Read The Devil's Highway Online
Authors: Timothy C. Phillips
The Devil's Highway (18 page)
I walked up the hall, gun in hand I went around each corner, gun first, in case another man waited inside. I walked through an open door and into a large room, part library, part living room. The sliding doors were open along one side, leading out onto a balcony. Thin, floor-length white curtains billowed in the warm night breeze.
Cushman was standing with his back to me, a tumbler with two fingers of yellowy Irish whiskey in his right hand. I made no sound as I came in, but somehow, he sensed me, and he turned, his eyes widening slightly when he registered who I was.
“So, Longville. It’s you.”
“You’ve got a lot to answer for, Cushman.”
Like he didn’t hear me, Cushman turned and walked slowly across the room. I heard the ice clink as he swirled his drink.
“Stop where you are. You’re coming with me.”
Cushman sipped his drink and shook his head.
“It’s you who have things to answer for, Longville. You ruined my operation. You, that hick sheriff, Garrett, and your friends. But I intend to start over, here in South America. I have connections down here, people who will fund my operations.”
He looked suddenly over my shoulder, but I wasn’t falling for it.
“Your guards are going to be asleep for a while,” I informed him.
“So, you break into my house and harm my employees? Perhaps I should call the police,” he said indignantly.
“Call them,” I said. He didn’t move, though. He tried another approach.
“You aren’t a Federal Agent. You’re a private detective, from the United States, I might add. That means you have no authority here, and I don’t have to go anywhere with you. Kindly leave the premises.”
“Not a chance, Cushman.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Longville.”
“If I have to tie you up and carry you out of here, you’re going.”
Cushman frowned and went over to the bar and set his drink down. He laughed and shrugged, like this was all just some misunderstanding.
“Let’s start over,” he said, smiling and rubbing his hands together. “Surely we can come to some kind of arrangement. I am, after all, a man of considerable means. I know that you and the Herrera woman have been searching for me. As you have doubtlessly learned, Longville, I have money. Plenty of money. Let us be civil about this, Longville. I am willing to discuss your terms.”
“There aren’t any terms to discuss.”
“Well then, I have another solution.”
He was quicker than I would have given him credit for. He had a slender black automatic there under the bar, and he snatched it up, and actually got a shot off that went past my head, before I squeezed the trigger and put a .45 slug into the left side of his chest. Cushman looked amazed, and slowly slumped to the floor.
Outside, the night creatures paused. Then, far away, a dog started barking, and the crickets started chirping, and the night closed in around Cushman for the final time.
* * *
I walked out to the car, where Andrea was waiting. She merely nodded at me; I could read everything in her eyes. She might have preferred to see Cushman in the dock, see him stand trial and be judged for all of his many crimes, but this would do—an end to him for once and for all And at long last, an end to the many wrongs that the man had brought into the world. Though his one miserable life alone would never pay for all his crimes, it was revenge, and sometimes, revenge is all you get.
The beginning of this hellish journey, it seemed to me now, had started a long time ago. Way back then it had begun with a short night’s sleep, a rushed drive to Atlanta, a flurry of visits to various locales in Florida and West Texas, the intrigue, and finally the battle and the death and dying. But still fresh in my memory are the names of the dead, and time and distance will never remove them from my mind.
Brad Caldwell, the lost college boy, was safe at home tonight. His fantasy about being part of a post-Apocalyptic militia had been the beginning of this affair. He was very lucky to be at home, unlike the thousands of unwilling human beings that Colonel Cushman and his spiteful, death-worshipping army of misanthropes had moved from this continent to its wealthier northern neighbor.
Most of the people Cushman had affected would never go home again. Like a Mexican documentary director named Fernando Mendoza, and a Sheriff’s Deputy named Hughes and an old army veteran named Ira Greywolf. And because of those and other deaths, Cushman was dead, now, too. Call that vengeance, if you like.
Andrea pulled out onto the quiet night time street, and we headed for the lights of Rio De Janeiro, a vast, throbbing, never-sleeping great city along the southern coast of a vibrant and colorful nation. But for all that, a country not my home.
Andrea drove toward the moonlit bay. There, we could catch the night ferry and cross the water to where there was an airport and a redeye flight to somewhere far, far away.
I finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. It was all over.
At last, it was time for that long ride home.
– THE END –
Author’s Note:
There really was a Highway 666, and it was commonly referred to as “The Devil’s Highway.” Highway 666 was renamed Highway 191 for various reasons. However, this highway does not run into Texas, or anywhere near the town of Van Horn.
The name “Devil’s Highway” has also been used, for apparent reasons, to describe the routes used by human traffickers and drug smugglers, from South America to the United States. This coincidence gave me the inspiration for this novel.
There is no real town named Delgado in Texas.
Also, the Redemption Army is my own fictional creation, and is not meant to depict any real militia group or movement.
— Timothy C. Phillips
Timothy C. Phillips was born in a small town at the foot of the Appalachians. Youngest of seven children, he attended colleges in Alabama and Louisiana, and holds degrees in English, Forensics and Political Science. He lives in Alabama, where he writes and dabbles in music.
To date there are seven titles in the
Roland Longville Mystery Series:
