Jake Caldwell Thrillers Read online

  “Was going to hang with my friend at the house, but she didn’t show,” Halle said, stopping. She couldn’t run, but she didn’t want to go in the house. Bad things would happen. “I haven’t seen anybody at that house for months until you guys showed up,” she continued. “Come on, Willie, let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you being here. Hell, I don’t even know what you were doing.”

  Willie waved the pistol forward, motioning her to move again.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “I’ll try to keep you safe, but in the end…it ain’t gonna be my call.”

  As they crested the small hill and the ramshackle ranch lay ominously before them, Halle had the sick feeling Willie having a thing for her wasn’t going to be enough to keep her alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As Willie prodded Halle up the hill in the descending darkness, Sheriff Bear plopped the baggie of red rocks on a scarred wooden table in the dimly lit holding room at the Benton County Jail. Howie slumped in a creaky chair, his skinny arms hugging his torso, the death sentence in a bag in front of him.

  He was screwed. If he said nothing, Bear would beat the shit out of him, and he’d spend the last of his teen years in prison for meth distribution. Given his moderate but significant juvenile rap sheet, Judge Cronin would have no qualms sending him away. Willie and Shane might make some minor attempts to keep him happy and quiet, but in the end, Shane would count him as too big a liability and Howie would end up with a steel shank shoved through his ear in the exercise yard.

  If he told Bear any tidbit of information, Bear would beat the shit out of him to get more, get pissed when he didn’t get any, and send Howie in front of Judge Cronin who’d send him up the river. Shane wouldn’t worry about keeping Howie happy. Howie would end up ass raped in the shower for his loose lips with the same steel shank shoved through the same ear.

  The third option? Tell Bear whatever he wanted to hear in exchange for immunity from prosecution and a relocation package for himself and his brother. If worse came to worse, he could leave Bennett behind, though Shane would kill him. Their chances of staying alive with a pissed off Shane roaming the lands weren’t great, but they were better than prison, and would probably save him a beating from Bear. But, turning into a rat? That made his stomach harden.

  “Howie?” Bear asked, leaning forward on the table, his paws interlocked in front of him. Howie was so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed Bear sit at the table.

  “What? You’re seriously going to break my balls over a few little rock chips?”

  “Yeah, I am.” Bear’s dark eyes bore into Howie’s, forcing Howie’s gaze back to the Devil Ice. “You know how long I worked to get this crap out of my county? You know how many skulls of shitheads like you I’ve cracked? How many of my kids’ games I missed? How many lives you’ve destroyed spewing this poison around? Do you have any idea, Howie?”

  Howie shook his head, almost imperceptibly like a nervous tick. His brain thumped from the horrific hangover and the slap delivered by Deputy Sad Dog when he put Howie in the room. Sad Dog Daniels never liked Howie, and now hung back in the corner behind Bear, arms crossed, and a sadistic smirk pasted on his red-faced mug.

  “So, what is this?” Bear asked, picking up the bag of Devil Ice and waving it in front of Howie. “What’s it called and where’d you get it? You cooking in my town again, Howie?”

  “No, sir,” Howie said. “That bag ain’t mine.”

  “Oh, well hell.” Bear dropped the bag on the table and kicked his chair back. “We might as well cut him loose, Daniels. The bag ain’t his.”

  Sad Dog laughed. “Must belong to his scumbag brother.”

  “Ain’t his either,” Howie said.

  Bear stretched his arms to the heavens and adopted the voice of the local Baptist minister. “Lord, it’s a miracle. This bag of red rock just magically appeared on your bedside table next to an unregistered pistol, neither of which your dumb ass is supposed to have because you still have six months of probation, am I right?”

  Bear moved around the table and directly behind him, the thundering pulse in Howie’s neck visible. Howie closed his eyes and readied his mind for Bear’s fist to crash into his skull. Instead, Bear leaned forward, his thick fingers digging painfully into the meaty space under Howie’s collarbone. His face close enough that his beard tickled Howie’s cheek.

  “I can help you, Howie,” Bear said, his scratchy voice low, almost an intimate whisper. “I’m the only one in this entire county who can actually help you. I can help you because I don’t want you. I want the sumbitch who is bringing this shit back into my town. You’re going to tell me or I am going to throw you in a cell with Big Dick Sanders who hasn’t had a warm body to snuggle up to in a couple of weeks and would love to make his acquaintance with your tight, white ass. When Big Dick is done, I’m going to beat you so bloody your momma is going to need to fetch your dental records so Doc Thompson can identify your remains.”

  Howie winced as Bear’s claw dug harder into the muscle of his neck. His mind raced. Bear hurt him and itched to do more. Sad Dog waited across the room with a hungry look, like a Doberman anticipating the attack command from his master. Howie pictured Shane and Willie safely at the house sipping drinks and counting money. That fat tub of lard Bub Sievers would go on being a waste of oxygen while some tattooed lifer in prison took out his frustrations on Howie’s ass. Mostly, he worried about his brother. If Howie gave Bear anything useful, Bennett would die a horrible death at the hands of Shane.

  “What’s the street name for this?” Bear growled, clamping harder on Howie’s collarbone. Howie howled, stamping his foot to dissipate the pain, worried his collarbone would snap like a toothpick if Bear applied anymore pressure.

  “It ain’t got a street name,” Howie cried. When the words escaped his lips, Bear released his death grip, but kept his hand on Howie’s throbbing shoulder.

  “What’s it called?”

  Howie desperately tried to figure out how much he could say. “Devil Ice, I guess.”

  “Where’d you get it?” Bear asked.

  “I don’t know,” Howie said, howling again as Bear clamped on to the collarbone again.

  Bear gritted his teeth. “Don’t say I don’t know to me again. Where did you get it?”

  “Hank Troy,” Howie said, expelling the name of a small-time local dealer who he hated.

  “When did Hank Troy sell it to you?”

  “Last night at the Turn It Loose,” Howie said. In truth, he hadn’t seen Hank in a couple of weeks but hoped his lie would help the pain in his shoulder go away. Instead, it intensified.

  “Hank Troy has been in County for the last ten days, you dumb son of a bitch. Nothing pisses me off more than some dickless tweaker jerking my chain. Did Hank sell this to you?”

  “No,” Howie whimpered, tears forming in his eyes. Panic rose through his skinny frame and the truth bubbled to the surface. One more ounce of pressure from Bear and he would spill everything and that would be the end of him.

  “Give me something and I’ll make the pain go away.” Bear clamped down further.

  “Shane,” Howie said, the pitch of his voice near a howl.

  Bear’s eyebrows shot up. “Shane Langston?”

  Before Howie could even nod, a knock sounded on the door. Bear jerked his head to Daniels to answer the door. Daniels got up and moved to the door of the interrogation room. Howie crimped his shimmering eyes shut.

  “Sheriff Parley,” a deep voice said. “I suggest you take your hands off Mr. Skaggs.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Bear asked, releasing the pressure from Howie’s collarbone.

  “I’m Mr. Skaggs’ attorney and I’d like a moment alone with my client. Now.”

  Howie’s eyes opened wide, as surprised as Bear and Deputy Daniels at the dark-suited figure in the doorway. How in the hell did he get an attorney?

  Bear edged away from the table, rubbing his fingers with his opposite hand,
no doubt trying to get circulation flowing through them again. He studied the card the lawyer offered then crumpled it in his hand. “We’re not done here, Howie. Not by a long shot.”

  * * *

  Halle drew her knees together and rocked back and forth on the edge of a bare mattress in the back room of the abandoned house, dreading the opening of the door. Muffled voices emanated from the other side as Willie and Dexter argued. She caught brief snippets of the conversation which centered around her.

  Someone had painted the window shut and it wouldn’t budge. She came close to tossing a chair through the glass, but realized she wouldn’t clear the window sill before those animals pounced on her. She’d hobbled around the room on her bad leg searching drawers in a nightstand and a dresser for some kind of weapon but got nothing for her efforts but filthy hands.

  Her mind raced at potential strategies to get out of this mess but saw little chance. Dexter wouldn’t let her go. Bub Sievers would love to come into the room and have his way with her, maybe the Skaggs brother would join him. Mom was strong, what would she do? She’d always taught Halle that nothing was given to you. No matter the situation, you had to work for what you wanted and not rely on anyone else but yourself. Especially, a man. But her mom also said you draw more flies with honey than vinegar. Willie liked her, despite her young age. If she could charm him, he might keep her alive long enough to get out of this. As if on cue, Willie’s voice drew closer to the door, which cracked open seconds later.

  “You go play with your girlfriend,” Dexter said. “We’ll see what the Man has to say about it.”

  Willie entered, red-faced and tight jawed. He shut the door behind him and ran his hands through his long, frazzled hair. He’d replaced the plastic suit with ratty, stained jeans, holes in the knees, and a well-worn blue denim shirt, the cuffs rolled up.

  “What’s going on, Willie?” Halle asked.

  Willie focused on the dusty floorboards for a moment before dropping on the edge of the bed. “I ain’t gonna lie to you, Halle. You’re in deep trouble.”

  “What for? I didn’t see anything.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Willie said. “You know it and I know it. The question is what are we going to do about it?”

  Tears welled up as her mind raced to the dark, macabre places this situation could lead. There wasn’t any way she would get out of this unhurt. She’d never wanted to hold her mother more in her life.

  “Just let me go home,” she said, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Willie. Let me go home. I won’t say anything. Hell, I don’t even know what I saw.”

  “Ain’t up to me. I’m gonna do my best to keep you safe. I can control these animals out here, but when…the boss gets wind of this, I can’t say what he’s gonna want to do. He’s not big on loose ends.”

  “But I don’t know anything,” Halle said, a tear falling on her cheek.

  “Yeah, you do.” Willie wiped the tear from Halle’s cheek then walked out, leaving Halle to imagine her fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jake pulled up the drive to the old homestead, Maggie sitting quietly in the passenger seat. Jake was thankful she left her car at Hospice House. Halfway between Sedalia and Warsaw, Maggie had rested her hand on top of his. Jake was surprised sparks didn’t fly from the electricity coursing through his veins. They spoke little as they rolled up and down the highway hills. Jake wanted to talk but had trouble coming up with anything to say.

  He parked in front of the house and listened to the engine tick. A few loose leaves drifted on the truck’s black hood before dashing away in the evening breeze. Jake rotated his broad shoulders toward her.

  “Maggie…” he said, before trailing off. Once he looked into her eyes, his train of thought completely derailed. He worked his mouth open and closed as if the mechanical motion would fire the synapses of his brain.

  “How ’bout that beer? I’ve got a few minutes before I need to get home.” Maggie flashed her deep dimples, saving him.

  They got out and walked into the house. Even with Stony gone, it still smelled musty and decayed, and he reminded himself to open the windows once he and Maggie were done. He grabbed a couple of cold beers and headed back to the front door. He scanned to the left where Maggie now wandered fifty yards away through the uncut grass, toward their spot on the hill. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a nod to follow. He double-checked the locked toolbox on his truck and waded through the grass after her.

  Once past the yard, Jake picked his way along the narrow path he must’ve trodden a thousand times in his youth. Tree branches and weeds had taken their toll on the well-worn trail, but he could climb the hill with his eyes closed. The day’s falling sun cast his shadow out front as he emerged into the clearing. Maggie faced the expansive valley below, her back to him.

  “I never get tired of this view,” she said. Jake walked beside her, admiring the explosion of fall colors from the sun-kissed treetops. He handed her a beer. She popped the top and took a long pull, licking the tiniest bit of foam from her upper lip.

  “It was one of the few things I missed about this town.” Jake took a swig of his own beer. He sat on the ground; his knees drawn up in front of him. Maggie followed suit.

  “Was I one of those things?” she asked, turning her gaze from the scenery to him. Jake resisted the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

  “Yeah, you were,” he said at last. “This spot brings back a lot of memories. We had a lot of good times here.”

  “And some bad times, too,” she reminded him. “I came up here every night for a month after you disappeared, staring out at this same valley, crying in anguish and anger. Just waiting for the crunch of your boots coming up the path, but you never came.”

  The multicolored foliage swayed in front of them, almost hypnotic. “I can’t explain why I bailed the way I did.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know why.”

  “It doesn’t make it right, though,” he said.

  “No, it doesn’t,” she replied. The pain resonated in her voice. Pain he caused. “I tried to find you, you know. Nobody knew where you went or even heard a whisper about you for a couple of years.”

  Yet again, intense guilt settled on his shoulders, his back aching from the weight of it. He’d run away from Stony but left one heaping shit-pile of a mess behind—Janey, Nicky and, of course, Maggie.

  “I drifted around for a while,” he said. “Took some odd jobs here and there. Some in Kansas City, then out to Nebraska and Oklahoma.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Construction mostly. I was a gopher. Young and strong, good for hauling stuff around. Studied boxing and some martial arts wherever I went. Got pretty good, but eventually I’d overwork my knee, and get laid up and laid off. Then, I’d move on somewhere else and start over.”

  “And now you’re back in Kansas City?”

  “Yeah, for the last few years. Got hooked on playing poker for a spell.”

  Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Poker? You don’t strike me as much of a gambler.”

  “It’s not really gambling if you know what you’re doing,” he said. “I got hooked up with a poker pro named Johnny Chase who taught me the ropes—staked me for a while. I could scratch out enough to cover the rent, but not much else. I was an okay player, but I got in a little over my head and owed a bit to the wrong sort of people.”

  “Loan sharks?”

  “Businessmen,” he said. “Businessmen who knew I was, at best, a mediocre player, but I had other talents. They let me pay them back through work.”

  “What kind of work?” she said, a dubious tone taking over.

  “Collecting, mostly. Some guy owed and was reluctant separating himself from his wallet, I helped collect the money.”

  “A leg breaker?”

  “Only for the assholes,” he said, flashing his teeth. He stifled it when she didn’t return the smile. “It’s not what I envisioned my life to be, but it puts food on the table
for now.”

  “Sorry, it’s not what I expected.”

  “I’m not proud of it and it’s not who I am. But I have an exit strategy,” Jake said, thinking about Shane Langston. He obviously couldn’t tell her of his unwelcome mission to kill a man. “I was wiggling my way out when Janey called and told me about Stony. I told my employer I’m taking a little time off.”

  “What prompted you for an exit strategy?”

  Jake plucked a few blades of grass, thinking back. “I’m afraid to tell you.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He tossed the grass high and the blades fluttered away in the breeze, fading from green to black as the disappeared into the descending darkness.

  “My boss sent me to an address in Kansas City. Dump of a hotel, the kind you can pay for a room by the week. The kind where all the cars and souls in the place are running on empty. The guy I was supposed to collect from cracks the door from a unit on the second floor, hiding behind one of those pencil-thin gold chains latching the door shut. He says he doesn’t have the five hundred bucks he owes my boss and won’t come out. Says he’s working hard to get the money together and asks for another week. I peek into the room behind him and see a bag of heroin and a syringe next to a new bottle of Jack Daniels. So, obviously he’s full of shit.”

  “Sounds like a real winner.”

  “I didn’t care who he was. He represented a job, no different to me than hamburger patty you’d flip at McDonald’s. I pump my shoulder into the door and bust the chain. The guy falls on the floor begging and pleading, eyes wide, hands raised, track marks running up and down his skinny arms. I have orders to bust him up if he doesn’t have the money and so I start bashing that scraggly face with my fists. Demanding money I know he doesn’t have. He screams when I grab his index finger and snap it like a twig, but I don’t care. I’m about to snap another one when this little girl busts out of the bathroom screaming bloody murder.”