself; otherwise, you might not be the D.A. in the next election, or sooner if something isn’t done.”

  “What? It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Martin hung up.

  Paramedics strode purposely into the building.

  Sergeant Lovett just waved toward the interview room.

  The man and woman team nodded to Martin, took one look at Danny and began examining him. His short breaths were most noticeable. “Your chest hurt?”

  “Some. Mostly right here,” he said pointing at his right rib cage.

  The woman felt his chest till Danny flinched then softened her touch and examined the ribs. “I don’t feel a break but you need x-rays to be sure. Doesn’t really matter. Not much they do for them anyway unless it’s really bad, which these are not. I think just bruised but still pretty painful, huh?”

  Danny nodded.

  She pulled a prefilled syringe from her treatment kit. “I can give you something to help with the pain, but you’ll have to see a doctor for anything stronger. These abrasions will heal better if I don’t bandage them. Let the air get to them,” she said. “Other than the ribs and bruised muscles, you’ll live, although not very well for a few days. You want to go to the hospital for x-rays?”

  “Not really.”

  “If you start feeling dizzy, get someone to drive you to the emergency room, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She patted his leg, nodded at Martin and the two paramedics walked down the hallway.

  About that time, Nancy Gresham popped in the door.

  Martin heard a disturbance and stepped out of the interview room.

  Three policemen blocked the hallway. “Not tonight, Ms. Gresham. You can put your camera back in the car. Look at the booking ledger if you like, but no pictures and no interviews,” the sergeant said.

  “You know what freedom of the press is, sonny boy?” Nancy said. “You better get outta my way or you’re gonna have a civil rights law suit on your hands.”