When Stone got in his car and left without notice on Wednesday night at six-thirty, Jerry rushed to the window and watched him go in disbelief. Stone had been home every night for a week. He’d been uncharacteristically happy and talkative the entire time. As Jerry watched the tail lights of Stone’s car disappear in the dusk, Jerry had a hollow feeling in his gut that something wasn’t right.
The boss had nowhere to go on a Wednesday night; Jerry was sure of that. Besides, if he needed something, Stone would have called and asked him to run to town and fetch it for him, which he would have gladly done. However, Stone up and left without saying a word— and that was the only clue Jerry needed to know something was afoot. And whatever it was more likely than not meant trouble.
Without thinking twice, Jerry grabbed the gun Stone gave him, the keys to the pickup truck, and ran for it. It wasn’t dark, yet so he would have no problem following Stone’s car. Jerry reasoned that there were far more old Ford trucks on the road than sleek new Studebakers, making the truck a lot less likely to be spotted in a rearview mirror. Jerry followed Stone’s black Ford sedan at a comfortable distance.
________________________ Forty minutes later, Stone pulled into the Flying A Gas Station parking lot opposite O’Brien’s Diner. He was early, it was dusk, but he knew it would be dark by eight o’clock when he expected Arlene Dunne to appear. A glance at his watch told him it was seven-ten, which left him fifty minutes to spare.
Stone was anxious, but confident knowing surprise would be the key to his success. The fact that Arlene would be on foot reassured him, knowing that made her an easy target. It would be dark by then, so all he had to do was conceal himself between the big concrete pillars of the underpass and lay in wait. His black clothes and the darkness of night would be all the camouflage he needed. It was the perfect setup.
His plan was simple. He had no need to carry a gun or a knife. The concrete pillars would serve as his only weapon; just grab the woman unawares and slam her head against one of the concrete pillars; it was that easy. The attack would catch her by surprise, so she wouldn’t have time to react. It would be quick, efficient, and best of all, silent.
Once the deed was done, all he had to do was lean the body against a post, slip the ring off Arlene’s finger, then stroll away as if nothing at all had happened. The whole thing would only take a few seconds. It would be over, and no one would be the wiser. Even the police would be stumped. The woman would simply be discovered leaning against a post with her head bashed in. There would be no evidence of a robbery or of foul play. And without witnesses or evidence of a crime, they wouldn’t have a clue what happened. Case closed as simple as that.
Stone sat in his car counting down the minutes. Only the occasional car passed through the underpass. There were no pedestrians in the middle of the week and almost no traffic at this time of night. As darkness descended, he replayed his attack strategy over and over in his mind, looking at it from every possible angle and every conceivable scenario. He couldn’t imagine anything that could go wrong with it. His plan was flawless. He liked it.
Another look at his watch told him it was seven-forty—time to go. Stone took less than five minutes to cross the street and position himself between the pillars. In a moment, he had merged into the darkness and was virtually invisible.
Once he was in place and set, Stone kept a watchful eye out for Arlene’s approach from the direction of Santa Ana Street. As the minutes and seconds ticked off, Stone held his breath, anticipating Arlene’s appearance. Even as eight o’clock approached and she had not yet appeared, he remained diligent, unmoving, barely breathing. So when he heard a woman’s voice from behind him say, “Hello Stone,” his heart skipped a beat, and his blood turned to ice. For the first time in his adult life, Egan Seamus Stone was scared to death.
What frightened him most was that the source of that voice was immediately recognizable as his intended prey, Arlene Dunne. The voice was familiar, as well as the power he expected her to unleash upon him. Somehow she had gotten the drop on him. But how? Wasn’t he the one with the perfect plan? Then the truth dawned on him; the entire thing was a setup! She must have orchestrated everything. Walking to the diner in the dark on a specific day and at the preordained time? He felt like a chump for falling for it and cursed himself for not seeing it for what it was—a trap.
Stone turned warily to face his rival. He found her standing a good distance away, perhaps ten paces, wisely well out of his reach. Like him, she wore a black overcoat and hat that made her close to invisible in the darkened gloom of the underpass.
“So, what are you doing hanging around here in the dark?” Arlene said, already enjoying the win. “Don’t you know it could be dangerous here at night? My goodness,” she went on, “there could be any sort of scoundrel lurking about, looking for trouble.”
“Just trying to help improve security in the neighborhood. People like helpful neighbors,” Stone said with a toothy grin laden with false sincerity.
“Well, isn’t that ironic,” Arlene quipped. “We’re here for the same reason! I was planning on stomping a few gutter rats tonight, and then I found you—how convenient!”
“Amen!” Stone said, then lunged forward and went for her throat. He knew he had just one chance to save himself, so he put everything he had into closing the distance between them as quickly as humanly possible. For a big man, he was quick, but not quick enough this time. Arlene was ready. It was never a fair fight.
Arlene’s ring generated a bolt of energy strong enough to send Stone careening across the four-lane avenue. She watched with pleasure as the dark form slammed into the concrete abutment on the opposite side of the murky underpass. The broken man stuck to the wall for a long moment before slowly peeling away from it with a sucking noise. The wet imprint of a man remained behind on the wall to mark the spot.
Arlene watched blissfully as the body slumped to the pavement with a soft thud, where it lay in a pile of seemingly-tangled body parts. For that to happen, every bone in the body would be pulverized, she thought. No one could survive that. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” she gloated.
The fight was over by a knockout in the first round. All that was left to do was collect the bounty—the third Ring of Hesaurun. As Arlene walked into the street to inspect the mess that had been Stone and retrieve her new ring, she heard two shots ring out. The first bullet missed high; the second bullet grazed the right side of her neck, but the third struck her in the back of the head, exiting her forehead in an explosion of red mist. The shot Arlene never heard killed her instantly.
A hundred feet away, Jerry lowered the gun. Unfortunately, Arlene’s body was lying in the middle of the street. Her body would be impossible to miss being seen by anyone in an oncoming car. Jerry ran into the street to retrieve the body, grabbed the woman by the arms, dragged her to the side of the road into the relative safety of the shadows, then unceremoniously tossed the body aside as he attended to the jellified mass that was his boss.
Expecting the worst, he was surprised to find the broken man still breathing. Jerry had to act fast if he was going to save him. But he couldn’t leave the woman’s body behind, and he was worried that the gunshots were heard. Jerry had a lot of work to do and very little time. There was no time to waste; he was now a murderer. The woman’s body was evidence that had to be removed from the crime scene—and fast if he wanted to live.
Jerry knew what he had to do; with the .45 Colt still in hand, he dashed for the pickup truck. Within a minute, he had the truck in the underpass next to where the bodies lay. Jerry jumped out while it was still rolling and began dragging Stone’s body to the back of it. In addition to being incredibly heavy, the body was slick with blood. Jerry pulled with all his might, ignoring the jagged shards of broken ribs and bones jutting from seemingly everywhere. Stone was too large to be timid about it, so he pushed, pulled, shoved, and jammed the big body into the truck bed. It was a struggle, but he got the gruesome job done. The work was
exhausting, leaving Jerry panting. By the time it was done, he was spent, breathing hard and covered from head to foot in sticky blood.
When Jerry went back for the woman, he found her to be less than half Stone’s size and much easier to move. Pulling Arlene’s body from the ground by the arm, he was able to hoist the body onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Once he had her up, Jerry was relieved. Unlike Stone, she was still in one piece. Stone’s body, however, bent, sagged, and drooped unnaturally in all sorts of inconvenient directions, making loading the body by himself a herculean effort.
Running the woman’s body as quickly as he could, he tossed it next to Stone, slammed the tailgate, and latched it. A quick look around told him no one had seen him loading the bodies. Jerry let out a sigh of relief, but what about the gunshots? Had anyone heard them?
Jerry presumed someone heard the shots and reported them to the police. Other than the Flying A Gas Station and O’Brien’s Diner, the neighborhood was residential. People were at home, and nearby houses had lights on. He had to assume people were out right now looking for the shooter, that the police were on the way, and that if he hadn’t already been seen, he soon would be.
As he saw it, at this point, acting natural was his only defense, so Jerry made a show of strolling casually to the cab of the truck. He hopped in, turned the key, started the engine, but just as he put the truck in gear, a black-and-white police car rounded the corner directly ahead of him. Jerry instantly knew why: someone had indeed heard the gunshots and called the police. No doubt the cops would be looking for witnesses and evidence related to those shots.
Jerry froze as he realized he was in serious trouble with no way out.So close, he thought. All I needed was a few more seconds and I would have been long gone. With my truck being the only one in the area, I can count on being pulled over and questioned. There’s no way to conceal the bodies; they are impossible to miss, and I am covered in blood. I am doomed!
Beads of sweat broke out on Jerry’s forehead as he watched the police car approach. Outrunning a police car in the old pickup was impossible. With moments left to do something, he remembered an old trick he’d learned from Sergeant Gerald Dunne. “Click-bang,” Jerry said aloud. “Got to do a click-bang!”
Jerry turned off the ignition key, pumped the gas pedal three times, then held it to the floor while returning the key to the on-position. The resulting exhaust backfire sounded exactly like a gunshot in the echo-chamber that was the underpass. A moment later, he repeated the deception. Much to his relief, a quick look in the rearview mirror revealed that the police hadn’t bothered to follow him. The cops had their hands full. More gunshots were fired! However, the boy in the old Ford pickup truck had nothing to do with it.
Although free to go, Jerry wasn’t home yet. Fear and stress had his heart hammering, each beat shaking him to the core. Numb from shock, the boy drove south, unaware of his direction or destination. Pulling that trigger had flipped a switch in Jerry’s head. From that point forward, his actions were based on instinct rather than rational thought or reasoning. Shaking hands gripped the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. Cold sweat ran into his eyes, blurred his vision, and soaked his clothes.
Nevertheless, the truck continued on its way, as if driving itself, all the while headed in the right direction and without disobeying traffic signals or speed limits. The vehicle stayed off the main roads and on the less traveled, poorly lit backroads. It was as if the old pickup had a mind of its own. Maybe it did because when Gerald Dunne Jr. was once again lucid, he found himself in the driver’s seat with the keys in one hand and the parking brake handle in the other.
Jerry was taken aback when he realized he was parked in front of the homestead house with no memory of ever driving or arriving there. The last thing he remembered was pulling the trigger on Stone’s Government .45, then watching the woman drop to the ground. After that, everything was a blur. However, there was more, and he watched it unfold in front of his eyes in the moonlight.
Snippets of the night’s events flashed in front of Jerry’s eyes as if he was at a drive-in theater. From his vantage point parked on Eleventh Street, he had seen Stone leave his car then hide himself in the darkness of the underpass. That is when Jerry knew he had been right to follow. As he suspected, the boss was up to no good.
Moments later, a woman approached from the diner’s direction; however, she held back as if she was spying on Stone. The two people seemed to be looking out for one another. Why would two people hide from one another, knowing the other was there? None of it made any sense.
Jerry’s gut churned, knowing he was now a murderer. He regretted that, but when he realized the woman was about to finish the boss off, he had no choice; he had to act. Moreover, it appeared to him she had it coming. As he saw it, she had snuck up on Stone, surprised him, then unleashed some sort of violence on him he couldn’t understand. But all the boss had done was fight back in self-defense. Jerry wondered what might have led up to such an encounter. Perhaps this was the “personal business” the boss claimed had to be taken care of. Was that woman that business? It certainly appeared to be so.
Whatever the woman had used against Stone was something he couldn’t reconcile or explain. It seemed as if she had used some sort of explosive device. But what? What would blow a man the size of Stone across the road without affecting the woman? It was a horrific sight but unexplainable. Jerry didn’t recall hearing an explosion or seeing any smoke. Or had he simply missed it? He guessed he must have been in shock; tragedy could cause memory loss. So that is how he resolved not hearing a report from the blast. It was just part of a very crazy night, he reasoned.
Then it hit him. The bodies! Two people were in the back of the truck, and one of them was alive! Jerry leaped out and inspected the grisly cargo. He was relieved to find Stone still breathing but unconscious. His color was decent, and the blood had stopped flowing. He marveled at the man’s resilience. The big man was undeniably tough! He’d seen him in similar condition back at the Cherry Motel, which gave Jerry hope. But there was no way of getting around it; those broken bones would need a doctor’s attention—and soon.
Jerry feared he might have made the wrong decision about heading for the farm rather than straight to a hospital. Indecision tore at his conscience like an angry claw. But after reasoning on it, he decided he had made the right choice. Showing up at the hospital with the dead woman’s body rolling around in the truck bed would have been suicide. After a speedy trial, he would inevitably end up in the gas chamber.
Then it occurred to him he could have dumped the woman’s body somewhere, then taken the boss to a hospital for treatment. Surely they would ask questions, questions he couldn’t answer, which could lead in only one direction—calling the authorities. So that wasn’t a risk-free option, either.
What if someone saw him ditching the woman’s body? And if he did ditch it, it would be only a matter of time before someone found it. So many possibilities of failure came onto his mind that he decided to forget about it, just hide the woman’s body for now, and get Stone to a hospital.
By now, the woman had been dead for hours. The body had turned grey and cold, leaving no question about her condition. He knew what he had to do. He had to get rid of the body and get the boss to a hospital as quickly as possible.
Jerry’s next move was to lay out plastic on the ground, deposit the woman’s body on it, strip off his blood-soaked clothes, and wrap it all together in a tight package. Naked now, Jerry carried the bundle to the barn and hid it among the bales of hay. He worried about Luis stumbling upon it in the morning, but it was the best he could do for now. After a quick shower and change of clothes, Jerry cleaned dried blood off the truck’s seat and steering wheel, then headed for the largest medical facility in the region, Sacred Heart Hospital in San Juan Capistrano.
At that late hour, Jerry saw no need to mind traffic laws or the speed limit. Not only were the country roads abandoned at night, but if he did
get pulled over, that might be a blessing in disguise. Combined with the tall tale he planned to tell at the hospital, the police would provide him with an escort and a solid alibi.
Jerry drove as fast as he could push the old truck safely. When he pulled up at the emergency room entrance, he ran inside and hollered to the receptionist, “I have a badly injured man in my truck! Come quick!” Then he ran back outside to check on Stone. Relief washed over him as he found Stone still breathing. “You are one tough character,” Jerry marveled, shaking his head.
However, that character was an unconscious, bloodsoaked, busted-up mess. The man’s limbs were bent at impossible angles. Splintered bone jutted from everywhere, and his head was cocked at a strange angle. Then there was the blood that was smeared over the carcass from head to foot. Jerry’s stomach churned at the gruesome sight. But at least his friend was breathing, so there was still hope. A moment later, a trio of orderlies and a nurse clad entirely in white arrived pushing a gurney. One look at his cargo had all four of them gasping in unison.
“My-God!” the head nurse shrieked, grasping her hat with her hand as if was about to fly away by itself. Surprise, shock, and amazement held the emergency room crew in a trance as they stood gaping open-jawed at the twisted man-shaped mess Jerry had just hauled in. Then one after the other turned their disapproving trance-like stares at Jerry as if to say, What in God’s name have you done?
Jerry shuddered at that and then realized the emergency room crew hadn’t done anything for Stone other than stare at him, making him cross.
“What are you guys waiting for—a written invitation? Get busy!” Jerry demanded with hands on his hips. With that the spell was broken, and the emergency room crew started moving. But Jerry couldn’t help noticing how each one of them kept a wary eye on the enormous mass as if it might jump up and bite them without provocation.
The Rings of Hesaurun Page 36