The Rented Mule (35 page)

“You gotta keep me on, Dog. I’m multitalented!” Maynard added with a toothy smile.

“Show me some cleanup skills, and we’ll talk later. I’m ready to get outta here. The water’s even freakin’ me out. Smells like an animal died in the well.”

“That’s just sulphur,” Maynard explained. “Y’all obviously ain’t ever lived in the country and drank from a well.”

While gathering his things, Clarence remarked, “And I can’t wait to be someplace where the lights stay on till you turn ’em off.”

“That’s happenin’ to you too?” Jenny asked, with a bit of relief in her voice.

The crew glanced around at each other.

“At first I thought we were blowin’ fuses,” Jesse Ray added.

“I thought it was Larry King,” Jenny said as she crossed her arms.

“It ain’t me!”

“And we ain’t blown a fuse,” Jesse Ray said.

“Everybody just shut up and get your shit together so we can get the hell outta here,” Clarence ordered, glancing out the window, hoping
not
to see a haint.

C
ooper had been driving around and periodically turning on his cell phone to check for text messages from the kidnappers. EquuSearch turned him down since he was a prime suspect. He tried explaining about Gates, but they weren’t buying it. They did promise, however, to verify his story with the Montgomery police, and if the police gave consent for EquuSearch to become involved, they would contact him to get a recent photograph of Kelly and to have him fill out their missing person report. Cooper gave them Detective Obermeyer’s cell phone number.

Twice he had seen police cars, but since he was driving Haywood’s old truck, he didn’t rouse any suspicions. He was worried about being pinged but didn’t know of any other options. He glanced at his cell phone screen: 5:55 p.m. He let out an anguished groan. Darkness was falling across the city, and he was as low on options as he was hope. Cooper missed his family.

He was just about to turn off his phone when it rang. He recognized James Longstreet’s number and immediately mashed the green button.

“Yes, sir.”

“How you holding up, son?”

“Not great. Tell me you have some good news.”

“I wish I did. I just got a tip that the cops are planning to trick you into thinking they found Kelly.”

“What! Why?”

“So you’ll come out of hidin’. They keep thinking they have you located, but then you turn the phone off. They are chasing you pretty damn hard. They’ve got all their high-tech tools in play.”

“Shit!”

“Look, if you can’t trust the police, it really complicates the situation.”

Cooper let out a deep sigh that could be heard over the phone.

The attorney continued, “The consensus, right now at least, is that neither Gates nor his bookie is involved. My sources say the bookie looked and acted genuinely shocked when they questioned him. But he is a cold, hardened criminal, so we don’t know for sure. He’ll be tough to crack, but they have their best guys workin’ him hard. They’ll know one way or the other soon.”

“Hell, if he wasn’t at the police station, I’d interrogate the sonofabitch myself. I can make him talk. I keep thinkin’ about Gates, and I just can’t believe he’s behind this because he doesn’t have the balls or the brains.”

“I’m getting the facts as fast as things are happening and as soon as my source can safely relay any info, I’ll pass it on. Just stay low… and don’t get tricked.”

“I’m tired of waitin’. I’ve been doin’ nothin’ too long.”

“Just calm down. I keep saying this, but don’t do anything crazy. I did find out that the number texting you is from a prepaid cell phone. No way to trace it. Speaking of, I need to get you one. Where’s a discreet place we both know so that I can leave it? Don’t say any specific name. In case the police have been able to tap your phone. Just give me a detail that I’d know.”

Cooper exhaled, his mind racing; after a moment he asked enthusiastically, “How ’bout where you helped me train my first bird dog? Remember him?”

“Of course. Perfect. It’ll be behind the right-hand gatepost in an hour.”

T
he Client’s iPhone was cradled on the dash, displaying a near eye-level portable version of his electronic shrine. Knowing that driving under the speed limit was much more suspicious to law enforcement than slightly over it, he set the cruise control at exactly three miles per hour over the limit and tried to relax. He grew excited with each passing mile marker as he headed to his family’s abandoned homestead in rural Coosa County, Alabama.

He would pay the gang with embezzled funds from the bank. It was so easy to spend stolen money. He had decided to take over the hostage and change the plan by asking for a ransom. He had to do something. The bank examiners had begun crawling all over his files and would soon learn that he had made dozens of spurious loans and kept the proceeds. His crime forced him to make additional loans to bogus companies to pay down the earlier ones, and now the cycle was catching up to him. It had just about run its course… unless he infused some serious liquidity, quickly. The Client had
expertly painted himself into a corner, but milking Cooper would buy him some much-needed time.

The Client had lost focus. All he cared about now were his insatiable desires and fantasies. He was spiraling out of control. He wanted dominion over Brooke. He knew of her interest in Cooper. He read it in her diary that he had stolen months ago. His mind burned with jealousy and resentment when he read it. He was determined to annihilate Cooper, and he was willing to pay any price for his desires. Brooke would come to him when he had control of the bank and the Tower Agency. The focus was coming back, and it was all so clear. He would have two things she wanted.

Glancing down at the passenger’s seat, Grayson, wearing pajamas, was silently sobbing. The little boy dared not look up. The Client had terrified him when he stormed the house. A shock collar designed for a one-hundred-pound dog was fastened tightly around his neck, guaranteeing obedience.

The Client said, “Grayson, when I tell you to, get down on the floor and stay there. If you don’t, I’m goin’ to shock the shit out of you.”

The Client then smiled, thinking of the future and the woman in the trunk of his BMW. He wondered briefly if she was comfortable. He loved the silky Victoria Secret loungewear he found her wearing.
This is my lucky night.

C
larence felt unprepared, which was distressing. As he stood on the front porch of the shadowy old mansion, all he could think about was getting his money, and then getting home. He glanced at the area next to an old privet hedge where a few days ago he thought he saw the apparition.
Must have been the painkillers.
The old house was full of antique pictures, and Clarence had studied all of them. They gave him the creeps. He was ready to leave.

Maynard was positioned inside the edge of the woods with a pistol in his hand, nervously refreshing his teeth-whitening strips like a chain-smoker. Clarence had faith in Maynard’s ability to cover him, and it occurred to Clarence that there was a need to have Maynard on the team full-time. For one, he had weapons skills the others didn’t possess, and at times like these, they could prove very handy. Clarence was assembling a team the way a college football coach recruits to meet his current and future needs. Since Clarence had grossed nearly $800,000 in the last year, he could afford more talent.

Clarence was focused on the sweating of the old concrete walkway, which meant that it was sure to rain, when suddenly gravel popped and headlights rapidly approached the house. He watched Maynard disappear behind a giant oak just inside the tree line. Taking a deep breath, Clarence adjusted his black sweatshirt over his bulletproof vest and transformed his demeanor into Mad Dog.

The car stopped in front of the house. The driver kept the high beams shining in Mad Dog’s face.

“Hey, Bro!” the Client casually commented as he stepped out of the car and gently shut the door.

“Don’t call me bro, asshole. I ain’t yo brother, and you ain’t black!”

“I’m jus tryin’ to get along,” the Client remarked with an overzealous laugh.

“You got my money?”

“Yeah, I got it. Is she in the cellar?”

“Sleepin’ like a baby.”

“You’ve done a fine job. A. Fine. Job. I’ve never enjoyed the news like I have these last few days.”

“Where’s my money?”

The Client smiled and then opened the car door, reached in, grabbed a duffle bag and then tossed it at the feet of the big man. “As promised.”

Clarence unzipped it and saw a bunch of bundles of twenty-dollar bills and asked, “It’s all here?”

“Count it,” he said as he leaned against the car.

“It better be.” Clarence reached inside, pulled out a bundle from the bottom of the bag and began inspecting it. He touched a random bill with a counterfeit detector pen.

“And here’s your phone,” he said, tossing the small phone to Mad Dog. “I texted Cooper a few times from it—just to mess with his head.”

Clarence stepped out of the bright headlights and focused on the wild-eyed Client for a moment. He recognized the signs of drug abuse. The Client was as high as a kite and appeared capable of doing anything, at any moment.

“That does it for us,” Mad Dog said, zipping the bag shut and feeling the relief of being paid.

“I didn’t plan on sending you a ten-ninety-nine.”

“That’s mighty white of you,” Mad Dog said sarcastically and glared at the man. He could see his eyes were flashing wildly, and he had an odd purple stain on the side of his face and neck.

“You’re on your own,” Mad Dog stated and started toward his Escalade, looking away from the BMW’s bright lights. He felt himself gritting his teeth with each step. The weight of the money helped diminish his nearly overwhelming desire to kill the Client, cleaning out the gene pool of one worthless contributor. He motioned for Maynard to meet him. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he tossed the phone to Maynard. Stopping in the shadows, Mad Dog looked back at the Client, “What are you fixin’ to do with her?”

“Make everything right. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.”

“We’ve covered our tracks, so don’t even think about tryin’ to contact us again or it will be very painful for you. Is that clear… brother?”

“Thank you, Mr. Mad Dog. I appreciate your good work,” the Client replied calmly as though he had just paid to have his grass cut.

C
ooper had just turned on his cell phone, checking for texts, when it rang. He recognized the number as Obermeyer’s. It didn’t surprise him, but this was the first time he had called when the phone was actually on.

“I’m innocent, Detective,” Cooper answered.

“I know… that’s why I’m calling, to let you know we found Kelly. We have her, she’s safe… we need you to come immediately to the station.”

Cooper didn’t respond. From Longstreet’s heads-up, he knew Obermeyer was attempting a deception, but he now wasn’t sure how to play it.
What if it’s true? What if they really found her?
The thought was causing him to panic.

“She’s askin’ for you, Cooper. Come on in. I’ll meet you at the back door, or better yet, just tell me where you are, and I’ll have a patrol unit pick you up.”

“Prove that she’s there. Let me talk to her. Where’d you find her? Was Gates involved?” Cooper asked excitedly. He wanted to believe, but he couldn’t risk it.

“I’ll fill you in on all the details when you get here. What’s your location?” Detective Obermeyer said by way of not answering. He was looking back and forth between the DA and his commander and shrugged to indicate that he didn’t know if the subterfuge was working.

“Does the media know?”

“No, not yet; we wanted to let you know before we went public. It’s SOP in situations like this to notify the family first.”

“I’m gonna have my attorney come down there.”

“Cooper, look, I’m on your side, but you’re actin’ guilty. If you won’t come in right now, it will pretty much seal your fate with us.” The DA was waving his hands and shaking his head at Obermeyer, hoping that he hadn’t just tipped their hand. Obermeyer immediately looked out the window.

“I know that you’re just doin’ your job. It’s just that you’re not doing it worth a shit!” Cooper answered angrily and ended the call, tossing the phone on the seat beside him. He pulled down his baseball cap, low over his eyes, and paid the toll to cross the Tallapoosa River.

“Cooper. Cooper! Damn it. He didn’t buy it,” the detective said, deeply exhaling.

Cooper was headed back to the security of the Browns’ home. He tried to run through all the scenarios that could be unfolding, and he worried about what Gates had done. He really wanted to talk to Gates and considered calling his cell.

Cooper jumped when the phone rang again and he saw the number. It was from the same area code but a different number from whoever had been texting him. He quickly pulled to the side of the road and hurriedly answered the call.

“Hello! Who is this?”

“Is this Cooper Dixon?” Maynard asked from the passenger seat as he watched Clarence drive.

“Yes, who the hell is this?”

“Listen carefully. I know where your wife is, and I’m willing to help you get her back, but only if you’ll do exactly what I say.”

A chill shot down Cooper’s spine as he listened to the audacity in the voice on the phone. Controlling his emotions, he simply said, “Okay.”

“She’s fine… for now. She’s being held in the basement of an old house in the country. I can tell you exactly—”

“How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’ve actually seen her?” Cooper interrupted, shocked by what he was hearing.

Maynard realized this was a legitimate question and thought about a response as he watched the lights of Montgomery off in the distance. Clarence’s furrowed brow suggested that he wanted to know what was being said.

“That’s fair. She’s wearing a Jack Miner duck band on a silver necklace. Remember the verse?”

Cooper’s mind raced. He was surprised to hear him mention the duck band. He had killed the banded mallard several years ago on the Tombigbee River. Kelly wore the band almost every time she had on any other silver jewelry. She said it was a conversation piece that no other woman had.
This guy knows something. What’s that verse?