by Michael Kerr
Larry grinned. “The woman is with him,” he said to Vince. “I’ll ram him, and when he goes off the side of the road I’ll stop and we’ll do a Bonnie and Clyde and turn the pickup into a fucking colander.”
Vince drew his gun, and out of habit released the magazine to check that it was full before ramming it back into the butt with the heel of his hand.
Logan checked that Debbie had buckled up, then stamped on the brake and almost turned the pickup over on its side as he skidded into the mouth of a narrow street, almost colliding with a parked car as he straightened up and accelerated along it, to take the first right, then a left, and switch the lights off before pulling into an alley, to drive until he reached a cross street. He took another left turn and sped away from the area, to park in the side lot of a closed dental practice.
They sat for five minutes without either of them saying a word. Logan had nothing to say, and Debbie didn’t know what to say. She had always been a law-abiding person, basically getting on with her own life and making do the best that she could. Her personality was moderate, devoid of extreme views on almost every subject. But that had now changed. The evening’s events had radically altered her outlook. Real hatred had been a stranger to her. She had disliked things, and even some people, and her reaction to her feelings had been to avoid that which she found offensive or confounded her. Now, she was experiencing a complex amalgamation of fear, hate, anger, grief and helplessness. Leaning forward, straining against the seat belt, she pounded her small fists against the padded console until her hands and wrists ached, before slumping back.
Logan let her physically vent the temper and sense of vulnerability that was all but consuming her. He had never had kids, but that didn’t mean he was ignorant to the powerful bond that parents and their offspring felt for each other. He had been a youngster with a mom and dad, so knew all about emotional family ties.
“I want to kill that fucking woman,” Debbie said. “I have never felt such hatred for anyone in my life. I’ve always believed in turning the other cheek, forgiving whenever possible, and attempting to think that people should be helped to be better; to be counseled and cared for and reformed.”
“That’s because you were on the outside looking in,” Logan said. “It’s easier to have a liberal overview if you haven’t been on the receiving end of crime and violence. You’re now on the inside looking out, and it’s personal, and it triggers a whole new set of feelings.”
“Are you absolutely certain that you can deal with these people?” Debbie said, needing to be reassured.
“I don’t believe in absolutes. If you have a strong enough goal ‒ realistic or not ‒ you aim for it, and if the fates are with you, you succeed. A lot of what happens in life is to do with timing. A split-second either way can lead to disaster or salvation. I tend to have come through quite a few scrapes in one piece, because most of the people I’ve had cause to fall out with have not been able to find me: I find them.”
“Don’t you have a home or family?” Debbie said.
“No. I move around. Staying in one place too long doesn’t suit who I am,” Logan said. “I’ve reached a time in my life where I can choose to avoid what I consider to be constraints. If there’s one thing I’ve realized, it’s that you need to be happy in your own skin.”
“And you’re happy to just drift?”
“Yeah. I lived in a small apartment in the Bronx, New York City for what seemed a lifetime. Leaving was like being born again.”
“What did you do in New York?”
“I was a homicide detective.”
Debbie felt better for knowing that. Had he been an ex-carpenter or plumber she would have probably lost some of the faith that she had in him. This was a man used to dealing with criminals, and could obviously handle himself. She considered herself unlucky to have been targeted and to have suffered losing her mom and having Kelly taken from her, but extremely fortunate that Logan had appeared from nowhere to put his own life in danger to help her.
“How do we get Kelly back?” Debbie said.
“We’ll find somewhere to stay for a few hours, get you some fresh clothes, have something to eat, and then I’ll contact Nick Cady and impress on him that handing Kelly back would be in his best interest.”
Debbie knew that she had to curb her crushing need do something immediately. All she could do was attempt to remain positive and put all her trust in Logan.
Logan gave it another five minutes. Once satisfied that they had shaken the tail he drove east, away from the area, to stop at a small motel off a dirt track on the outskirts of a town called Alva, close to the Caloosahatchee River. The sign on the main road had been red neon with a couple of letters flickering under a coating of grime.
The Oak Creek Motel was a sleazy eight-unit, single-storey no-tell motel with daily or hourly rates. It was in the main a ‘check in, make out, check out’ dump used by couples needing somewhere to go for sex. A few local hookers spent most evenings in it, catering to clients who valued their anonymity, and were not content with a quick fuck or blowjob in their vehicles.
The office/home of the owner was a doublewide at the other side of the small, weed-filled parking lot.
Logan nosed the pickup into deep shadow at the edge of the lot. Got out and walked over to the trailer. The lights were on, and as he raised his hand to rap on the door, it opened.
“Hi, friend,” Jethro Lewis said. “You in need of a room?”
“Till about nine a.m.” Logan said.
“That’ll be thirty bucks,” Jethro said as he stepped back and took a key from a unit drawer. “Number four.”
Logan handed him two twenties, took the key and said, “Is there a store nearby?”
“Cody’s Country Store is a five minute walk east of here on the main road,” Jethro said. “Tom opens at about six-thirty every morning. If you call in, tell him that Jethro pointed you in his direction.”
Logan nodded, went back to the pickup, grabbed his rucksack and waited for Debbie to get out.
Jethro had closed his door and gone back to reading an Ed McBain 87th Precinct yarn. He was a night owl who got his sleep through the day. At sixty-nine years old he was on a slow rundown, doing less of everything that he had once done without a second thought. His wife had been in her grave for over four years, and his only son, Ray, lived up in Orlando and had disowned him. Ray was in IT, whatever the hell that might be, and had a nice house, a stuck up wife with buck teeth and a bad attitude, and twin girls that were fat, lazy and spoiled. No loss. Fact was, Jethro was as happy as a hog in a muddy holler. The town council was the only dark cloud on his horizon. Some of the board was intent on closing the motel down. The leader of the council was Myrtle Kauffman, the mayor; an old dyke on a crusade to clean up the town and get rid of what she had christened the Oak Creek as a den of iniquity. It didn’t compute. What was so sinful about sex, or somewhere to go and enjoy it in privacy? The only saving grace, for Jethro, was that the vice mayor, Bob Margolis, and councilor Jim Petrie both used the motel on occasion. Bob liked to have threesomes with what may or may not be minors. Hard to tell these days, when a fifteen-year-old girl could look several years older. And Jim was married with children, but had a penchant for teenage boys. It was in both of the men’s interests to support Jethro, who had hinted that he had video footage of them doing what comes naturally. Thing about folks with a guilty conscience is that they are prone to believe that there could be evidence against them. Deep down an awful lot of people have a kernel of conviction that you reap what you sow. They keep on doing what drives them, but are running scared all the time, waiting for the ax to fall.
Logan put his rucksack on top of the bed nearest the door, along with the two handguns and the wallets and cell phones that he had taken that evening. He then gave the room a cursory inspection. It was about as seedy as you can get: mold on the bare walls, no coffeemaker, and a small TV that was coated with dust. The carpeting was threadbare, and the twin beds were sunk
en, due to the old springs having been put to the test for many years, and hardly ever for sleeping on.
“Yuck!” Debbie said as she turned on the heat and heard a clanging sound as the unit slowly came to life. “This place should be condemned and burned to the ground.” She could actually smell a mélange of mold, sour sweat, cheap perfume, semen and tobacco. Plus, her shorts were almost dry, but she could still smell them. She was a mess, and supposed that she fitted in perfectly with these disgusting surroundings.
“We’re safe here for the rest of the night,” Logan said as he walked over to the bathroom door and pushed it open. It was as he expected. The toilet bowl stank of piss, and there was a used ribbed condom floating on the surface. Logan ripped off a few sheets of toilet tissue and used it as a buffer as he depressed the handle to flush everything away. The shower was cheap with a dripping plastic head. And beneath it the plughole, set in cracked tiles, was choked with matted hair. He leaned forward and used the tissue to unblock it, and dumped the mess in the lidless trash can, which was two thirds full.
Debbie checked the drawers of the dresser and night tables. The only things she found were a yellow Post-it pad and a ballpoint pen, no bible. Opening the door of the closet she was surprised to find a pair of sheets that looked old and thin, but clean.
“Get a shower and wash your shorts,” Logan said as he came out of the bathroom. “I’ll find a T-shirt that will fit you like a dress. Come daylight we’ll leave here, visit the local store and get you some new clothes to wear.”
While Debbie showered under tepid water, Logan went through the wallets. There was a total of seven hundred and forty-two dollars. He pocketed the bills, and also took the driving licenses. Finding the small yellow pad and ballpoint, he made notes from the contact lists in the cell phones. They were all pay as you go. He switched all but one of them off, and then made a call.
CHAPTER NINE
LARRY cruised the area for ten minutes until Vince told him to quit and head for HQ, which was what he called Cady’s transport company. They’d missed their chance to take Logan out of the equation, and that bothered Vince. He decided that Logan wasn’t just some bozo who’d got involved and was causing them grief. He had the kind of ability and confidence that you only got from experience. Maybe he was an ex-Marine or navy SEAL. Whatever his background, Vince was positive that the guy’s threats were not just so much hot air. He would keep coming at them, and to an extent they were sitting targets, because he knew who they were, but they hadn’t got a clue as to his identity.
As Larry drove towards the industrial park, Vince’s phone rang.
“Yeah, boss?” Vince said.
“I was expecting to hear from you before now,” Nick said. “Have you dealt with the problem?”
“Not exactly,” Vince said. “This guy, his name is Logan, got lucky at Jade’s apartment and has given us the slip, but we still have the kid.”
“Define lucky,” Nick said, his voice monotone.
“He’s a pro. He hurt Al, and Lenny is probably dead. He got away from us. The guy knows how to handle himself.”
“What’s the current situation?”
“Jade is driving to HQ, and Larry and me are just a few minutes behind her.”
“You mean Larry and I,” Nick said, picking Vince up on his bad grammar. “Tell Jade to stay with the kid and keep her safe. Logan won’t do anything to risk her getting hurt. She’s the bait to draw him in.”
“That could be asking for more trouble than we need, boss. He can pick his time and come at us when it suits him.”
“So think of a way to take him out. That’s what I pay you for, Vince, to deal with shit like this. Warn him off. Tell him that if he fucks with us again the kid gets sliced and diced.”
“All I’m saying is that if we hand her back now the problem is solved.”
“We don’t know that. He could be one of those nutters on a mission that keep coming against all odds. I want him dead.”
“Okay,” Vince said. “I’ll set a trap for him.”
Nick disconnected without saying another word. This was pissing him off. Some no account guy with nothing better to do with his sad life was making waves. He was livid. There was no way he could go to bed and sleep. He needed a Scotch, and time to calm down. He already had high blood pressure, and situations like this sent it through the roof. A headache was beginning to tap a beat at the center of his forehead, and if he didn’t relax it would begin to pound like a bass drum being hit with a mallet.
After sipping his way through three shots of Scotland’s finest, Nick dozed off on the twelve-foot long sofa that looked small in his enormous living room.
Logan speed-dialed the contact number for NC that was listed in Jade’s phone. It rang eight times before it was accepted.
Nick was only half awake, but the headache had backed off. He picked his cell up off the arm of the sofa, saw the caller ID and answered.
“Jade?”
“No, I just borrowed her phone. I have quite a collection mounting up from your less than able employees.”
“You’re Logan.”
“Correct, Cady. I thought we should discuss the current state of play. I need to know whether you intend to be sensible or not.”
“Who exactly are you, Logan?”
“A drifter with nothing to lose. I just happened to be at the motel where your badly trained apes were about to rape a woman they’d abducted. I got involved, and when I bother to do that, I see it through to the end, always.”
“Do you have any idea who you’re threatening?”
“Yeah, a medium sized fish in a small pond. You might be king of the swamp in Fort Myers, Cady, but you’re no big deal.”
“I’m the only deal you’ve got, Logan,” Nick said as his head started to ache again. “The little girl that you want back will end up as shark chum if you don’t keep drifting and get the fuck out of town.”
“Whatever you do is your problem. I don’t know the kid or particularly give a damn about what happens to her. I’d rather you saw the light and handed her back, but if you don’t, then I’ll demolish your setup and you with it. Look around at all that you’ve got and ask yourself, is this worth losing over one little girl?”
Nick wanted to say, ‘Okay, Logan, you win this one, I’ll let her go’, but he couldn’t back down, it wasn’t in his nature. He wasn’t about to let some loose cannon dictate to him. He would fight his corner, and Logan would go down, hard.
“Your silence is like a picture, Cady. It’s worth a thousand words,” Logan said. “You think that you can find me and wrap this up, but you can’t. I’m going to show you that having an army doesn’t count for shit if you can’t find your enemy. If the girl dies, you die. Remember that, and bank on it.”
Nick listened and half-believed that this stranger could make good on his word, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t relent. He hadn’t got to being where he was by running scared from anybody or anything. Over some things he was inflexible. Sitting around a table making deals with other gangsters was business, but this was now personal; the guy was threatening him; a drifter for fuck’s sake. His pride was too big for him to swallow.
“Last chance” Nick said to Logan. “Leave it be and move on.” But he was talking to a dead line. Logan had ended the call.
Debbie came out of the bathroom with a damp towel wrapped around her that was just wide enough to cover her breasts and reach down far enough to conceal the fork of her thighs.
Logan couldn’t help but feel a stirring in his chinos. She looked as sexy as hell with her wet hair plastered to her face. And she was biting her bottom lip and blinking too much, which for some reason caused him to think of a nervous virgin bride on her wedding night, eager to consummate the marriage, but at the same time hesitant and a little fearful of making love for the first time.
“Who were you talking to?” Debbie said.
“Nick Cady. I gave him a last chance to hand Kelly back, but he’d rather do it the
hard way.”
Debbie said nothing, just stood and looked as if she was going to cry again. But she didn’t. Something about her was now far more resolute. She had not only washed away the sweat and grime in the shower, but had come to terms with what had taken place. There was a level of acceptance that came in the knowledge that you cannot go back one second and change a single fucking thing. You had to deal with what was happening moment to moment and do your utmost to alter things for the better, and never give up. She believed in Logan. He was still a stranger to her, and yet in some indefinable way she felt that she had known him all her life. She stood hugging the towel to her body and studied him properly for the first time, and decided that he was a big man with an even bigger heart. He engendered confidence and strength and trust. Maybe one or two old-fashioned American heroes still existed, reminiscent of the characters that John Wayne had so ably portrayed in countless movies. But Logan was real, and he gave her the impression that he had the capacity to be as cruel and vicious as need be to right anything he perceived to be a wrong. His slate-gray eyes conveyed a depth of purpose that was uncompromising. Debbie considered herself to be in safe hands, with a man that she thought was her best chance of being reunited with Kelly.
“Here,” Logan said, handing her a plaid shirt that was long enough to reach down to her knees, and a pair of boxer shorts to make do while her own shorts and T-shirt ‒ that she had washed in the shower and hung over the curtain rail ‒ dried.
Back in the bathroom, Debbie dropped the towel on the floor and dressed. The shirt was like a tent on her, and she had to roll the sleeves up. The boxers were long and baggy. She felt like a dwarf wearing a giant’s clothing.