Freda had a pair of thick socks ready when she returned and helped her ease them on her bruised feet. Looking down, the sandy folds of dirty bandage and the greasy and bloodstained wrench were a stark contrast to the clean carpet and molded mats.
Terry concentrated on what to do next as Freda aggressively steered the pickup back onto the road and followed the direction in which her husband had disappeared several minutes earlier, the wind whistling over the light bar and wide load sign as the speed increased.
Freda checked her phone and told Terry there was no reception, but they would catch her husband at the next pullout, hear Terry’s story, and make the calls they needed to make.
Back in the Banks Mountain Contracting shop, Johnny listened with interest to half of Chet’s conversation, and then to half of Jacobs’s conversation when his phone rang as well. Jacobs ended his call, and Chet put his hand over his phone, muting it.
Jacobs started first. “That was …,” but Chet Banks cut him off.
“Terry is okay,” he blurted, talking even more quickly than his normal rapid-fire. “She got picked up by a pilot car, the woman driving stopped for her, and now they’re close to Jasper. She wants to know if she should call the cops?”
Jacobs asked to talk to Terry, and they could hear much of what she was saying, her volume rising as she went on.
Johnny’s sense of relief shocked him, he was suddenly too hot, and removed his jacket. Having never met Terry, he was surprised how protective he felt, but hey, he was a loyal guy. “Riding for the brand” was a concept he understood and respected.
Jacobs told her he would call her right back and to go ahead and ride into Jasper with the couple. He would notify the Jasper RCMP. He hung up and faced them.
Jacobs said he would need to talk with Chet about moving forward. Chet nodded, holding up his phone. “Melissa says you two need to come to the house for lunch.”
They did. Melissa Banks’s authority was not to be questioned.
Chapter 15
The previous night his partner had demanded that Blake use the fuel tank on the back of the truck. He had parked behind a closed carwash, and Blake filled the fuel tank of the filthy vehicle by pumping fuel from the rounded, red tank on the back deck. He had dragged the grimy hose over the side in the dark, smearing his jacket, cold metal burning his unaccustomed hands. On trips to northern Alberta, he had heard workers talking about the difficulty of starting an engine that ran out of diesel, and he didn’t want this to happen on the unplanned trip back to Alberta. He had never used a manual fuel pump, but it seemed to work fine, and he cranked the handle, until the reeking fuel erupted out of the filler neck, splashing his shoes.
Now, as he learned to shift the crude transmission in the work truck, he checked the fuel gauge. His partner of several days was slumped on the passenger seat, blood leaking from the wound in his head. He seemed to be unconscious, but breathing steadily, heavy body in danger of slipping onto the floor.
His own head was still bleeding slightly, the bundle of blue shop towel stopping the flow. The cut was long, right into the eyebrow, just like those he’d seen in a few MMA matches. This chick had hit him with a metal bar of some sort. He found himself swallowing repeatedly to avoid being sick, the rapid swelling causing the long gash to gape at least a centimeter wide when he removed the towelling. Several passing drivers had glanced in his direction, noticing the broken window, if not his bleeding head.
He swivelled the dusty sun visor to his side window. It drooped perfectly to cover the upper half of his head and face. He checked the heater – wide open. Litter from the back seat was swirling forward in the cab as the cold mountain air gusted in. There were chunks of glass in his hair and down his shirt.
It had been the worst twenty-four hours of Blake’s life. He had been confident they could pick up the woman easily. He had planned to explain he was driving through, and since he heard she was in the area, to suggest they have dinner, and then let things play out, the trunk of the rental car an easy place to hold a captive until they got rid of her. It had been his idea to dispose of the woman in a lake; after all, once it froze over in the winter, how would anyone find her there? On Google Maps a big lake showed up close to the highway not far east of Vanderhoof, and he had assured Joseph it would be no problem to dump the body there. He had never done this type of work before, but how hard could it be? Blake assumed he would be in charge, but right away he recognized the heavy, dark haired man Joseph had assigned as his partner to be difficult. He realized now that his own arrogance had been his undoing; wanting to impress Joseph, he had committed to a job he couldn’t finish.
They had waited near the shop on the side road and when he recognized the woman as she passed them in the truck, they simply followed her into the yard, got out of the car, and walked after the big rig into the cavernous and brightly-lit shop. His unfamiliar partner had surprised Blake. Surging forward, he picked up a fire axe from a steel table and smashed the thick hardwood handle down on a man in blue coveralls. The man’s hat had flown off his head as he dropped to the concrete, bouncing off the workbench he had been leaning over. Then, his partner crossed in front of the truck, with Blake following uselessly behind, and yanked the woman out of her truck and pulled her to the floor, stunned. Grabbing a can of starting fluid from a box on a shelf, he sprayed a shop rag from the same shelf and knocked her back down. With one knee on her stomach, he held the reeking cloth over the woman’s face, easily stifling her struggles. Blake had recoiled from the eyewatering stench. Dropping the can and rag, the partner stripped the woman of her clothing and effortlessly picked her up. Blake gaped, unable to look away from the woman’s nakedness. The sudden violence was shocking; they had been in the shop less than a minute. The heavy man carried the woman to the car, snapping at Blake to bring the ether and rag. The trunk was ajar. Blake hadn’t noticed the man click it open. With surprising care and efficiency, he had placed her in the trunk, then snapped at Blake again, like he was a kid, to come back in the shop and find the light switch. The man said he needed to leave a calling card, and while Blake turned off four light switches by the side door, his partner was up on the steps, leaning into in the cab of the truck. He emerged, nodding his head, mouth turned down into a satisfied expression. He yanked the rag from Blake’s hand and wiped the handle of the axe, placing it back on the table and, flipped the grease rag to Blake who was still holding the can of starting fluid. Yelling for help, the heavy man began collecting sockets, assigning Blake to string them on a rope. He disappeared and soon came back carrying a concrete block. They had bolted for the car with the assortment of weights, leaving a mess behind. No one had seen them.
Blake had to admit the guy had seemed competent enough but was so abusive when Blake hadn’t known what to do. Why be so aggressive and critical after they found out the lake was frozen, hammering away on how stupid Blake was? He hadn’t considered the possibility of early ice either.
The man did have some good ideas. After they ditched the rented car and were Alberta bound in the stolen flat deck, his partner called the rental company and reported excitedly that the car had been “stolen from a rest area in southern BC, near Hope! No, I got a ride. Yes, I called the police. No, I don’t know what the rest area is called!” and a whole string of lies delivered rapid-fire to a sleepy, unconcerned agent at the rental call center.
Ignoring the beauty of Jasper National Park, Blake sighed with relief when his phone pinged. Cell service was momentarily available as he crested a hill, nearing the tourist town of Jasper. Several missed calls were showing, but he opened the text from Joseph and instantly felt much better. “Parked at hotel in Jasper by pine trees, back lot. All good, exit door is fixed.”
He recognized the location and understood with relief that Joseph had transportation arranged; they could abandon the truck and get back to home base.
Several hours later, Blake and his snoring partner were riding in a shipping container secured on a flat deck trailer.
The exit plan Joseph had devised was genius, Blake thought. He leaned back in the comfortable seat of a side-by-side ATV, the soft suspension smoothing the trailer’s rough ride, wrapped warmly in blankets taken from a hotel room. His forehead was throbbing but neatly bandaged, cooler of food and drinks in the seat next to him, and groggy from the pain medication Joseph had given him, Blake began to relax. His injured partner was sleeping noisily on a mattress on the floor, also covered with blankets.
They had parked in the lot behind the hotel as planned, the rear of the stolen flat deck similar to dozens like it in town. Trees obscured the front of the Ford from the street. A dozen parking slots over, positioned with clear passage to the exit, was a dump truck hitched to a trailer. Two young guys were smoking by the open door of the shipping container that was strapped on the equipment trailer, admiring a side-by-side ATV a third man was loading. They were talking too loudly, posturing, ribbing the guy as he swung the container doors closed, working hard to set the latches. “You paid too much, dude! It’s a piece of junk!”
The young guy slammed the ramps into their slot, his grinning reply causing the watchers to swing away, covering their mouths. Blake watched in disgust. He still didn’t understand Canadians. So much opportunity all around them, but so eager to spend all their time and energy and wages on noisy toys designed for use in the cold. The three men, arguing over their lunch destination, climbed into a rusty, lifted 4x4, two gaudy snowmobiles crouching like mutant insects on a deck above the cargo area, exaggerated tracks protruding far over the rear bumper. The noisy conversation was instantly muted when the engine roared to life.
Joseph had been listening attentively to the earlier conversation, but from his position on the other side of the vehicle, Blake had only heard fragments, something about delivering the trailer somewhere. Joseph nodded and motioned with his head at the closed storage container; “There’s your ride, eh. Help me get your partner in there.” Feeling competent, Blake moved the flat deck truck next to the container. Together, and none too gently, they helped the heavy man, now awake, into the container. There was a stack of used mattresses leaning next to a nearby dumpster, and obscured by parked vehicles, Joseph had quickly dragged a twin mattress into the container.
Before he closed the door, Joseph had appeared relieved, but was very clear in his instructions. “The trip will take at least five hours, eh. The cops are looking for you guys, roadblocks and all. Whatever you do, keep quiet when the truck stops!” He was taping Blake’s cut as he spoke. “The driver won’t know you’re in the container, eh, so don’t make any noise when he unhooks the trailer, or when he leaves. He’ll park the container off in a safe place, and when he’s gone, we’ll get you out. His boss is cool with it, owes me one, eh.” He looked at Blake, and Blake just nodded. Joseph seemed satisfied, so he was, too.
He pointed to the restaurant take-out bags and bottled drinks standing in an open cooler next to their backpacks. “You’ve got lots of food and water, so just hang tight, until the driver unhooks and is long gone. We will have to wait until it’s all clear. You just hang in there, eh?”
He paused as he closed the container door and assured Blake, “Hey, man, don’t worry. You made some mistakes, no big deal. I’ll tell them that he screwed it up, not you, eh?” He inclined his head toward the sleeping man on the mattress. “And don’t worry, I’ll take care of the woman.”
The truck stopped a few times, and as instructed, Blake made no sound. Five hours into the trip they were bumping slowly on a rough road, the tools, fuel drums, bundles of fence posts and pallets of wire bundles making ominous sounds in the dark. The meagre light coming through the welded vents near the roofline had ceased completely.
The driver took his time positioning the trailer, and Blake could hear him whistling as he unhooked. He felt a fondness toward the man who had unknowingly helped him escape. He wished he could thank him.
Twenty minutes later, the driver passed through a gate, set the brakes on the truck, and got out, stretching his back as he dialed a familiar number.
“Hey, Dad, how’s it going?”
He fumbled to light a cigarette, listening.
“Yeah, uh-uh. Yep.”
He listened some more.
“You betcha. I just dropped it all off, just in time, too. The road’s still dry but it’s going to snow any time. Yes, the supplies will be safe, it’s a brand-new shipping container! You can’t get in one of those unless you got some dynamite or a cutting torch! Yep, the Polaris is in there, too, all tuned up and ready to go.”
The man swung the gate closed, wrapping the heavy chain around the metal posts, clicking the padlock into place.
“No, the container isn’t locked, but I parked it with the rear doors tight against the other one. No one can get in unless they bring a truck to pull the trailer ahead, but who’s going way the heck back there? Ain’t no one going to be there ‘til we start the fencing contract next spring, and I’m locking the gate as we speak!”
He was still whistling as he left the property and checked the dash clock. With some luck he could be back to the main drag in an hour flat, a few more to drop off the dump truck, and then home in time to watch the last half of the hockey game. Life was good, eh?
Chapter 16
Details were shared in the Banks’s warm kitchen, where Johnny was being fed for the second time in one day.
Melissa Banks expressed her relief by digging several frozen homemade pies out of the freezer and putting then into the oven. “No reason we can’t have a late dessert, the officers still working in the shop would like some, and the whole crew will be stopping in, not going to be getting much work done this afternoon.”
It felt good, being included in the conversation and investigation. Today was a day for Johnny to listen and learn. His mind was working, analyzing: Bad things happen quick. The people I work with matter. The Banks respect their employees and take care of them. Jacobs and Barton were decent cops. Terry is safe.
He was, for once, anticipating Mary’s “so how was work today, Honey?”
The investigation would now be focused on finding the people who had assaulted Pete and abducted Terry. Clues were being gathered in the shop, the abandoned rental car, and the stolen Ford flat deck found burning behind a hotel in Jasper by some shocked tourists whose many photos documented the demise of truck, welder, and tools.
Jacobs pushed back from the table. “A few more details for you. The officer in Jasper was impressed with Terry’s work on the bad guys. Even though the cab was burned up, the driver’s mirror was hanging by a wire, and the rear window on the driver’s side was shattered.” He grinned. “You said she’s not that big? Might want to look over her resume, could be unexpected credentials in there.”
He seemed to be enjoying the moment of levity. He looked over at Johnny, “From the description by my fellow officer, this lady sounds pretty tough! Even as big as you are, friend, I’d be careful to stay on her good side. He paused, grin fading. “Terry kept the wrench she used to disable the driver and wound the other guy. Smart of her to keep it for evidence, but something to think about.
“Folks, I am glad this turned out so well. It appears Pete will be fine, and Terry wasn’t hurt badly.” He paused. The suspense and danger hadn’t dissipated. “Now our job is to find out who did this, and it appears that Terry will be able to identify the men when we track them down. You have been a big help, and I think we’ll be finished in your shop very soon; should be usable in a few hours.”
Jacobs’s phone rang. He walked out on the porch, closing the door behind him. He returned shortly, saying the team needed a few minutes of his time and then he would be driving back to Prince George. He would interview Terry in Prince George in the morning, as she was riding back to the northern capital with the woman who had helped her near Jasper.
With Jacobs gone, Johnny looked to Chet, preparing to ask for directions for the remainder of the day. The snow had been falling steadily, the change in the l
andscape startling as it was each year. Melissa was leaving for the hospital with a plate of food for Pete, with strict instructions to Chet to remove the pies from the oven. Johnny recalled the boss had worked all night, and instead of waiting for instructions, he took some initiative.
“Hey, Boss, how about I get the yard plowed, and then see if I can figure out what’s wrong with Terry’s truck?” From the blank look, he realized Chet Banks didn’t know about the trouble with the truck. He explained quickly, and then volunteered to remove the pies from the oven as well. “Get some sleep, Boss, you look tired. I will take care of stuff in the shop.” Setting a reminder, Johnny left the warm kitchen and kicked through the new snow to his pickup for the short drive back to the shop to get the plow.
In the skid-steer, Johnny followed his tracks back to the Banks’s house to clear their lane and parking area first. The timer vibrated before the driveway was finished, and as he dutifully headed toward to the house, Mrs. B drove back into the yard. Johnny, relieved to be off ‘pie duty’ told her he would be in the shop the rest of the day. “I don’t have time for a trip now, and with Pete gone for a few days, I told Mr. B that I’ll start on 327 as soon as the RCMP are gone.”
“Johnny, thanks for the help today. Chet needs some sleep alright, he’s been up a long time.”
As he was walking away, she called after him, “I’ll bring dessert to the shop soon, don’t let the guys leave!”
Finishing the driveway, Johnny returned to the shop, and leaving the skid-steer idling outside, went in to check on the progress. Jacobs was gone, but the other two officers said he was welcome to work on the truck, as they had collected all the evidence they needed. They also suggested he collect Terry’s clothes, as she didn’t need to see how they were arranged. He passed on the message about dessert and figured he would let Mrs. B deal with the clothing when she arrived.
Always a Brother Page 9