The Hand of Mercy (A Porter Brown Journey) (15 page)

“Now, come on, Miguel,” pleaded Holland. 

“Enough!” shouted Miguel, “You are never to address me by name!  Consider this our final conversation.  And when you rest your head on your pillow, be certain there are no greasy wetbacks in the shadows.”

Holland stood stunned in front of his office door.  Fear was an emotion he had not felt in years, but it now enveloped his every pore.  Meredith's words shocked him to the present.  "Sir, Raleigh FD just sent word that their first casualties are imminent.  The choppers are watching one of the hollows where two families are surrounded by the flames.  Their homes are on fire and they are out in the fields with the cattle.  It's only a matter of time."

"Leave me," Holland ordered.

"Sir?" asked a concerned Meredith.

"I need to think," he said dejectedly.
  "Please."

Having never heard that word exit her boss's mouth, Meredith obeyed.

Chapter 15

Diabolical Chess

April 2012

Six hours of solitude had turned Holland's office into a coffin.  Meredith and the rest of his team had gone home while the fire raged furiously through the hills.  The only saving grace was the winds had turned and driven the flames to the south away from the majority of those trapped in the hollows.  Raleigh Fire Department reported only seven killed, not counting those mine workers unknown to the authorities.  Holland exhaled his fear and scrolled through the caller ID on his phone until he found the number.

"Hello," answered Porter.

Calmly, Holland said, "Shall we continue our discussion?"

"Gladly," came Porter's response.

"I believe I was protesting the idea that you were inside the mine.  And worse, that you had help," said Holland.

“
You called bullshit on me,” Porter said with no emotion.

"Yes, I did
.  Because there was no way for you to enter."

“
You arrogant prick!" shouted Porter.  "You think you’re the only one who tracks people or knows how to pay off insiders?" he asked rhetorically.  "I’ve known your every move since our little encounter at the Black Curtain, as well as each trip you took to the abandoned mine."

"Did you
?" asked Holland.

"Yeah, and i
t didn’t strike me as anything out of the norm until your third trip in just a week. I knew it had to be more than the investigation of your office.”  Feeling more confident in his verbal attack, Porter assumed a condescending tone, “And were you so arrogant as to believe that there was only one entrance into the mine you should worry about?  This is the narcotics business, you dumb shit.  If you don't know your enemy, you're dead.  And guess what? I know you.  I've played this chess game out in my head a hundred times, and I will own you.  Or more accurately, I will let the Zetas own you.  They just invested millions in your so called fail-proof operation and now only the mine is smoking their product.  Plus, the fire has drawn the attention of every local volunteer firefighter and the National Guard, not to mention all the busybodies down there with nothing better to do than to talk about the weather, sports and any little bit of external excitement.  A fire from inside an abandoned mine will likely do the trick.”  With one last dig, Porter added, “I’d say it won't be long until the Feds start to ask you some very uncomfortable questions.”

Ignoring this last statement, Holland calmly asked,
“So you came in through a vent shaft and paid off one or more of the men to spray the interior?”

“D
oes it really matter?” answered Porter.  “However I did it and whoever helped me are the least of your worries.  Knowing that won't change what the Zetas do to you." 

“You’re a dead man
,” Holland promised as he paused to carefully choose his words. 

As he did, Porter received a text
on his other phone.  "I'm hungry."  The words were Paloma's.  Being the refined daughter of Mexico's most elite class, she could not bring herself to outright ask for her carnal needs to be fulfilled.  "Really hungry," she texted again.  "You coming back soon?"

Porter began to respond when Holland started speaking again. 
“But unlike you, I won’t use your patron cartel as your agent of death.  No,” Holland emphasized, “I will let your inner torment rob you of life.”

Allowing Porter a few seconds to digest
his meaning, Holland continued.  “You know Porter, we’re actually very similar.  When you flipped the coin of life to decide your fate, you didn’t come up on the righteous side as you think.  No, you landed on the same dark side as I did."

"
We've both been quite successful in our chosen life's work by uncovering the despicable aspects of others and using that to complete us.  I use my knowledge of others’ unseemly proclivities to, shall we say, endear them to me.  You on the other hand, use what you learn to physically assault or murder the deviants in our world.  And yes, it is murder, whether you think you are justified or not in ending those lives.”

“
What the hell are you talking about?” asked Porter in a panicked tone he hoped Holland did not detect. 

“
Come now, Porter.  Let's talk freely about what we know.  You somehow discovered the power I’ve amassed is from knowing and exploiting the series of poor choices others have made and then getting them to do my bidding.  And I know you are a punisher.”  The words dripped from his lips as though they were the first poison droplets in Porter’s chalice.  “Especially of those who like sweet, innocent, little girls.

S
ince you showed your face to me, I’ve been sewing the tapestry of your life’s work from the disparate fibers of carnage you’ve left throughout our nation.  And I must say, it is quite impressive.  But seriously, what were you thinking coming to the Black Curtain?  And worse, you enticed me sexually and then left me blue balled.  That was your first mistake,” Holland said as an instructor chastising his pupil.  “And it only takes one.”

Holland
again permitted Porter a few moments to feel the weight of his discovery, then continued his lesson with more bravado.  “Let me display my prosecutorial skills, will you?”  With no response from Porter, Holland said.  “After you left me in need of a cold shower, I suspected you were more than just a bar fly who got scared.  But you left absolutely no trail to follow.  And then fate allowed us to attend the same charity function in Chicago where your lovely Paloma dedicated a song to you.  You know I could not have scripted it any better.  With the name Porter Brown, I dug as deeply as my resources would take me.  And as West Virginia's chief law enforcement officer, I have deep resources.” 

“
Now as important as having your name was, having your lovely Paloma’s name was even better.  That sweet piece of ass connected you to Don Mario and the Sinaloas.  But what would connect a Chicago trader to the daughter of the largest Mexican cartel's boss?  Was it just chance that you met when she was in law school?  I wasn’t sure.  So I thought I would run that lead down, even if it took me a while.  But it didn't.  Turns out when Mazatlan locals are handed $100 bills for information about the Peréz family, you start getting really interesting stories, really fast.  Such as their youngest daughter being rescued by a Gringo named Porter who's some kind of self-made hero...who can't stand seeing little girls abused.

And there was the missing piece,"
Holland said victoriously.  "From that single item of information of how you killed four men while saving Renata, I fit so much of your life together.  I played a hunch and started looking for patterns of unsolved murders with those known or suspected of being in the sex trade, specifically child trafficking.  And you know what I found?  Of course you do,”  pronounced Holland.  “I found a shit ton of those all across the country.  No pattern to any of them. No motive; nobody giving a fuck if some kiddie pimp was killed.  That was brilliant, Porter.  Brilliant. And from what I can tell, you started all this vigilante bullshit in Chicago around 1994.  Sound about right?” 

Porter’s min
d was on fire.  His anonymity was completely undone. 
Why the hell did I seek revenge
, he thought. 
At least he hasn’t discovered Jennifer…yet
.  A cold sweat extinguished the flames of his mind as he desperately wanted to text Paloma to get to safety. 

Holland continued,
“But why you sought me out in Charleston still puzzles me.  I have a fairly good idea of your movement since 1998, but it must be that I did something to you, or someone you love, before then.  Whatever my transgression was, it had to be very personal for you to disregard your rules and hunt me like you were on some fucking safari.” He paused again, waiting for any reaction from Porter.  With none, Holland set  the trap. “Before amassing my political clout, I had to be very careful with my socially unacceptable sexual encounters.  But now that I am the power, I can use my office to protect me.  And who knows, maybe I’ll arrange another meeting with your family member.”

“Go to H
ell!” barked Porter uncontrollably.

“That’s it
,” sneered Holland, knowing he had snared his prey.  Maniacally, Holland laughed out his next words, “Do you feel that, Porter?  Do you feel that tugging on your arms and legs?  That’s me drawing the strings and making you my puppet.”

Porter was silent.

Holland softly continued his taunting, “Well, it had to be before 1994.  Let’s just say I went on hiatus from engaging those less than willing partners at that time because my political career was blossoming.  But determining which will be difficult.”  Holland said before delivering his next words even more slowly, “Do you know why?”

Porter
responded with great injury in his voice, “Because there were too many.”

"
Exactly,” said Holland in a hyper-excited tone.  “There were just too many.  From street whores, to teen boys and little girls, I have a history of depravity too vast to know who you're angry over.  But I'll tell you this Porter, I never went easy.  Whoever it was, he or she hurt for weeks.” 

Porter
immediately hung up and whispered, “Jennifer.”

Chapter 1
6                        

Confession

April 2012

“Jennifer?” Porter shouted into the phone. 

“Yes. Glenn is that you?”

“Yeah. I need you to listen to me very carefully.” 

“Ok
, what’s wrong?”

“
There are some really bad guys who may show up at your house or work.”

Jennifer cut him off
, “What are you talking about Glenn?” 

“Listen
!  I need you to trust me and follow my instructions exactly.  Can you do that?”

“I guess
. Yeah,” she said, bewildered at her brother’s frantic demand.

“Ok, where are you rig
ht now?”

“In Barboursville
.   At the mall.”

“
All right.  Get in your car and drive right now to the Cincinnati airport.” 

“Cincinnati
,” she protested.  “Are you kidding me?” 

“Jenny,
” Porter yelled, “This is not a joke!  Get in your car now and go to Cincinnati!  I will have a ticket for you on Southwest to D.C. at 6:20 p.m.  When you get to D.C. I've arranged for a driver from the Centennial limousine company to drive you to Winchester, Virginia.  That’s right on the border of Northern Virginia and West Virginia.  The driver is going to drop you at the McDonald’s on exit 315 off of Interstate 81.  My guy, Luis Gomez, will meet you there and drive you to my farm near Dolly Sods.” 

Jennifer interrupted, “Glenn, you are scaring me.
  And since when do you have a farm at Dolly Sods?” 

“Jenny, you have got to trust me.  Are you walking to you
r car now?” Porter asked.

“I’m in it
as we speak," she answered.

“Ok.  Y
ou’ve got two hours to Cincy, so let me explain…and you can never repeat this to anyone.  Do you understand?  It's a matter of life or death.”

“What are you talking about?” Jennifer screamed.

“So you know when I ran away, my note said it was because I felt like it was my fault that Mom left and I couldn’t take the guilt?” 

“Yes
,” answered Jennifer tentatively. 

“Well
, it wasn’t Mom that I felt guilty over.”  Porter paused, mustering his strength.

"Glenn
?" asked Jenny.

“
I know what James Holland did to you.” 

Jennifer offered nothing.  Her silence ate at
Porter just as it had every day since Holland had attacked her.  “Jen?” asked Porter.

“Yea
h,” came her meek reply. 

“I
know what happened in his office at the church when he was one of the pastors,” his voice broke off as the emotion overwhelmed him.  “Jen, I heard you scream in there and I did nothing.  I stood there frozen and I didn't do a thing."  Porter heard nothing but the emptiness of her driving.  "I am so sorry, Jenny.”

“I didn’t think anyone knew abou
t that,” Jen responded in a barely audible tone.

“I did
,” said Porter mournfully.  “And I was a coward.  I should've busted down his door and saved you…but I didn't and it wrecked me.  Both of us.  Because of that failure I dedicated my life to doing whatever I could to keep others from going through that same abuse.” 

“What do you mean
, Glenn?”

“I mean
,” answered Porter, “I have spent the past twenty years tracking bastards who abuse others and I either beat the shit out of them or…”

“Or what
?” demanded Jennifer. 

“Or I kill them
,” he said coldly.

The
silence now emanated from both ends of the phone.

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," he responded.

“
But why?”

“Because no one ever came to your rescue
,” said Porter. 

“How do
you know?" Jennifer questioned.  "You were gone."

“
I kept tabs on the family.  The very first person I met in Chicago was a waitress named Connie Lazarus who took me in and became a big sister to me.  She knew I was desperate to find out how you all were doing.  So she came up with this plan to take a weekend trip to Winfield, even though she could hardly afford to take any time off.  Remember when Granny and Grampy were selling lots on their property to fund their retirement?” 

“Yes
,” answered Jennifer. 

“Well,
I told Connie about that and she made up some story about being interested in buying a lot.  When they told her the price, she said she couldn’t afford it, but she needed to find a way to stay around. So she asked Granny about her garden and that was all it took.

After several hours touring her garden and learning
more about canning than she thought possible, Granny invited Connie for dinner and then asked her to go to church with them the next day.  She ended up visiting twice a year for ten years.  That’s how I learned about Holland’s political career and just about everything else I wanted to know."

“You’ve got to
be kidding me,” she said in disbelief.

“Not at all
,” answered Porter.  “She became a good friend to the family.  I think she even had Easter dinner with you back in 1998.”

“Wait
,” said Jennifer urgently, “We never met anyone named Connie Lazarus."

"How about Susan Jones
?" asked Porter.

"Susan Jones from Milwaukee
?” she asked, just as her mind caught up to Porter's implication.  “Susan Jones is Connie Lazarus?”

“One and
the same,” said Porter with a slight lift in his voice. 

“
She was amazing.  Do you know that when the bank almost took Grampy’s land from him, she stepped in and bought the whole property…all 1,000 acres.  And then she sold it back to him the same day for $1.”

“I did
,” said Porter.

“But
how could she do that?” asked Jennifer.  “You said she couldn’t afford to take off a weekend of work.  How did she pay off a $900,000 loan like it was nothing and then basically give it back to Granny and Grampy?”

“
She has a network of exceptionally wealthy traders in Chicago.  She probably got the funds from them,” added Porter.

“And w
ere you one of those traders Glenn?” asked Jennifer, certain she knew the answer.

“I may have been somewhat involved
,” laughed Porter.

W
anting to know more about the rest of his life than the details of the loan forgiveness, Jennifer continued, “So the stories you told us at Thanksgiving were complete lies?”

“Not totally
,” interjected Porter.  “I do live mostly in Chicago and that is where I ran away to, but most everything else wasn't true.  Well, except for the part about me never being married or having kids.  But you gotta believe me, I only did it to protect you.  I didn’t want to take a chance that any of you would get caught up in my world if somehow I got pinched.” 

“So
...how many?” asked Jennifer.

“How many what
?” 

“How many have you killed?” 

“Listen,” added Porter, “the less you know about that part of me, the better.  The reason I am having you get out of town so fast, is because Holland has tracked me all the way back to 1994.  And I am scared that he is going to find out who you are…and I don’t know what he’ll do if he realizes his attack on you is the reason I do what I do.  Right now he knows me as a trader from Chicago named Porter Brown, not your brother Glenn Joyce.”

“Porter?” asked Jennifer.  “That’s your name
?  Wasn’t that one of our great-great-grandpas?” 

“Very good Jen
,” said Porter.  “I guess mom's interest in our family history rubbed off and I subconsciously chose it." 

"Ok
ay Glenn, how many?" Jennifer asked again.

Realizing Jennifer's curiosity
would not be satiated without details, and that she deserved the answers, Porter relented.  "I have killed many, but it didn’t start out that way.  It began with me just teaching guys a lesson when they were roughing up their women.  Then I found myself targeting those who were trafficking young girls.  That’s when the killing began.  The first was basically in self-defense.  Since then it's been a choice.”  Porter stopped to listen for a response.

“Wow
,” said a stunned Jennifer.  “My little brother is a hit man for the abused.”

“I guess
," Porter chuckled. "I’ve never thought of it that way, but yeah, that’s me.  So listen, I really have to call Paloma and make sure she is okay...”

"Paloma?" asked Jennifer

"My girlfriend," answered Porter.  "That will take too long to explain.  Let me find out where she is and then I'll call you back.  Okay?" 

"Okay."

Porter barely heard her agreement before he hung up and dialed Paloma.