“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re not the only idiot in the car.”
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating. I’m just taking a leisurely drive, enjoying my time off.”
“Yeah. Your orders are to turn that car around and get Stratton back here on the double. You might make it by trial time. If you don’t, Ponty walks, and that will not be good for your career.”
“Not to mention his clientele,” I murmured.
He heard me. “Look, Tony, I know you think his people have your girlfriend, but they’re bluffing. We have the boss locked down so tight there’s no way he’s running his operation, and we don’t think what’s left of his gang is smart enough to plan this on their own.”
“I can’t take the chance. If they don’t have her, where is she?”
“Probably at a friend’s, hiding out from the guy who broke her heart. Your responsibility is back here.”
Wilder had a point. Even if I could swoop in and save the day, would she even want to see me?
Frankie saw me waver. “The reception isn’t very good out here, Agent Wilder. We’ll call you later.” He hung up.
“What now?” I asked.
He tapped the GPS screen on his dash. “I-44 to 51, then west to Ingalls, OK. Nobody tells me how to spend my vacation.”
West on Highway 51 put us in the middle of nowhere. The passing power poles stood watch over a flat, desolate landscape.
We turned south on a county road, the tires crackling on the gravel ribbon between grazing land. John had said Ingalls was abandoned, and it looked like it had been uninhabited for a hundred years. There were a few ramshackle wood buildings, several connected to the largest structure, maybe an old hotel, which had the distinction of being the only structure with any kind of roof – broken red terra cotta tiles. There was a dark green Nissan Armada parked outside the building, covered with a layer of dust from its drive in.
The decrepit gathering of buildings was surrounded by Sheriff’s vehicles from the surrounding counties: names like Payne, Noble, Lincoln, and Pawnee. Frankie’s car crunched to a stop next to a faded historical marker that read, “Site of the Battle of Ingalls, September 1, 1893. A shootout between U. S. Marshalls and the Doolin-Dalton Gang.”
“Cool,” said Frankie, reading out the passenger side window.
Our arrival caused a stir among the flock of officers. They turned to examine us, many with their hands on their guns.
Sheriff Harris recognized me as I got out of the car, slowly. Frankie held up his badge so the others could see.
Harris approached me. “What in the devil’s blazes are you doing here?”
“Is Stephanie in there?”
“We haven’t seen her, but they say they have her. Frankly, I hoped she was with you. You both disappeared from town about the same time.”
“You know she’s with them or you wouldn’t be out here.”
“Maybe you’d better tell me what you know about all this.”
Frankie interrupted. “I’m afraid it’s confidential FBI business, Sheriff.”
Before Harris could shoot Frankie, the sheriff’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket.
“Yeah?”
“Who’s the new guest?” the tinny voice said. It was familiar.
“Why don’t you come out here and I’ll introduce you?” Harris must have missed Hostage Negotiating 101 at the academy.
“It looks like Tony Stratton,” the phone said.
“I don’t know who that is,” the sheriff said. I grabbed the phone out of his hand.
“You’re right, this is Stratton.” Harris scowled at the unfamiliar name. “Do you have Stephanie?”
“Yes, I believe I do.”
My blood froze. I put it together. “Ponty?”
I saw Frankie get on his phone.
“Nice to see you again, Reverend,” he said coldly. “You’ve saved me a lot of trouble by coming all the way out here.”
“What do you want?”
“Well, in the unlikely event I get caught again, I need to know you won’t be available to testify against me.”
“You’ve got my word. Just let Stephanie go!”
“It’s not quite that easy. I need to make very sure.”
I knew what he meant. “Let me talk to her.”
There was some rustling. Then, “Peter? Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
“Don’t come in here!” She yelled. “Stay…”
She was interrupted by a slapping sound. I heard her seethe, “I’ll get you for that.” Someone had just plowed up more snakes than they could kill.
Ponty was back on. “I don’t have any interest in hurting Little Miss here. You come inside, and your friends back off, I let her go.”
“OK,” I said, but Harris snatched the phone back.
“Son, he’s not going anywhere. You send the girl out, then come out yourselves, and this can all end the right way.”
“You don’t understand, Sheriff,” Ponty said, “we don’t have anything to lose. Play it our way or we’ll take a lot of you with us. Kind of like the Doolin-Dalton gang, I guess.”
“Boy, the Doolin-Dalton gang wouldn’t let you punks shovel their horse crap.” Harris hung up.
Frankie looked at me and said, “Henry Kissinger, he’s not.” He put his own phone back in his pocket. “It’s Ponty, all right. I called back to Detroit, and he escaped his cell early yesterday. They’re keeping it quiet, and until now they didn’t have any idea where he was. They’re on their way, and they’re mobilizing agents from Oklahoma City, but it’ll be hours before anyone gets here.”
“I’m going in,” I said. “It’s the only way.”
“You’re a fool,” Harris said. “I can’t say I care much what happens to you, but we’re all pretty fond of Stephanie back in Oak Valley. I’m afraid she won’t mean much to them once they have you.”
“He’s right,” Frankie said. “You should wait.”
They both looked at me, then at each other. The sheriff said, “I don’t think we made any impression at all.”
Frankie opened his trunk and pulled out a bullet-proof vest. “At least put this on.”
“The letters F. B. I. in bright yellow will make a real convenient target for them,” said Harris.
Frankie slipped it over my shoulders and fastened the front, like a squire girding his knight for battle. But I didn’t feel like a knight so much as a lamb led to the slaughter. I knew this was going to end badly, but I had to try. I was tired of running from Ponty.
Harris got on his walkie-talkie. “All right, men, let’s give the Reverend some cover.” He glanced at me. “You are a Reverend, aren’t you?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“It’s a long story,” Frankie agreed.
Sun glinted off the drawn weapons as I left the circle of vehicles. I raised my hands and started across the 50 yards or so to the old hotel. About 15 steps from the porch, I saw movement through the glassless windows.
Then I saw the gun barrel and the flash.
The impact to my chest spun me around and sent me to the ground. The pain was excruciating.
I heard the bark of rifles and pistols as the lawmen returned fire.
Fighting to keep conscious, I rolled to a pile of scrap wood close to the hotel. Automatic weapons fire whistled over my head. Boards started to fly off the pile and dance in the air. I knew I couldn’t stay there.
The hotel was closer than retreating to the circle of vehicles. Struggling to breathe, I got to my feet, then dashed across the dirt to the porch. There’s no way that it could hurt more to get shot without a vest.
I considered my options, which were bleak. Getting into the old hotel would be easy enough, just pull a board off the wall and step through, but it meant instant death. Yet Stephanie was in there.
The building was rattled by a muffled explosion. I peeked around the corner in time to see the Armada disappear in a fireball. A stray shot m
ust have hit the gas tank. The wind carried the flames to the hotel. The dry timber wall smoked, then ignited.
From the back of the building I heard, “FBI! Put your weapons down!” Frankie.
At least half the gang’s gunfire flipped toward him.
It was now or never. I yanked a plank off the side of the building and crept inside.
The large room was beginning to fill with smoke. Sun entering through the gaps in the wall cast strips of light that obscured more than they revealed. The gunfire was deafening. I made out four figures, but not Stephanie.
Out of my peripheral vision I saw Frankie. He had taken cover behind a table turned on its side, but it wouldn’t absorb the onslaught of bullets for long before it disintegrated. He caught my eye and nodded toward the staircase.
Upstairs was a balcony with a railing that looked over the room below. On one of the posts I saw two tied hands. They jerked as the person coughed. Stephanie’s voice.
Rounds were still ripping into the building from the outside, but the gunfire inside had lessened. “I’m out of ammo!” I heard one of them say.
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” said another.
“The boss’ll kill us if we do.”
“Better than burning alive!”
I ran across the room to the stairs, a stabbing pain in my chest from the impact of the bullet on my vest. I was sure a rib had broken.
I made it halfway up the stairs before I was overcome with a coughing fit. The smoke stung my eyes and burned my lungs.
I pressed on. When I reached the landing, Stephanie looked up and saw me.
“Tony!” She used my real name.
I knelt beside her and reached for the rope binding her hands. The knot was loose. A few more minutes and she would have been free…if she didn’t burn to death.
I fumbled with the knot, but my eyes were blinded by the cutting smoke. She looked over my shoulder. “Tony! Look out!”
My head exploded in pain. I fell hard against the floor, which began to sway as if in an earthquake. The balcony, weakened by the fire, gave way. Whoever hit me, Stephanie, and I all tumbled into hell, and then everything went mercifully black.
I awoke looking up at blue skies, the wispy clouds mingling with the gray smoke. I turned my head to the left. The buildings of Ingalls were steaming rubble.
I turned to the left and Stephanie’s beautiful, singed, smudged face filled my world.
“I came to rescue you,” I said weakly.
“Yeah, well, I don’t do damsel,” she said.
She helped me sit up. Frankie was crouched in front of me. “After the gang ran out of the building, I saw Ponty hit you with a board,” he said. “I was going to go up the stairs and help, but the whole thing crashed in front of me. I was able to subdue Ponty, and Stephanie dragged you out before the whole building collapsed.”
I looked around the scene. More cop cars had appeared. News copters circled overhead, and two marked “FBI” were on the ground. Ponty was being shepherded into one of them.
Frankie said, “Agent Wilder wants to know if you’re able to travel. One of these helicopters can get you the airport in Oklahoma City and onto a jet for Detroit. Ponty is going to make his court date after all. It would be great if the star witness could be there, too.”
“You’ve got it,” I said, and he helped me stand. We made our way slowly toward the helicopter. After several steps, I stopped, and turned to Stephanie.
“Are you coming?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I never want to be anywhere without you again.”
Frankie interrupted. “We can’t fly a civilian on an FBI transport without authorization.”
“Since when do you need authorization for anything, Francisco? She’s coming with us.”
The Sunday sun was shining on Oak Valley Community Church as Stephanie and I greeted congregation members leaving the worship service. We were on the steps of the brand-new building that replaced the old one damaged in an explosion a lifetime ago.
I shook hands with John Gray. “Your sermons get better and better,” he said. “I remember when you started, they were terrible.”
“Practice, practice,” I replied.
His wife, Cynthia, said, “Are you two still coming for lunch? Roast with all the fixings.”
Stephanie said, “We’ll be there. I’ll help set it out, and the guys can clean up.”
“Perfect,” she said, and they moved on.
I noticed Sheriff Harris exit the police station across the street in a rush. He set his coffee cup on the roof of his cruiser and unlocked his door.
Before he could slide in, Stephanie and I approached the car.
“Anything wrong, Sheriff? You seem to be in a hurry for a Sunday morning.”
“There’s been a break-in at the cleaners over on 2nd. The only thing missing was whatever was in a floor safe the current owners didn’t even know existed. And there was some kind of note.”
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“Don’t even think about it!” he growled, and sped off, siren blaring.
I smiled at Stephanie, and she smiled back.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David L. Thornburg is a writer and educator.
He and his wife live in Oklahoma. He can be reached at http://davidlthornburg.wix.com/mysite or facebook.com/davidlthornburgauthor.
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A Song Sung in the Dark Paperback and Kindle versions available at Amazon.com. Click here.
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The print version of Snow along with the short stories “The Thief Who Folded the Laundry,” “The Late, Great Lenny Raze,” “Faustball,” and “Primmy Song” along with various blog posts from Thornburg’s career.
Also available: Short Stories on Amazon Kindle
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Bonus Chapter
Sooner Dead
Oak Valley Secrets Book 2
Chapter 1
The anxious lump in Lianne Ortega's throat grew as the smuggler's boat got closer. In the darkness of the humid Tulsa night, the distant engine left a wake that trailed behind the powerful motorboat. It moved slowly on the Verdigris River but could reach speeds of 200 mph on the open Arkansas or Mississippi Rivers on its way to or from New Orleans.
Lianne’s presence there was out of the ordinary for a customs collector in so many ways: the late night, the cargo, and the fact that she was taking a bribe. A big one.
Unlike the barges that came and went every day at the Port of Catoosa, this shipment was a problem the Tulsa metro area didn't have yet – enough heroin to turn a boutique drug business into a big enterprise with a widespread customer base.
The $50,000 Ortega expected to receive was for ensuring the dock was clear and the security cameras were aimed elsewhere.
She stood at the edge of the concrete abutment, under the enormous crane that spanned the river. Behind her the 3-story administration structure was dark.
Sooner Fled Page 10