[Shelby Alexander 04.0] Serenity Submerged

by Craig A. Hart

  “The world’s going to hell whether I read about it or not,” he said.

  “It pays to be informed,” Simon said. “If you’d been paying attention, you might have noticed Senator Graveno is the favorite to win his party’s nomination for president. A lot of money and political capital is being invested by powerful interests. You can bet these interests aren’t going to trust the fate of their investments to the whims of some eccentric campground owner in northern Michigan.”

  “And so I have to go.”

  “You definitely have to go. A recovery of the money would have been nice, but most importantly, you had to die. Of course, now it’s more complicated. Dear old Dad wants his son’s body, the money, and your head on a pike. There’s no chance of bargaining your way out of this one.”

  “It would appear I’m at your mercy.”

  “It would indeed.” Simon stepped back. “You’re going to die, James Ballard. That much is determined and out of your control. What you can control, however, is how quickly and easily you die. You might have thought the nails were brutal. I can promise you that is only the beginning. Tell me where the body and money are, and I’ll put a bullet through your head, putting you out of your misery and sparing your further torment. Refuse, and our hulking friend gets another try at making you see reason.”

  16

  Mack drained the bottle of water and tossed the empty into the rear of Shelby’s Jeep as they drove down the road toward the Serenity Motel. “I wouldn’t have thought a town this small could have so many motels.”

  “Serenity survives on tourism,” Shelby said. “Some of these places make ninety percent of their income during the summer. We’re lucky it isn’t peak season. July and August are much busier.”

  Ward pushed the hair out of her face and held it back against the wind. “Are we sure they’re staying in a motel? Couldn’t they be at a campground or trailer park?”

  “They could. But I doubt it. Easy in, easy out. That’s what these guys would want. The next motel is the last stop. If we strike out there, I have one other idea.”

  They pulled up in front of the Serenity Motel. Shelby got out first and motioned for Mack and Ward to stay in the Jeep.

  “I know the proprietor. She’s a little off the beam but nice enough if she takes a shine to you.”

  Ward raised an eyebrow. “And she took a shine to you?”

  “It’s not what you think. I stayed here a few years ago when I had the roof replaced on the cabin. We had a little dispute over my room bill—chiselers tried to double charge me. Charlene—that’s her name—challenged me to a double or nothing arm wrestling contest. I win, I pay nothing. She wins, I pay double what she said I owed.”

  Mack laughed. “You arm wrestled a woman? You have really gotten soft.”

  “You haven’t seen Charlene. I won, but my arm hurt for a week.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Mack said. “This is another of your tall tales. Why, if you had—”

  “Alexander!” The roar from the motel office cut Mack’s words off as cleanly as new shears through cloth.

  Shelby glanced at Mack as his friend took in the sight of Charlene in the office doorway.

  Mack gulped. “Hey, Shel?”

  “Yes, Mack?”

  “Is that…a woman?”

  “And what a woman. Keep your mouth shut or she’ll break you like a twig.”

  For once, Mack shut his mouth.

  Ward said nothing, only stared in disbelief as the enormous woman moved out into the parking lot.

  “Come meet me halfway, you old bastard. You know I hate walking.”

  Shelby walked forward and was enveloped in a giant bear hug. He took a deep breath going in, knowing he wouldn’t be able to inhale for the duration. Finally, he squirmed free.

  “It’s been a long time, Charlene.”

  “A damn long time,” she bellowed. “What the hell is wrong with your foot?”

  “Snake bite.”

  Charlene cackled. “Snake bite! Nobody gets snake bit around here.”

  “I like to be different.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”

  “You know how it is. I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy!” Charlene let out a guffaw that shook the trees. “You? Why, you’re so lazy you’d hire someone to piss for you, if you could. And if you didn’t like your own dick so much.”

  “I see you’ve lost none of your charm.”

  “Don’t flatter me, you silver-tongued wanker. I’m wise to your tricks.”

  “No tricks today, Charlene. I’m after information.”

  “On a job, are we?”

  “You could say that. I’m looking for some men.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific. What do they look like?”

  “That’s the problem, I have no idea. They were driving a truck, probably a box truck. Maybe a sixteen-footer, based on the tire tracks I saw.”

  Charlene hesitated. “A truck, eh?”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  Charlene hesitated again, then shook her head. “Nope, can’t say I have.”

  “Are you sure? You looked like you were about to say something.”

  “You calling me a liar, Alexander?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. But it’s important.”

  “Wish I could help. Now you better take your little friends and get the hell out of here.” Charlene turned and lumbered back into the office, closing the door behind her.

  Shelby watched her go and stood for a moment looking at the closed door. Then he turned and walked back to the Jeep.

  “That looked as if it ended badly,” Mack said.

  “She knows something.”

  Ward sat forward. “About Fritz?”

  “About the men who took him. I’m sure of it.”

  Mack huffed. “So why isn’t she talking?”

  “That’s the question of the hour. But I know enough about Charlene to know if she doesn’t want to talk, she isn’t going to. Time to try my other idea.”

  “I hope it’s a good one,” Ward said. “Every hour gone raises the chances we’ll be too late.”

  “As if I didn’t know that,” Shelby snapped.

  Mack cleared his throat. “I realize emotions are high right now, but let’s stay focused. What’s the plan, Shel?”

  “The truck. They got it somewhere, and I doubt they brought it with them. Too noticeable and unsuited for a quick getaway. My guess is they rented one locally. The good news is there aren’t many truck rental places around here. The first is down the road. We can stop there on the way back to town.”

  Fritz leaned against the back of the chair. His muscles screamed with the fatigue of inaction, but any attempt to shift position brought a surge of pain from the nails in his hands. Simon was at the back of the truck, watching and waiting. For the better part of an hour, Trainwreck loomed in the corner, his yellowish eyes never leaving Fritz’s face. The suspense was almost as bad as the pain—almost. Whatever is going to happen, Fritz thought, let’s get on with it.

  At last, Simon stirred. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”

  Trainwreck grunted but didn’t flicker an eyelid.

  Simon pushed up on the door and it rolled up, rattling noisily.

  The brightness of the outside world raked Fritz’s eyes and he closed them against the glare. He found the waft of outside air more refreshing and breathed it in. The smell of the woods was heavy; he could tell it would be a hot day. The light outside suggested early morning and Fritz wondered exactly how long he’d been in the back of the truck. He’d lost track of time long ago, and something about getting those bearings back made him feel better.

  Simon dropped out of the truck and sat on the bumper. He pulled something from his pocket, worked for a moment, and then Fritz smelled tobacco smoke. He’d never been a big smoker, but now he wanted a cigarette more than he’d ever wanted anything. He considered asking for one,
but realized he wouldn’t be able to hold it, and he wasn’t about to ask Simon or Trainwreck to hold a drag for him. Even after all that had happened, he had too much pride.

  A movement caught his eye and he turned his head to see Trainwreck moving forward. Fritz braced himself, wondering what the giant had in mind. Whatever it was certainly wouldn’t be good, and Fritz couldn’t even begin to plumb the depths of the depraved mind hiding behind those terrifying yellow eyes.

  Trainwreck reached into the suitcase and retrieved the hammer. He carefully picked out two more nails, then began advancing. Fritz tried to lock eyes with the big man as he came forward, but the mounting dread forced his eyes closed. The heavy footsteps stopped and Fritz felt Trainwreck’s rough hand on his head, pushing it against the plywood covering the truck wall immediately behind the chair. The hand released his head and grabbed one ear, pressing it flat on the grainy plywood. Fritz felt the sharp point of the nail dig into the cartilage of his upper ear.

  Thud. Thud.

  The nail punctured the ear and warm blood began trickling down the side of his face.

  Thud.

  Trainwreck shifted positions, grabbed Fritz’s other ear, pressed it flat on the plywood.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Fritz sat immobile, his hands fastened the chair arms, his head held back and slightly upward by the nails in his ears. It wasn’t so much the pain that made him hate this last so much. People got their ears pierced regularly. It was the horror of not being able to turn his head and the vulnerability of having his throat exposed. Something ancient inside screamed against the bared throat, causing a surge of panic in his chest. He struggled to control it, pushing it back down to the dark recesses of his humanity.

  Simon stood up, turned, dropped his cigarette on the ground, and churned it into the dirt with his foot. With a low grunt, he hoisted himself back into the truck.

  “I have to hand it to you, Trainwreck,” he said, observing the giant’s gory handiwork. “You really know how to pin a man’s ears back.”

  “Physical torture is one thing,” Fritz croaked out. “Bad jokes are just, what you say, uncalled for.”

  “Sorry, what can I say? I’m a villain. Are you ready to start talking?”

  “I have lots of things I could say to you.”

  “About the money and the body. That’s why we’re here, after all.”

  Fritz said nothing. He stared at Simon with a deeper hatred than he’d ever thought possible.

  Simon sighed. “I don’t know if I should admire or pity you. Perhaps a little of both. In either case, I’m running out of patience. Trainwreck, if you please.”

  17

  The Jeep stopped abruptly in front of the auto sales lot. The tires slid on gravel and the brakes squeaked. Shelby got out, followed by Ward and Mack, and walked toward the sales office.

  Shelby opened the door and stepped inside. He paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, and then looked toward the service desk. It was unmanned. In fact, there wasn’t an employee or another customer in sight.

  Shelby glanced around. The shabby office, with its fraying carpet, dark paneling, broken window blinds, and smell of old tobacco and mold, gave the distinct impression of having seen better days.

  “Looks legit,” Mack snorted.

  Shelby rang the service bell on the desk. “If they can give us some info on the truck, I don’t care how legit they are. Although I wouldn’t be terribly surprised to find a chop shop around back.”

  Ward had walked to the far side of the room where an old coffeemaker sat on a low table. “I’m dying for a cuppa,” she said. “How painful a death do you think I’d suffer if I drank some of this?”

  Mack observed the coffee in the pot with the eye of a born skeptic. “I doubt you’d suffer at all. You’d probably just keel over. That is, if the stuff doesn’t burn a hole straight through your esophagus.”

  “I need coffee.” Ward grabbed a cup from the table and poured some of the dark liquid into it. She lifted it to her noise and sniffed. “Smells…okay. Not great, but I’m not getting anything too suspect.” She sipped, considered, swallowed, and then dropped the cup, coffee and all, into the overflowing wastebasket next to the table.

  Shelby grinned. “That bad, huh?”

  “My god, I’ve been poisoned.” Ward checked her pulse with mock concern. “Seriously, I’ve ingested better things downstream from a sewage plant.”

  “I’m going to assume that’s simply your version of a clever turn of phrase and not reality.” Shelby rang the bell with increased urgency. He leaned over the counter, trying to see around the open door leading into the rear of the office. He waited exactly five more seconds before walking around the desk and striding through the door in search of the proprietor.

  His progress was halted by the sudden appearance of a wizened little man coming around the corner of a free-standing cubicle wall. The little man was stooped and his wrinkled face suggested a life full of interesting tales. He wore square glasses that rode down his nose and a shaggy goatee that looked as if it might leave his face at any moment and run back into the wild.

  The little man jumped when he spotted Shelby’s large frame coming through the door, and a high-pitched squeak of surprise escaped him.

  “You ain’t supposed to be back here!” he screeched. “Get back around the corner!” Disregarding Shelby’s massive size advantage, the little man charged forward and began pushing him backward.

  Shelby held up his hands to show he meant no harm and backed up in face of the onslaught. “Easy, friend. I’ve been ringing your damn bell. No one answered.”

  “You what, now? Bringing the hell?”

  “Ringing the bell,” Shelby repeated, realizing the man was deaf as a stone. He raised his voice. “Ringing the BELL!”

  “You don’t have to shout! I ain’t deaf,” said the little man, pronouncing the word as “deef.”

  “I beg to differ,” Shelby muttered.

  “What?!”

  “Nothing! Is there someone else we could talk to?”

  The little man cupped a hand behind one ear and inclined his head.

  Shelby cleared his throat, then yelled, “I said, is there anyone else we can talk to?”

  “Oh, talk to! Sure, you can talk. Just make it quick. I got a business to run.”

  “No—is there someone else—”

  Shelby stopped talking as a woman appeared around the corner. She carried a clipboard and wore jeans and an oil-stained flannel shirt. She looked at Shelby suspiciously.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. I was trying to explain to this fellow here that I need a word with someone.”

  The woman nodded in understanding. “That explains the yelling. My dad’s ears took a pounding in the war and have gotten progressively worse over the years. Now he can’t hear much of anything unless you yell directly into his ear or he reads lips. And he refuses to wear an earpiece.”

  The old man frowned. “What’s this about a bemused hairpiece?”

  “Never mind, Dad,” the woman said, looking the old man directly in the face and enunciating each word. “Go back and work on the accounts, okay? I’ll take care of this.”

  The old man hesitated, deliberating with himself, then finally nodding grudgingly. “I’ll do it, daughter. But if these people get fresh, you give a holler and I’ll come out spittin lead.”

  “I’ll be fine, Dad.”

  The old man retreated slowly, keeping his watery, suspicious eyes locked on Shelby until he disappeared around the side of the cubicle.

  The woman motioned for everyone to move back to the lobby. Then she closed the door softly behind them.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “Dad refuses to admit he has a hearing problem, which makes treating it difficult. And he’s beginning to suffer from dementia, so that complicates everything.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” Shelby said. “What war was he in?”

  “Korea. He’s led an in
teresting life and can’t accept the fact he’s an old man.”

  Shelby nodded. “I can relate. And he has at least twenty years on me.”

  “I know what you mean. He still won’t believe he has a daughter almost fifty.”

  “I thought women never revealed their age.”

  The woman shrugged. “I agree with Jack Benny when he said age is simply mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been blessed with good health so far, both physical and mental, and I’ve welcomed the life lessons that come only with years.”

  “An impressive outlook.” Shelby stood there, regarding the woman. Something in the back of his mind nudged him, suggesting a memory. The woman seemed familiar, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t determine why. He didn’t realize things had become awkward until Mack cleared his throat. “Ah, so—anyway, I was wondering if we could ask a couple of questions.”

  “Ask away. I can’t promise I’ll answer, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Fair enough. We’re wondering if you sold a truck recently.”

  “How recently?”

  “A few days ago.”

  The woman considered. “No, I don’t think so. But I can check the records.” She moved over to a computer and typed in a few commands. A quick study of the screen, and then she looked up. “What kind of truck are we talking about?”

  “A box truck. Maybe a sixteen-footer.”

  She shook her head. “We sold a pickup last week, but no box trucks in the last month. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” Shelby said. “Thanks for looking. Any ideas where someone might get a box truck on the down low?” As soon as he said it, he realized how it sounded. “Not that you folks here are doing that, mind you.”

  The woman suppressed a smile. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Shelby grinned, knowing they both knew there was more than mere dreams going on at this particular establishment.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “Is there a specific reason you want to know?”