Bad Bones (Claire Morgan)

by Linda Ladd

  “I am armed, you know. Highly trained, too.”

  “So are they. To the teeth, and with some heavy duty armament. I’m just waiting for them to make a deal with the Mexican cartel. It’s been slow in coming. That’s who we think they’re dealing with.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “They are not who they seem.”

  Her phone rang again. Black, this time. “Where the devil are you?” he said first off. “It’s nine o’clock at night. You’re an hour late. I’ve been waiting on dinner.”

  “I’m at my place. I’ve got a suspicious undercover ATF Fitch here with me, trying to convince me that he’s for real. I’ll be there in a little while. Don’t wait up.”

  “Well, make it quick. I’m hungry, and I am waiting up.”

  They hung up.

  “That your guy? Nick Black?”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about me.”

  “I looked you up in our database before I came down here.” He grinned.

  “Well, one thing I can say for you, McGowen. You make a very good dumb-as-a-stump hick.”

  “Thank you. It comes natural.”

  They smiled a little. Claire’s was reluctant. “You better get back up there before Big Daddy gets suspicious.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Is he gonna believe your story?”

  “Yeah, unless he had me followed. He has everybody followed who leaves that compound, but I’m usually the follower.”

  “You are playing some dangerous games, McGowen.”

  “Tell me about it. So, just a warning. You stay away from there and let me do my job. I’ll see if I can’t get something that will help your case. But you stay away or you’ll screw up my investigation. We got a deal?”

  “Sure. Then again I’m not making any promises. If I need to come out there, I’m coming. Got that? But do tell me one thing. Have you ever seen them put little kids in a fighting cage?”

  “Nope. The kids pretty much stay behind the women’s skirts. They’re all afraid of Harold. He’s hard on them if they get in his way. You know, the old children-should-not-be-seen-or-heard-or-anything-else philosophy.”

  “Just do me a favor. Bring that psycho bully down. Put him on his knees. You know, the old cut-off-the-head-and-Fitchville-will-die scenario.”

  “Precisely,” McGowen agreed.

  “Okay, keep me posted. Check in when you can and let me know what’s going on.” She gave him her cell phone number.

  McGowen said, “Oh, one more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Somebody’s pickin’ off people up there.”

  “Pickin’ them off, as in murdering them?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention that before now?”

  He ignored that. “They think it’s Bones Fitch. They signed him into a mental hospital a time back and now he has supposedly escaped. They think he’s out for revenge.”

  “Do you think it’s him?”

  “I don’t know. But this guy likes to ambush people when they’re alone out in the fields or orchards, and then he abducts them and beats them to death. Or just makes them disappear forever.”

  “Sounds familiar. How many?”

  “Five. So far. Since they say he got out.”

  “Do they think he also got to Blythe and Paulie?”

  He nodded. “They’re searching for him. They think he’s holed up somewhere in the hills and woods at the back of their property or their neighbor’s property. You know, they suspect he’s got some kind of a killing lair somewhere. He’s sort of a survivalist type, apparently, and can make his tracks disappear.”

  “A killing lair, you say?”

  “That’s right. So be careful if you plan any surveillance anywhere up around there. They say he moves stealthily and just pops up out of nowhere and puts you down before you can blink. He used to be a top-notch cage fighter, probably still is.”

  Claire sighed. “Well, now, didn’t everybody up there? But, hey, thanks for the warning. We’ll be careful.”

  “Good. I gotta go now. He’ll be waiting up for me to bring you in.”

  “You be careful. I’ve never seen so many nutcases in my life.”

  McGowen grinned. “Not to worry. I’m good at my job. You’ve seen me in action.”

  “You better be good at it.”

  After he took his leave, Claire called Black back and asked him if he would come over for the night, that the hot tub was just bubbling up with the need to entertain them. He said no problem, keep the motor running, he was on his way. She got undressed, kept her weapons handy, and slid down into the warm water, more than eager to see him, too. It was winter, and said hot tub was their best friend. She had had her fill of Fitches and Parkers and undercover agents and Russian mobsters and pretty much everyone and everything else in her life right now. Black was the only one who could take her mind off the dark and dreary so she wished he would hurry it up and get there already. Time to relax and have some fun, and it couldn’t come soon enough.

  Blood Brothers

  The night they were supposed to escape from the psychiatric hospital finally came. Thomas Landers took the key the doctor had given him and told Punk that he would come back for him as soon as he found the doctor and made sure that the coast was clear. But he didn’t come back for him. Neither one of them returned to help Punk get out. The bastards double-crossed him. He waited and waited, hoping that he was wrong, but he wasn’t. The doctor had never intended to take him along. Thomas had lied through his teeth, and then they were gone.

  For hours, Punk lay in his bed, filled up with white-hot anger, rage that was almost uncontrollable. He stayed alone in his room all night and thought about how he would hunt down the two of them and wring the life out of them with his bare hands. In the following days, he tried to hide his fury but couldn’t, and it erupted sometimes in the common room and then the doctors ordered him into restraints again. Then one day, he overheard the nurses talking about how Thomas and his doctor friend were both dead, one shot and one drowned in some river. He felt no pity, only pleasure that they got what they deserved for leaving him behind.

  That’s when his anger began to fade, and he started making new plans. He would escape by himself. If Thomas could do it, then he could, too. He would just wait and wait and be patient until the perfect moment came along and then he would do whatever it took to be free. Months passed before the opportunity presented itself. It happened about a month after the Christmas holidays, when a blizzard was burying the hospital grounds in snow and wind-whipped sleet. The staff was shorthanded because most of the nurses and orderlies couldn’t make it to work because of the icy roads. There was only one orderly left overnight to man Punk’s floor, so Punk jumped at his chance. He pretended to be ill and collapsed in the hallway right outside the room where the orderly was sitting at his desk. When the guy rushed out, Punk came at him so quick and hard with his right fist that the man went down, breathing shallowly and bleeding from the mouth. The corridor was quiet, all the other patients asleep, and Punk dragged the man out of sight, stripped him down, donned the white scrubs and snow boots, and bundled up in the hooded coat that hung on a hook behind the door. Then he took the guy’s gloves and money and ID badge and keys, unlocked the door that led to the main hospital corridor and stealthily made his way down through a dark and empty fire escape to a ground floor exit.

  Outside, the wind was billowing stinging sleet right at his face. He pulled his hood tighter and ducked his head against the swirling ice and headed straight for the parking lot, pressing the button on the key fob over and over until he finally saw interior lights come on in a late model white Jeep. He made his way through the deep snow, swept off the windshield as best he could, and then climbed inside, and drove slowly and carefully until he left the hospital road and turned onto the outside city street.

  Nobody was around anywhere, everything dark and deserted at such a late hour
and in such terrible weather conditions. He had no trouble with the ice, just a slight sideways slide of his wheels once in a while, but the Jeep handled well once he put it in four-wheel drive. He could not believe he was actually free, that nobody was chasing him down yet. The weather had brought everything in the city of Fulton to a standstill, except for him. It was very late by the time he found the interstate and drove on it west, headed back home, turning finally off onto the partially cleared state roads, which were lined with lots of jackknifed semis and cars stuck in ditches. The windshield wipers beat a hard cadence against the driving snow, but he drove the Jeep steadily along. Nobody stopped him, not even at car crashes, where Missouri Highway patrolmen just motioned him past them with their flashlights. It took him nearly all night but he finally reached the narrow gravel road that led up through the woods to the back of his pa’s farm.

  When at last the old family farmhouse came into sight, he parked outside, very eager to see Bones again. Once inside the house, he stopped in his tracks and stared down at the corpse lying on the living room floor. It looked like the body had been dead for a long time. Shocked, Punk put his hand over his nose and mouth to block the putrid smell. The telephone was on the floor, too, the cord jerked from the wall. Frowning, he studied the dead man. It wasn’t Bones, thank God. It looked like it was his oldest brother, maybe. The arms and legs were fixed in death at impossible angles, probably most of the bones broken. That’s when he knew that Bones had killed their own brother, just like he had killed their own pa.

  “Well, hello there, Punk.”

  Bones’s voice came out of nowhere, and Punk spun around and saw his twin brother standing halfway up the stairs. He was grinning down at him.

  “You did this,” Punk accused him, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

  “Yeah, I sure did. So what?”

  “So he’s our own blood. Why’d you do it? What’d he do to you?”

  “He was upset that I killed Pa and took over out here. He was gettin’ ready to call the cops. I had to do it. I was protectin’ you, too, bro. We both would’ve ended up in jail.”

  “Why didn’t you drag him outta here? When did you kill him, anyways? Looks like he’s been laying right there for a long time.”

  “That’s right. I did him about the time you went sniffin’ after that damn pasty-assed girl next door. Smell don’t bother me none, and it keeps our other brothers scared shitless. They all moved out of here right after I did him. They got them a big house trailer just down the road, but don’t you worry none, they aren’t gonna say nothin’ about me killin’ him or I’ll kill them, too. They aren’t gonna say nothin’ about nothin’ unless I tell ’em to. I got ’em lyin’ about us to those damn doctors that keep comin’ around, asking nosy questions about you and me.”

  Punk was still thinking about his girl. “She’s not a damn pasty-assed girl. You take that back.”

  “I ain’t takin’ nothin’ back. And that’s what you say now. Wait’ll you hear what she’s been up to since you been locked up inside that hospital.”

  Anger gushed through him. “Okay, Bones, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Wanna know what I saw after they took you away that day?”

  “You stayed around and spied on them?”

  “That’s right. I sure did. I saw everything, too.”

  “How is she then? Is she all right? Tell me where she is. I gotta go see her. It’s been a long time. She’s gonna be worried ’bout me.”

  Bones laughed. “Better sit down, bro. You ain’t gonna like this. No way in hell are you gonna like this.”

  “Just tell me where she is, damn it!”

  Punk watched Bones sprawl down on the couch, very near their rotting brother. The smell was stomach turning, probably left over from the body fluids soaked down into the carpet. Punk gagged a bit and then covered his nose and mouth again.

  “I creeped around her house some, Punk, that’s how I got the scoop.”

  On edge and shaking with anger, Punk waited. He knew good and well that the more he begged and demanded Bones to tell him, the longer Bones would make him wait. Bones was just ornery that way. “Never you mind then. Keep it to yourself. I’ll just go over there and find her for myself.”

  “Wouldn’t advise that, Punk. They already got it out on the tube that you escaped from the crazy house. Heard it on my police band radio about an hour ago. They found that orderly you beat up and now everybody’s lookin’ for you. Our pretty face will be plastered all over the news by sunup. Good thing I’ve been hiding out at the mine shaft, or they’d of picked me up already.”

  Punk just stood there and tried to think what he should do. He felt like throttling Bones, and that would be good enough for the jerk. He hadn’t changed at all.

  Bones was still grinning, all relaxed and comfortable. “Okay, if you gotta know so quick, she done went and got hitched again.”

  “No, she did not. You’re lyin’, Bones.”

  “Oh, yeah, she sure did, too. And get this, Punk. She lived over there in St. Louis with that new husband of hers for a time and then she just up and ran off and shacked up with one of our own brothers.”

  Punk felt unable to breathe. Like his world had come to an end. “No, she did not. You’re lying to me, Bones. She’d never do that. Never, ever. She’d wait for me. She always said she only wanted me.”

  “Ain’t lyin’, bro, cross my heart and hope to die. But I got some good news for you, too. Our dear brother who is now screwin’ your own little true love is gonna be fightin’ tonight down at the Lake Inn. We can get him there, easy as pie. You know, wait ’til after the fight, when he’s tired and won’t have much left in him. He’s pretty good now, but not against the both of us, and I’ll help you put ’im down. Never liked that kid, anyways, and I haven’t got to break all that many bones since you left. Had to lay low and such.” Bones laughed and started cracking his knuckles because he’d always liked the sound of that, too.

  “You been stayin’ here? With that?” Punk looked down at what used to be his older brother.

  “Nah, not so much in here. I’ve been livin’ out at my new hideout in the mine shaft mostly. Especially since the snow started up. Got it fixed up pretty good, too, nice and warm. Nobody can find us out there.”

  “Okay, c’mon, let’s get outta here. We gotta make us some plans.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Before noon the next day, Claire and Bud were back out in boondock paradise checking out some of the less crazy neighbors of the two feuding clans. She had a bad feeling that every single person with a functioning brain stem residing in the immediate feud vicinity hated all Fitchvillers and Parkervites worse than the proverbial poison dart, each and every single one. Thus, they would probably unload upon inquiring detectives any ill will and incriminating details about their nutty neighbors with gleeful alacrity. So they drove past Fitchville’s newly repaired and reinforced entrance gate and passed the place where they had first trekked through the deep snow and spied on the quaint quasi-village/hillbilly cult. They passed a trailer park that sat across the road, but it looked deserted so they decided to have patrol cars canvas that area while they concentrated on the neighbor whose property abutted the two feuding families. When they found a road leading off to the left, they followed it and found the gravel in fairly good repair and partially scraped of snow. So they bounced and jounced along, Bud telling her about his latest romantic phone call from Brianna. At least they did until they heard a barrage of gunfire coming from the direction in which they were headed.

  Bud cut his love story short and accelerated until they swung around a thick stand of pine trees and a large two-story, white clapboard farmhouse came into sight at the end of the road. They slowed to a stop and peered out over the seemingly innocent-looking place, until they heard more gunshots coming from somewhere behind the house and then echoing down through the woods. Drawing their weapons, they got out together and stealthily made their way up the snow-slick f
ront yard, where they found a couple of vans parked out front and a few more shots ringing out in the cold and crisp air, definitely emanating from out back. Claire gripped her new 9mm a little tighter and took the right side of the house, while Bud crept around the other side. She inched slowly up to the rear corner, where she could just glimpse the woman standing out in the backyard.

  Fortunately, she was facing away from Claire. Unfortunately, she was holding a huge .357 magnum in both hands, and keeping a steady bead on the six people stretched out at her feet, spread-eagled belly down in the snow. The woman suddenly cried out in a loud voice that brooked no funny business, “Hear me good, people! Do not move a muscle or I’ll shoot you. And don’t think I won’t. Do exactly what I say or you are gonna be dead.”

  Okay, that was enough for Claire. She stepped out behind the woman, her own weapon out front and aimed dead-center on the woman’s back. “Drop it, lady! Now! Drop your gun!”

  The woman froze where she stood, and then slowly turned her head around until she could see Claire. Then before Claire could blink, the other woman spun and crouched low, her giant weapon focused on Claire’s chest. “Don’t think so. I don’t disarm for anybody. So you drop it, lady, or I’ll shoot you. You hear me? I am a very good shot, and this gun will blow a hole the size of Montana through your lungs.”

  Okay, now. Claire stared at the woman, but she kept her weapon right where it was. She wasn’t known for disarming herself, either. The woman holding the gun on her was tall and striking, gorgeous, really, and young, probably in her thirties, long silky black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but her eyes were green, sorta like pure Chinese jade green, unwavering, unafraid, and definitely harboring nothing but business. Claire decided to go official.

  “I am a police officer. I said drop that gun!” Claire kept her own weapon on target and unwavering.

  Luckily, Bud decided to show up, and not a minute too soon, either. The situation was sticky, to be sure, and Claire was very glad she had brought him along to have her back. Standing against a .357 was never a good thing. Bud moved out of his cover at the other end of the house, weapon extended and pointed at Vivid Green Eyes. “No, you drop that gun, lady, just like my partner said, and nobody’ll get hurt,” That was growled in Bud’s most intimidating voice, and Claire welcomed the gruff menace as a step in the right direction.