Willie pulled the collar of his shirt low. Half a dozen bloody little slits cut into Willie’s skin. Not the first time she’d seen him hurt. When she was younger, he’d show up in town with cuts and bruises all over him. Mom said he used to be a sweet kid. Halle almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Then,” Willie continued, “he said if I didn’t do it, he would be the one doing the raping and the cutting. He said, ‘Better if it comes from you, Willie. She might take it better coming from you.’ What a mess.”
Halle got up from the bed, full blown panic surging through her. Escape. She had to. She ran her eyes over the window panes to the ground below. Maybe if she flung herself through the glass she’d break her neck on the patio. If not, maybe she could slash her wrists with the broken glass. Both options sounded better than what Shane planned for her.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be, Halle,” Willie continued. “I wasn’t plannin’ on making a career out of selling meth and being stuck in this town. Just tryin’ to make a little cash and get the hell out of dodge. Make a legit life somewhere. I even thought for a bit I could do it with you. Pretty stupid, huh?”
A figure came up the steps from the dock, and it wasn’t the mullet-head that had been there all day leering at her. The new guy limped a bit, big with cropped hair, jeans and a plain dark T-shirt. He slowed as he approached the patio, scanning for anyone nearby, a pistol aimed, ready to shoot. When he broke the plane of the patio's light, he looked up to her. His face broke into a smile, not a creepy one like the mullet-head’s, but a genuine one. She recognized something familiar about it even though she’d never seen him before.
“Tried to get Shane to let you come with me to Kansas City. I said I’d keep you under control, but he knew that wasn’t gonna work.”
The man outside checked his watch, pointed to it and raised two fingers in the air. He mouthed the words “two minutes,” exaggerating so she saw it. This guy wasn’t part of Shane’s crew, but there to help her. He disappeared below. Two minutes. She didn’t know what in the hell would happen in two minutes, but for the first time since those animals grabbed her, optimism flashed.
“So, I don’t know what the hell to do. I don’t see any way out of this, Halle.”
Halle spun from the window, trying to suppress the smile cropping up on her face. It disappeared at the sight of Willie moving toward her with a knife in his hand.
#
The back door slid open, and Jake crept into a rec room. A long hallway led to several rooms with closed doors. A wet-bar held several half-empty bottles of Crown Royal and Jack Daniels along with a smattering of crushed beer cans. A long leather couch lay empty in front of a big screen, ironically playing one of his favorite movies of all time: Unforgiven. On the screen, the Schofield Kid sat on the ground, knees drawn up in front of him, drinking whiskey from a bottle, contemplating the man he assassinated. As Jake passed the pool table heading for a stairway leading up, the Schofield Kid tried to justify his actions, saying to Clint Eastwood, “Well, I guess he had it comin’.” Jake whispered the comeback line along with old Iron Clint. “We all got it comin’, kid.” That’s goddamn right.
He snaked up the stairs, the Glock raised in front of him, afraid of what would happen if someone came bounding down. If he fired a shot, it would raise hell and put Halle in danger. If Bear kept to his timetable, he and his crew would be storming the castle any minute now. He’d rather be in the room with Halle keeping her safe than wondering about her when the bullets started flying.
After a moment of contemplation, he continued his ascent. Halle’s room sat above the rec room. With any luck, he’d be able to slip in undetected and protect her. At the top of the stairs he paused. Voices murmured from the closed door to Halle’s room twenty feet away. With his gun trained in the direction of the voices, Jake crept with his free hand running along the wall. Through the door, Halle spoke and relief washed over him. His hand gripped the doorknob when the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against his temple. A large black mass moved out of the darkness of a hallway he hadn’t noticed. Antonio.
“Drop the gun,” Antonio said. He pushed the barrel harder into Jake’s temple, shoving his head into the wall. He should’ve listened to Bear and waited. Jake dropped the gun.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Willie advanced with the knife in hand. Halle backed up against the dresser, reaching for anything she could use as a weapon, but came up with nothing but a doily, like the ones her grandmother used to knit. Not helpful.
“I’m sorry, Halle,” Willie said. “I don’t wanna do this, but if I don’t Shane is going to kill us both.”
“You don’t want to do this, Willie. You’re not a killer.” Where the hell was the stranger on the porch? Outside the door, something clunked on the floor. “Listen to me, people are coming here to rescue me. I saw one of them coming through the back. It’s not too late to stop this.”
Willie stepped closer, raising the knife. “Nice try. I got two minutes. That’s all. Nobody’s coming.”
Two minutes. The clock on the dresser. Halle spun, grabbed the cord and yanked it from the wall. She held the cord in both hands and swung the clock in an ever vicious circle. Willie took a cautious step back, holding the knife and his free hand in front of his chest.
“What the hell…” he said before Halle lunged. The clock caught him square in the temple. Willie crashed backward into the door and bounced to the ground. The knife flew from his hand, and Halle dove for it.
#
“So who the fuck are you?” Antonio asked, the barrel of the gun biting into Jake’s forehead.
“The Schwan’s man,” Jake said. “Didn’t you guys place an order?”
“Comedian, huh?” Antonio kicked Jake’s Glock down the hall. Apparently the man had no sense of humor. “Let’s go talk to the boss.”
He grasped Jake’s shoulder as something smashed into the door behind them. Halle’s room. Antonio startled and Jake rammed his elbow back with all his might, connecting with Antonio’s nose. Before the bones could stop crunching, Jake buried his shoulder into the man’s chest, driving him backward. They both hit the wall at the end of the hall and crashed to the floor. Jake swung his knee up as hard as he could, landing so solidly with the man’s chin that his leg went numb.
He crawled down the hall, dragging his numb leg behind him, going for his gun. He reached for it. A pair of black cowboy boots stopped in front of him, the right one resting squarely on his Glock. He rolled over on to his back. Shane Langston regarded him with his black, marble eyes and a gun big enough to make Dirty Harry cry with jealousy.
“Who the fuck are you?” Shane asked. The question of the day.
#
The Drug Enforcement Tactical Strike Team leading the charge on Langston’s house was short a few men. Bear surmised the eight they had would have to do.
By flashlights on the hood of Jake’s truck, Bear drew a rough map of the house and surrounding land. Three agents would enter from the left side and back. Two others on the right side through the woods. Bear, Team Leader James Rouse and Agent Lonnie Hashagen would tear through the front gate. They planned a synchronized hit on the house with a mix of flash bangs and tear gas. Bear described Jake so the team wouldn’t take him out.
Agent Hashagen led the charge, floating through the woods like a ghost and tasering the guard at the gate. He reached into the guard’s SUV and found a button opening the gate. As he secured the guard with thick zip ties, Bear rolled the truck forward with the lights dark, using the scarce moonlight to navigate the quick drive to the house. Hashagen hopped on the tailgate and rode the truck.
“So far, so good,” Rouse called into his collar mic. “Team A approaching the front of the house.” He got call backs saying the other two teams were in place and ready.
“We’ve been waiting a long time for this, Jimmy,” Bear said.
“Let’s not mess it up. Everyone gets out alive.”
They climbed out of the truck. Hashag
en grabbed the ram to bust through the front door and took his position. Bear and Rouse crouched ready.
Rouse hit his collar mic again. “Move in.”
#
Hashagen busted the front door wide open with the ram. Rouse tossed in a couple of flash bang grenades, which erupted in sound and blinding light. Following the toss, Bear and Rouse charged through. The next sixty seconds were a chaotic mass of screams and gunfire. Bear tackled one of Langston’s staggering men in the living room. Rouse dropped another with two well-placed shots to the chest when the man grabbed a shotgun off the dining room table. Bear quickly zip-tied his man and scrambled to his feet, moving room to room to find Jake and Halle.
#
Jake opened his mouth to provide a smart-ass answer to Shane’s question when the front door exploded. Shane whirled at the sound in time to catch a face full of light from the flash bang. He collapsed against the wall, hands on his eyes. Quickly gaining his composure, he darted for the stairwell. With bulbs of light dancing in his eyes, Jake rolled over and grabbed his gun, swinging it toward the stairwell in time to glimpse the back of Shane’s shirt. Shaking the cobwebs, he started to climb to his feet when Antonio tackled him from behind. He crashed to the ground under Antonio’s immense weight, the behemoth raining blows on the back of his head. The next punch bounced Jake’s forehead off the hardwood floor and black spots of looming unconsciousness appeared. Jake bucked, gaining some room and tried to get to his feet, sweeping the floor with his hands to find his gun. Antonio slammed him back to the ground, straddled him and pointed the Glock at Jake’s head.
“You a dead motherfu…” Antonio said before his face exploded. One minute a triumphant snarl, the next a crimson wreckage. The giant swayed and toppled off to the side. Jake pulled his legs out and craned his neck to see Bear in a shooter’s stance in the hallway holding a smoking gun.
“Thanks,” Jake managed. Bear ran over and helped Jake to his feet. Jake grabbed his Glock from Antonio’s dead hand.
“Halle?”
“In here,” Jake replied. They flung the door wide. Halle hovered over Willie wielding a large knife. Willie cowered in the corner, his legs drawn to his chest and hands raised in the air, blood oozing from the side of his face.
“Halle?” Jake asked.
Tears sprang forth from her baby blue eyes. The knife shaking in her hand.
“He was going to kill me,” she said. Jake slid the Glock into his waistband and gently took the knife from her.
Bear yanked Willie to his feet and cuffed him. “You’re under arrest, needle dick.”
“He was going to kill me,” Halle repeated, in shock. At last, the tears flowed and her shoulders shook. She moved to Jake and he held his daughter for the first time. Pangs of regret filled him that he’d missed sixteen years of doing this. Now wasn't the time. He focused on the moment. After a minute, she seemed to calm down.
“It’s okay, Halle,” Jake said.
She pulled back, her eyebrows furrowed. “Who are you?”
“It’s a long story.”
Agent Rouse entered the room, a bloody hole in his shoulder, leaning against the wall for support. “House is clear, but I can’t find Pater and there’s no sign of Langston.”
“Pater on the rear entry team?” Bear asked. Rouse nodded.
Out the back window by the dock, a muzzle sparked twice in the darkness along with the distinctive pops of a handgun.
“Langston went down the stairs,” Jake said.
“Come on.” Bear bolted out the door.
“Stay with this man, Halle,” Jake said, nodding to Agent Rouse. “I’ll be back.”
He followed Bear out the door and down the stairs. They’d no sooner hit the patio before a boat motor roared to life from the boathouse. Seconds later, the Regal Sport Coupe shot on to the lake speeding northeast across the black water. Langston was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“Son of a bitch!” Bear screamed as Shane tore away across the lake. A form lay crumpled on the ground by the boathouse. Jake tugged Bear by the sleeve and ran down the steps. The black-clad agent was dead—shot once in the chest and once in the throat. His gun missing.
“Pater,” Bear said, baring his teeth. “Had a wife and two kids.”
“What now?”
“I’m going to get that little fucker,” Bear said, the anger radiating off him in a red wave.
“How? You swimming after him?”
Bear’s eyes darted around for a moment, then smacked Jake on the arm. “My brother-in-law. Roy’s got a boat. Come on.”
They ran up the hill and into Jake’s truck, Bear behind the wheel since he knew where they were going. Jake pulled out his phone and groaned at the spiderweb of cracks in the glass face. Probably happened when Antonio landed on top of him. He worked his way around the cracks and tried to call Maggie to let her know Halle was safe, but she didn’t answer her phone. He redialed the number and got her voicemail again. Jake wanted nothing more than to take Halle there himself, but they had to take Langston down.
Back on M, they headed east, Bear gunning the truck too hard and spinning them out on the blacktop. He flew a couple hundred yards to the east and swung into the Dell’s driveway where they’d made their original entry hours earlier. Bear jumped out and ran to the house with Jake close behind.
“What the hell are we doing? Bear?”
“We’re taking Roy’s boat and going after Langston. I know where he keeps the boat keys in the house.”
Bear tried the back door. Locked. He pulled out a flashlight and the two of them quickly scanned the ground around the porch for anything that might house a hideaway key. They came up empty. Shane got farther away with every second they wasted here.
“Screw it.” Bear returned to the door. He reared back then threw his shoulder into the door, which flew open. “I’ll reimburse him.”
Inside, Bear flipped on the lights revealing a spacious kitchen with stainless steel appliances, and decorated with country-quaint wall paper. Bear darted to the pantry and disappeared inside. A second later he emerged with a key on a green plastic fob.
“Now we’re cookin’ with gas,” Bear said.
He ran out the back door. Jake followed, and tried for a few fruitless seconds to close the door Bear bashed in, but his friend had trashed it beyond redemption. He left it. Thirty seconds later they managed to navigate the stone path through the trees and reached the covered dock. The only sounds from the dark lake were water lapping against the boat, buzzing cicadas and the distant hum of a high horsepower motor. Jake hopped in the thirty-foot Watercraft after Bear who made a call on his cell organizing roadblocks.
“You know how to drive this thing?” Jake asked.
Bear huffed. “I’ve lived on a lake my entire life. I drive a boat better than I drive a car.” He fired up the engine while Jake cast off the lines holding the boat to the dock.
“Like that’s any accomplishment,” Jake said. “I’ve seen how you drive.”
Bear put the boat in reverse and backed out of the dock.
“How in the hell are we going to find him? There’s miles of shoreline.”
“I think I know where he’s going.” Bear wheeled the boat around, flipped on the headlights and put it in drive. He gunned the motor and Jake flew back into a thankfully cushioned seat. “Shane has another house off Grover’s Cove by Cooney Creek Road. We tracked it through a real estate front and had it under surveillance for months, but got nothing useful. Think I can find it in the dark. If he’s not there, I don’t know what the hell we’re gonna do.”
The Watercraft sliced through the dark water and Jake kept a wary eye out for other boaters. They crossed the lake at an angle and hugged the far shore line running southeast for a couple of miles. The lake took a sharp curve to the northeast and Bear slowed, scanning for the cove entrance.
“Gotta be here somewhere,” Bear said. “Me and Roy hit this up a couple of weeks ago. Caught a helluva catfish that morning.�
��
Along the bank, lake houses lit up the shoreline as the weekend folks arrived for some last days of summer fun. People sat on the docks drinking beer and listening to music while their kids jumped off the wood structures into the warm lake water. Bear idled toward one of the docks with a group of men and women hanging out. A stocky, pot-bellied man with no shirt and a Santa Claus beard rose from a folding chair and waved as Bear approached.
“Hey, Bear,” the man said as they idled up. “Steal Roy’s boat for the evening?”
“You could say that, Professor. Looking for a guy in an expensive-ass power boat who might’ve come ripping through here a few minutes ago.”
The Professor cast a wary glance at Jake then back at Bear. “You’re wearing a bullet-proof vest. Anything I need to be worried about?”
“Depends. You see anything?”
“Yeah,” the Professor said. “Guy came tearin’ through here a few minutes ago. Yelled at his dumb ass to slow down, but he buzzed past. Think he turned into Grover’s Cove.”
Bear thanked him and threw down the throttle. A few hundred yards on, the houses grew farther apart. Bear found the entrance to the cove and spun the wheel. They split the gap in the shore measuring fifty feet across. The lights of the boat caught a glint of the eyes of an animal that darted back into the thick woods. After another hundred yards, Bear killed the spotlight and trolled forward.
An illuminated house loomed atop a jagged bluff, connected to the water by a long, wooden staircase. Shane’s getaway boat bobbed in the water at the bottom. Jake and Bear drew their guns as they approached the dock, but lowered them at the sight of the empty boat. Jake hopped out and quickly tied Roy’s boat to a cleat bolted to the dock. They stared up the long staircase.
“You ready for this?” Jake asked.
“That’s a lot of fuckin’ stairs. I might have a heart attack before I reach the top.”
Poor Boy Road (Jake Caldwell #1) Page 22