Doing Time In Texas, Book 3

by James E Ferrell

  Two floors below the courtrooms a ranger walked into the men’s restroom and asked, “How did you get in here? No one is allowed in the courthouse.” Ranger Barney Wright studied the big man with the press hat.

  “I think we need to step down the hall to see the judge,” he said stepping close to Smitty and grabbing his wrist.

  “Ranger, why don’t you just shove me out the side door? I won’t come back in here again. You know how reporters are!” Smitty said with a smile.

  “You knew better than to come in this courthouse, now you will see the judge,” Ranger Wright stated.

  Ranger Wright didn’t see the hand that was behind Smitty until it was too late. A pistol appeared with a silencer and the thumping sound was loud in the tiled restroom. It was the last thing the ranger heard as he fell to the floor. Lifting him into one of the stalls Smitty placed the dead ranger awkwardly on the commode. Locking the stall door, he stepped back and climbed over into the next stall. Hearing the door open he sat down on the commode and eased the hammer back on the pistol.

  “Barney, is that you in there?” the voice asked stepping up to the urinal.

  Flushing the toilet and muffling his voice Smitty said, “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Hurry up, we need you out here,” he said, as he left the restroom.

  Blood oozed from the next stall and puddled around the drain in the middle of the floor. Easing the hammer down on the pistol Smitty wiped his sweaty brow and cursed. He had to get out now! Stepping into the stairwell that led to the basement, he watched through the crack in the door as several people came out of the courtroom down the hall. His chance of getting Fred was lost. Quickly he retreated down the stairs to the basement offices. It only took a minute to get to the basement door and as he opened the outside door to the courtyard there stood a man emptying garbage cans into a waste container. Behind him he heard a commotion coming from up the stairs. The body must have been discovered. Pulling his gun, he knew he only had minutes before he was discovered. This old man was blocking his escape route. Stepping outside he walked up behind the janitor, his gun barrel came down on the top of the old man’s head. Grabbing him as he fell, Smitty pulled him out of sight.

  Sweating profusely now, Smitty started crossing the courtyard. He kept his pace as normal as he could, weaving his way through the crowd of spectators. Rangers burst from the courthouse from all four sides looking for anyone looking suspicious.

  Val dropped his half-smoked cigarette out of the car window and cursed quietly to himself. Slipping his pistol from the holster he laid it on the seat as he eased the car away from the curb and started around the square.

  Texas Rangers were emerging from the courthouse from every direction; their exit being hindered by the mass of reporters and spectators. “What happened in there?” the reporters asked excitedly as the Rangers tried to position themselves.

  Smitty had crossed the courtyard and had started across the street with his pistol covered by a newspaper he had picked up from a trash can. Suddenly all was quiet as heads turned to see the janitor standing in the basement door shouting for help. Blood ran down his face as he stood pointing at Smitty.

  “Stop that man!” he shouted.

  A ranger running around the courthouse heard the janitor’s cry. Drawing his sidearm his eyes came to rest on Smitty. “You in the black suit! Stop where you are,” he shouted. The large man continued walking as if he didn’t hear.

  Smitty’s eyes were locked on the approaching car as Val turned the corner. A cold determination passed between the two men. Smitty cursed McDonald for sending him back to Texas. Releasing the newspaper, he cocked his pistol just as the wind caught the newspaper and spread it out across the street. His first shot spun the ranger around. The second sent a reporter’s hat sailing through a group of frightened citizens frozen in astonishment. Suddenly a scene of violence mixed with fear was unfolding before them. The third shot dotted the “B” in the Barber shop window across the square before the plate glass window crashed onto the sidewalk sending slivers of glass in all directions.

  Taking in the scene at a glance, Lightfoot rounded the corner of the courthouse and raced across the courtyard to get ahead of the car. Val saw the ranger running to block his way. Picking up his revolver from the seat he fired at the running man. Bark flew from one of the old oak trees as Lightfoot cleared a bench where just minutes before men sat but now lay on the ground for cover. Val’s second shot spun Lightfoot’s hat off and he cringed, turning in full flight to get off a shot. His shot was good and Smitty turned as if hit by a board. Smitty’s return fire sent a shot past the chief’s head into the show window of Frank’s dry goods. A manikin was knocked backwards, and glass showered the sidewalk and showcase. Pandemonium broke loose as the crowd of spectators and reporters scrambled for cover. Lightfoot angled for the street trying to block the escape. Smitty fired in the air to add to the chaos.

  Val reached over to open the passenger door. “Hurry!” Val shouted.

  Lightfoot crossed a side street and his position was now alongside the street that would take them to safety. Smitty sat down in the car heavily and grunted. He had taken a shot from the ranger’s gun. His pants were bloody, and his side burned like fire.

  Instantly the big engine roared. The noise of squealing tires echoed along the building fronts as the two men made an attempt to get behind the town buildings to safety. Suddenly the back window shattered and showered the two men with glass. A bullet fired from behind embedded itself into the dashboard. Turning and firing in that direction Smitty emptied his gun and grabbed the one Val handed him. Gaining momentum, the car raced down the street and had just cleared the square when Lightfoot stepped out in the road fifty yards ahead. Raising his pistol, he fired a shot at the approaching vehicle. The windshield and rear-view mirror splintered, and slivers of glass embedded in the face of both men.

  Cursing with rage Val yelled, “Use the shotgun on this guy in front of us or he will get me for sure!” Smitty reached for the shotgun as bullets from the rangers on the courtyard made a last attempt to stop the car as it disappeared behind the buildings. The car bore down on Lightfoot as he leveled his revolver for another shot. From the corner of his eye he saw a woman racing across the street in front of the car. Val swerved and caught Huntsville’s first fire hydrant sending a gusher of water rushing down the hill after the fleeing car. Lightfoot stepped into the road and started to line up his revolver for another shot. He saw the shotgun barrel sticking through what was left of the windshield. Firing a snap shot and diving for the ditch he felt the impact of the buck shot as the sound of his own pistol blended with the sound of the shotgun echoing against the buildings. The chief made a lucky shot and Val took the incoming shot in the forehead. Relaxing his grip on the steering wheel the car spun as the right front wheel caught the curb. Both tires on the driver’s side flattened from the stress.

  Wild-eyed Smitty stepped from the car looking in all directions for any avenue of escape. He felt a thumping sound before he heard the shot. Turning he saw Ranger Lightfoot looking up at him from the ditch, his gun smoking. Turning to bring up the shotgun Smitty realized it now lay at his feet. Slowly he began to lose his footing and slid down the side of the car to a sitting position. Water from the fire hydrant soaked Smitty’s clothes on its way down the street. From his boot he wrestled a pistol only to watch it slide uselessly from his left hand. Blood matted his chest and right arm. With dulled thoughts Smitty sat watching his life’s blood run down the street. In Chicago he had been called “The Mechanic” because he fixed people for McDonald. Ironicly now he knew just how his victims had felt pleading for their lives. Smitty tried to hold on to the precious moments of life. His senses dulled and it seemed as if the sun was beginning to set.

  Moments before when the shooting had started, Doc Mueller had been driving his old car along the main avenue heading for the town square. Suddenly a car came barreling down the hill from the town square. He saw Lightfoot run out in the
road ahead of him. A flash from the approaching car sent the Chief diving head long into the ditch, as his own windshield burst.

  The sudden shatter of his windshield caused Doc to turn the wheel sending his car careening into an alley behind Frank’s Dry Goods store. Dazed, he got out of his car and looked at his windshield. A single gunshot came from around the buildings…then an eerie quiet. Peeking around the corner of the building he saw Lightfoot rising from the ditch. People stood up from places of concealment. The cautious began to make their way to the bullet-riddled car sitting in the street. Val’s head leaned against the steering wheel. His arm hung loosely out the car window. Blood dripped from his fingertips adding to the crimson stream flowing down the street.

  Lightfoot stood looking at the scene holding a bloody arm. Walking up beside him Doc ripped the shirt away and examined the wound. Looking around he shouted at the first person he recognized, “Carson! Get your car around here. I need this man taken to my clinic. Lightfoot, you have a couple of buckshot in that arm and another in your shoulder, plus you owe me a windshield,” Doc said.

  “I owe you a windshield? How do you figure that, Doc?” Chief Lightfoot questioned.

  “That buckshot was meant for you! I can fix you, but I can’t fix my windshield!” Doc stated.

  “Doc, you don’t need a windshield, you need a new car!” Lightfoot said smiling.

  Later that morning Judge Stewart stood on the courthouse steps surveying the carnage. “How many are hurt, Captain Eastman?” he asked.

  “I have a dead ranger, one with bruised ribs from a shot that hit his shield, and Lightfoot took a few buckshot…Doc is working on him now. The two in the car are both dead. Cage, get Mayfield out here and see if he can identify those guys. Someone get that water main turned off. Judge, I’m going to the clinic and check on Lightfoot and then out to the Bakers. The mob is serious about putting anyone that is associated with this out of commission. I will take a couple of rangers out to help Mike guard the Bakers. I’m putting Mayfield under arrest for his protection. This must have been staged to get at him before he could talk. My ranger came up on the killer in the men’s room before he could get to Mayfield. After we sort this out, I will get back to you,” Eastman said.

  C25 - Sailing The Genesis

  Skimming across the Atlantic at a smooth pace, Jesse Rash stood leaning against the deck railing watching the dolphins racing the yacht across the high seas. The transformation from Harlan Williams to Jesse Rash had been completed. Having kept his real identity hidden from Judd Smith and the rest of those who he associated with made the transition a much easier process. Their course was set for the Gulf of Mexico and the Texas coast. McDonald’s right-hand man, Smitty, had known Judd Smith. The two made a deadly combination. Now ironically, they were both dead. Jesse’s departure as Harlan Williams in a fiery plane crash had abruptly changed his life for the better. The hand writing was on the wall and thankfully he had been wise enough to separate himself from Judd.

  John walked across the deck and sat next to Jesse. “A penny for your thoughts?” he asked.

  He handed the papers to John and rubbed his temples. “What started as buying moonshine and selling it on the small island country of Cuba led to this,” Jesse stated dejectedly.

  “Jesse, as hard as it is to say, Amy and I both begged you to distance yourself from this make-believe-life of Harlan Williams. It certainly wasn’t Amy’s father’s idea to use the new identity the way you did. There is no way to think that any good would come out of your exploits. I know how you feel right now, because my past haunts me. I think it is healthy for your soul to deal with this rather than trying to dismiss it as someone else’s sin,” John Hannibal said.

  “John, what we’ve been reading in the papers is totally bizarre. I can’t even be sure if my cousin Willy is still alive,” Jesse said.

  John stood and looked at the sky. Before walking away he said, “Jesse, it looks like a blow is coming.” Miles out across the endless sea, lightening flashed and lit up a black and threatening sky. Thunder bumped and echoed over the open water. Amy Rash had been laying on the upper deck reading a book trying to catch a few rays of sun before the morning sky turned black. She had gotten her sea legs and the movement of the ship no longer made her sick. Giving it up, she made her way over and sat beside Jesse. “You look like a man with a lot on his mind,” she said.

  “I don’t feel like a man. I think I’m a boy that looks like a man. This wide-open sea has given me time to think. It looks like the only right choice I have made lately is marrying you,” he replied.

  “Now that’s the kind of talk I like hearing. I have been following the stories coming out of Huntsville just like you. How much of all that do you blame on yourself?” Amy asked.

  “I guess it’s pretty scrambled up at this point,” Jesse said.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself. What Judd has done was of his own doing. We all must take responsibility for our own sins,” Amy said as she put her head on his shoulder.

  Jesse sighed and said, “The boy killed stealing the trucks was the shine driver for Judd. Young and daring his driving ability earned him the reputation as the Shine Ghost!”

  “This goes a lot deeper than running a bunch of shine and that leaves you out,” Amy said.

  Jesse replied, “My creativity gave Judd the negative direction he needed to justify anything necessary to accomplish our goals. Looking back now, I see him in a different light. He didn’t hesitate to use muscle and fear when needed.”

  C26 - The Cabin in the Woods

  With Mike’s help, Willy made it to the chair on the front porch. He sat down and breathed heavily. Closing his eyes, he leaned his bandaged head back against the log wall, letting the cool evening breeze cool his perspiring face.

  “How long have I been this way?” he asked.

  “It’s been over a week now. Doc wants us to get you up every time you wake. You are fortunate to be alive,” the Ranger said.

  “I do not know what hurts the most, my chest or my head,” Willy said smiling.

  “A bullet has that effect on a person’s chest and a brick will give you a headache every time,” Mike said.

  The sound of a motor coming through the woods signaled the arrival of Captain Eastman and two of his rangers. Mike knew something was dreadfully wrong as he watched a haggard Captain and two heavily armed rangers get out of the car in front of the cabin. The Captain’s eyes fell on Willy leaning against the cabin wall and said, “Mike, these rangers will be helping you guard the Bakers. There was an attempt to kill a witness this evening at the courthouse which left a ranger dead. I want these people guarded and kept secure,” he stated. Standing in front of the cabin, Captain Eastman considered the man before him. He then stated, “Baker, I just lost a ranger all because of you. One way or the other I will get to the bottom of this. I will make this case my life’s work in order to put you away. Now you tell me what is so important that all these people were killed? This all started with you. You tell me why my ranger died! He was worth a million like you, now start talking!”

  Willy tried to sort it all out in his mind. Growing weaker and weaker he slumped over in the chair. Annie stood in the door way listening to the conversation.

  “What ranger was killed today, Captain?” she asked.

  “His name was Barney Wright. He was scheduled to retire in a couple of months,” Captain Eastman replied.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Captain.” Annie turned and helped Mike get Willy back to the bedroom. The Captain turned and walked over to the swing; grief written all over his face.

  Annie watched him through the window for a minute then walked out to join him.

  “Annie, three years ago I lost another ranger. I had hoped I would never see it happen again,” Eastwood said.

  “Captain, I believe that Willy is thoroughly confused and has lost his memory. When he was shot in the barn he fell and hit his head. Doctor Muller thinks he has amnesia and I truly believe
he is not faking. Bonnie is hurting badly, yet she refuses to take any pain medicine because of the baby.” Sitting down in the swing beside him she took his hand and said, “Daniel, you have every right to be hurt. There is surely something behind all this that we don’t see. I’ve known the Bakers since almost the day they moved out here. I have seen the tenderness in Willy’s eyes toward Bonnie. He doesn’t seem like the man that would intentionally cause all this. Let’s give Willy Baker the benefit of the doubt. The courts need to be the judge of this mess. You and I must do what we can to drill down to the truth and not circumvent the process.”

  Daniel raised his head and smiled. “You are a wise young woman. It doesn’t negate the fact that a fine Christian man died today,” the captain said.

  “You said that Ranger Wright was a godly man. Then you know as well as I do that the steps of a godly man are ordained by the Lord. Nothing can happen to His children unless He allows it to happen. Let’s you and I keep things in perspective as hard as it might be,” Annie said.

  Rising from the swing the captain said, “You and Mike keep a close eye on Baker. I will give him the benefit of the doubt but that’s all. I just hope I never see a tragedy like this again. Now I must drive to Austin to see my ranger’s family,” the captain said.

  ααααααα

  A barber shop on the lower east side of Chicago was full to capacity when FBI Agent Gary Burkett entered. Standing in the doorway he wiped the rain from his shoes. His gaze went over every man sitting around the walls reading the paper or talking. Three of the five barber chairs were filled with customers but only one took notice of Burkett standing in the doorway with a cigar in his mouth.