Poor Boy Road (Jake Caldwell #1) (16 page)

A little after seven, Jake went out to meet Bear on the drive. His friend lumbered out of the cab of his truck, his uniform wrinkled with a dried coffee stain on one thigh. His eyes were narrow and hollow, and he needed a shave. Maggie flew down the front steps.

“Damn, Bear,” Jake said. “You look like shit.”

“Bears like their sleep and I haven’t gotten much since you rolled into town. I take it no word from Halle?” Maggie’s mouth turned low. “I spread the word among my guys to keep their eyes peeled and I got a crew heading over to the cook house. They’re gonna scour the place and the surrounding woods and see if we can turn up something useful. Maggie, I’m going to steal Jake. I’ve got an idea his particular skill sets could help with.”

What skill sets might those be? Those he was trying to get away from? Whatever it took to get Halle back. Everything had changed with Maggie’s revelation in the kitchen. It was no longer about just finding her daughter, but finding his daughter too. Should he tell Bear about it?

“What about me?” Maggie asked.

“I need you to stay here,” Bear said. “In case Halle or anybody else gets in contact with you.”

“But they’d call my cell.” Her eyes cast wide and pleading. “I can’t sit here and do nothing. I’ll go crazy.”

“Please, Maggie. Just stay here. Somebody could come by or call with information, or Halle herself may come strolling up the lane. You won’t be doing nothing. When was the last time you were in her room?”

“Yesterday, dropping some clean clothes on her dresser.”

“You toss the place?”

Maggie stepped back. “No, she’s a good girl. I don’t have to loot through her stuff to know what’s going on with my daughter.”

“I know she’s a good girl, but right now we’re runnin’ in the dark. I need you to go through every nook and cranny. See if there’s any letters, notes, receipts, pictures. Anything out of the ordinary or anything that trips your pretty brain to give us another direction to look at. Look between the mattress and box springs, under loose floorboards, underneath jewelry boxes, every square inch of that room. Can you do it?”

Maggie started to say something, but instead nodded.

“Good,” Bear said. “I’ll call you in an hour or sooner if we find something. Jake, come with me, big guy.”

“Where we going?”

“To the jailhouse. I got a problem a man with your unique talents could help with.”

Jake grabbed Maggie’s car keys and promised to get the vehicle for her.

“What’s going on?” Jake asked when they turned on to Poor Boy Road and headed west toward Old 65 Highway and town.

“Remember the shithead I told you I got sitting in jail?”

“The one with the red rock and the lawyer?”

“Yup,” Bear said. He reached Highway 65 and let an orange Challenger whip by. “The lawyer left with strict instructions to Howie Bennett not to say anything to any of us. I tried talking to Howie in between searches for Halle, but he’s wedged in tight. That’s my problem.”

“And I’m the solution?”

“I want to dump you in a room with Howie. I wasn’t too worried when I originally talked to him, but now with the red meth and Halle’s iPod at the scene, I think he can lead us somewhere.”

“New rock you’ve never seen before,” Jake said. “Recent cooking activity at a drug house and a mysteriously appearing lawyer.”

“See? You would’ve made a good cop.”

“What can I do?”

“He won’t talk to a cop, but he might talk to you. You can look pretty mean when you try.”

“What about his constitutional rights?”

“He has the constitutional right that I don’t beat his ass. Beyond that, I don’t give a shit at this point.”

“You think this guy’s gonna spill his guts to me? Sounds pretty fucking thin, Bear.”

“It is thin,” Bear said. “But we don’t have much to go on other than rousting every kid in town, which we’re pretty much going to do anyway, but maybe Howie gives us a direction. You lean on his ass until he gives us something useful. I’ve been chasing Shane Langston for a long time now. This is the best chance I’ve had to nail his ass so I’m pulling out the stops.”

“What if the lawyer barks about police brutality?”

“You ain’t a cop. I have some measure of plausible deniability.”

“Doesn’t sound very plausible.”

“You want to help me or not, asshole?” Bear said.

Jake said nothing, letting his grin speak for itself. Giving Bear flack like the old days brought some normalcy to the world.

They exited the highway and rolled across the bridge toward town, the corner gas station busy with locals filling up for the day and getting their morning coffee. He wanted to break the Halle news to Bear, but said nothing as they arrived downtown. The shop owners angle-parked in front of their stores and were rolling out the sidewalks, preparing for the day’s business. Bear pulled in front of the sheriff’s office and shut off the car.

“There any cameras in the room?” Jake asked.

“One, but it will mysteriously stop working when we get there. Damn technology.”

“Sure the lawyer won’t come after me?”

“His lawyer won’t even know you were here. We’ll deny anyone has seen Howie since the bloodsucker left the night before.”

Though he had reservations, Howie might lead them to Shane Langston and solve the problem both he and Bear suffered from. What could possibly go wrong? Well, a million different things, but if it took care of Langston and they found Halle, Jake didn’t care.

“Okay,” Jake said, opening the car door. “Let’s do it.”

Howie Skaggs lay awake on an impossibly thin mattress that did nothing to mask the cold, hard metal of the bunk it rested on. He’d managed to doze for a bit, drifting in and out in between bleak bouts of imagined scenarios, most of which ended with his horribly painful death at the hands of Shane.

The lawyer spent his brief time with Howie grilling him on what he’d told the cops during his interrogation. Luckily, Howie didn’t have to lie since the lawyer arrived before he had a chance to spill his guts in exchange for immunity and relocation somewhere out of Shane Langston’s clutches. The lawyer promised to work on getting bail for Howie in the morning, and the man’s demeanor left the impression on Howie’s dim brain that he might potentially get out of this jam alive. At the same time, the dim brain told him the lawyer could care less whether Howie got out or not, and to keep his guard up.

A tall, thin man slept in the cell next to him. They must’ve brought him in during the night. The man’s gaunt, bearded jaw hung open in a silent snore and a thin line of drool rolled down his cheek. His body odor and stale beer cologne wafted across the cell, mixing unpleasantly with the harsh smell of disinfectant from the jail. Two cells over, Crazy Wayne Kirtley, the town loon clutched the bars to his cell door and mumbled something to nobody. Wonder what he did this time?

The door to the bay clanked open, followed by the rhythmic thunk of a rolling cart with a bad wheel. Howie swung his legs off the bunk and set his shoeless feet on the cold, stone floor.

A uniformed cop stopped in front of his neighbor’s cell and yelled at the man inside, calling him “Williams.” Williams stirred and cracked his eyes. He sat up and wiped the drool from his cheek. The cop held a paper plate covered with a napkin through the slot in the bars. The inmate took it and returned to the cot seemingly oblivious to Howie’s existence. The cop pushed the cart a few feet more and stopped in front of Howie’s cell.

“Breakfast,” the cop said.

Howie climbed to his feet and shuffled over to the door. He hadn’t eaten for a day. Even the hard biscuit and two paper-thin slices of precooked bacon looked like heaven.

“When am I getting out of here?” he asked the cop.

“Beats the hell out of me. Ask the day shift when they get here.”

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“Tell someone who gives a shit because it ain’t me.”

The cop shuffled back the way he came. Howie poked at the food. The bacon was cold, but the biscuit was hot and tasted decent. Williams gnawed at his breakfast in the next cell.

“Whatcha in for?” Howie asked.

“Why?”

“Just making conversation.”

Williams eyed him for a moment, his jaw working slowly on the biscuit.

“Possession of a controlled substance,” Williams said.

“Small world. You from around here? I don’t recognize you.”

The man stuffed the rest of his biscuit in his mouth. He chewed for a minute, face working like he tried to figure out a complex math problem in his head.

“Kansas City,” Williams said at last. “Was supposed to pick something up and got busted speeding. You want my bacon? I can’t eat this crap.”

Williams walked over with his plate in hand and Howie moved to meet him. Williams stuck the two pieces through the cell and Howie took them, popping them into his mouth.

“Thanks,” Howie mumbled.

The man reached through the bars. “Hey, I’m Gus Williams.”

“Howie Skaggs.” He shook the man’s hand. Williams' grip clamped from friendly to vise, surprising Howie with its power. He pulled Howie violently forward, slamming his face into the cold metal bars. Williams dropped the plate and produced a long, metal shaft of steel, filed to a sharp point.

“Shane says to have a nice day.” Williams jabbed his hand through the bars and rammed the steel through Howie’s eye, wide with surprise and terror. Just a millisecond of searing pain before the steel bit into his brain and cancelled any worries about what Shane was going to do to him.

“What in the holy hell!” Bear bellowed from in front of the cell. Jake rushed across the yellowed linoleum to Bear who white-knuckled the closed bars.

Holy shit. The man inside the cell lay on his back, a steel shaft protruding from a hole that used to house his left eye. Blood pooled around the man’s cropped brown hair, jaw hanging open in a silent scream, and trickled to the drain in the center of the cell, a copper smell hanging in the air.

“Jake, meet Howie. Johnston!” Bear slammed his fist into the wall as a rail-thin cop with a crisp uniform darted through the door and across the cell row.

He staggered back at the sight on the floor. “Jesus.”

“Open the door,” Bear whispered. “And call an ambulance.”

Johnston fumbled with the keys before finding the right one and opened the cell. Bear trod carefully around the puddle of blood and knelt next to Howie. He touched his neck, checking for a pulse before shaking his head.

“Who was the last one in here?” Bear demanded.

“Inside the cell? Beats me,” Johnston said. “I just got here. Howell came out with the breakfast trolley a few minutes ago, but he don’t have keys to the cells and sure as hell didn’t say anything about this guy being dead.”

“Go get him. Now.” Bear followed Johnston out of the cell and walked past Jake to the next cell. The man inside lay on his bunk with his hands folded behind his head.

“What’s your name?”

“Williams,” the man said, sprawled out like he lounged at the beach.

“I suppose you didn’t see a thing,” Bear said.

“Oh, I saw everything, Sheriff,” Williams said, flashing yellowed teeth and waving a bloody hand in their direction.

In the next cell, Wayne Kirtley backed up against the wall, as far away as he could get. His eyes wide and wary.

“Man,” Bear said. “This is gonna be a long fucking day.”

                                                        #

Halle trembled on the bed in the locked room of the blue house, feeling cold and empty as Shane perched too close to her, like a vulture in waiting. He had yet to touch her, but the threat loomed, his knife twirling deftly in his hands as he spoke. He’d spent the last thirty minutes asking about her, making small talk with little probing questions about her knowledge of the drug trade in Warsaw and Willie’s crew in particular.

“So, what did you see at the house in the woods?” he asked, as innocently as if he’d asked a little girl if she liked puppies.

“Nothing,” Halle said. “Honestly.”

“Now, Halle,” he said, a creepy grin on his face that caused a cold sweat to break on her brow. He crept the hunting knife across her leg, the razor edge scraping her bare skin. “We both know that isn’t the case or you wouldn’t have run. What did you see? And don’t lie to me because I don’t like people who lie to me.”

Oh, Christ. What should she say? She stared at the knife, the words stuck in her throat. Shane stopped the blade and pressed the edge into her skin, drawing a line of crimson. Halle stifled a scream.

“I saw your guys in yellow suits,” she blurted out.

“What were they doing?”

“Bagging up a bunch of red rock.”

“Who was doing it?”

She fought the panic, watching her blood trickle down her thigh and on to the bed. “I couldn’t tell. They both had masks on. But after they chased me in the woods and brought me back to the house, I knew it was Willie and Bub and Bennett. I don’t know who the guy with the bad teeth was.”

“Very good.” Shane released the pressure of the blade. “What did they do with the bags?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They kept me in the back room until we came here in Willie’s truck.”

“You came straight here?” Shane asked, resting his hand on Halle’s thigh, the blade angled toward her stomach. Her throat tightened as she imagined Shane shoving it forward and gutting her like a deer. A sharp pang of regret sliced through her thinking about the last heated encounter with Mom.

“No, we stopped somewhere and Willie got out for a bit. He left me in the smelly truck with Bub.”

“Where?”

Hot tears ran down Halle’s cheeks. “I don’t know. It was dark. Looked like a barn. Willie was gone for a couple of minutes, then he came back and we drove here. It was a little ways. Took us a while to get here.”

“Willie or Bub say anything along the way about a warehouse?”

Warehouse? She shook her head.

“You’re doing great, honey,” Shane said, his breath hot in her ear. She trembled, scared his hand would slide up her thigh. Oh God, what would she do if it crept any higher? “What did they say in the truck on the drive?”

Halle wanted to lean away, but was too afraid to move. She smelled her own fear in the sweat trickling down her brow.

“They talked about you,” Halle said after a moment. Maybe she could deflect Shane’s attention off her. She had to keep his interest away from Willie who represented her one chance of getting out of here alive.

“Really? What did they say?”

“Bub said something about taking the stuff and splitting town, running away to Mexico or someplace where you couldn’t find them.”

“Mexico, huh?” The knuckles on Shane's hand holding the knife whitened with tension.

“But Willie told him to stop talking like that. That you’d find him and kill him. Willie stuck by you and said you were the boss and they needed to do what you said. Bub said he would run as soon as he could.”

“Did he now?” Shane took his hard hand from her thigh. He walked over to the window, twirling the knife with his fingers. “Did they…hurt you?”

“No,” Halle said. “I think Bub wanted to, but Willie stopped him.”

Shane stuck the knife in a sheath on his hip. The coldness faded from his eyes for an instant, like he really saw a scared girl sitting in front of him. He crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. His fingers were cold as ice.

“Thank you for your honesty, Halle,” he said. “I want you to know I’m not going to hurt you as long as you cooperate. Do you believe me?”

Halle nodded. Like she had a choice.

“Now,” he continued, “I’m going to have a little chat with Bub and Willie. I’ve got to figure out where things sit before we make our next move. You hungry?”

Halle shook her head. Her stomach was tied in knots and the thought of food made her want to vomit.

“Well,” Shane said, “I’ll have something brought to you anyway. You cooperate and this will be over soon.”

Shane opened the door and the black mountain stepped over. Shane said something to him and the man walked down the hall. Shane offered her one last look and closed the door behind him.

She pressed the comforter against her bleeding thigh, counting out sixty seconds before combing through the room again searching for anything she could use as a weapon. She froze by the closet when shouts erupted from below, followed by glass breaking and a minute later a blood curdling scream from a man. She huddled on the floor and pressed her hands to her ears wanting to scream herself so she didn’t have to hear the never-ending, agonizing cries coming from downstairs. After a minute, a door slid open and slammed against the stops. The muffled screams moved from the floor below to the porch outside. Several thuds echoed and when the screams stopped, she crawled to the window and peeked over the ledge.

The shocked mouth of the creepy rat guard hung agape on the patio before he faced the woods and vomited over the brick wall. Halle leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the warm glass to peer below.

Shane modeled on the patio, bare-chested and covered in blood, holding a crimson-dripping axe. His once slicked back hair draped across the side of his face. His chiseled chest heaved as he took in the mess at his feet. The scream rocketing from Halle’s brain caught in her chest at what lay on the ground at Shane’s feet. A pair of legs stuck out of denim overalls with Bub’s worn brown boots at the feet, sliced muscle and white bone shards sticking out the top. A foot of bloodied patio separated the rest of Bub from his legs. Shane’s gaze crept up the house to her window, his eyes wild and wide, blood splatters dotting his face like freckles. His madness a stark contrast to his cool demeanor in the room with her minutes before.

“He ain’t runnin’ now, sweetheart,” Shane yelled to her.

Halle dug her fingers into her crossed arms, everything a haze. What had she done? She just wanted to get Shane out of the room. Though Shane had swung the ax, she realized she'd killed Bub by throwing him to the wolf. As her role in his brutal death sunk in, the scream sticking in her chest unleashed itself.