Authors: Mike Jastrzebski
“Maybe you could put the gun down and we can talk about it.”
“I don’t think so.” I moved two steps closer to Rusty so that I was standing over him. “Why don’t you give me the manuscript and I’ll leave you alone.”
Rusty set his glass down and picked up the cell phone from the table. “There’s someone you need to talk to,” he said.
“Who?”
Rusty raised the phone and made a show of pushing a button, and then he held the phone out to me.
I snatched it from his hand and held it to my ear. “Who the hell is this?”
“Wes?” Cathy’s voice trembled out from the phone. "Fish says he’ll kill me if you don’t listen to Rusty.”
What she said was almost drowned out on her end by the piercing bray of a train horn.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like the way he looks at me, Wes.”
Before I could respond Fish’s voice came on. “I owe you big time and it won’t bother me to take it out on her. Then it’s your cousin’s turn. That bitch almost took my finger off. Now put Rusty back on the phone.”
Rusty kept his side of the conversation brief. “Ah huh. Yup. Just stick to the plan. I’ll take care of him.”
“She has nothing to do with this,” I said when Rusty put down the phone.
“And nothing will happen to her as long as you behave,” he said. “Now you go on back to your boat, don’t call your uncle, don’t call Jessica. Sit tight and by noon tomorrow the book will be in the hands of its new owner. At that point I’ll call and let you know where you can find Cathy. That way no one gets hurt, I get my money, and it’s all over.”
“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
“An unnecessary threat,” he said. “Now if you’ll just close the door behind you when you leave.”
“How do I know Fish won’t hurt her?”
“He’s on his way back here as we speak. Cathy will be left tied up in a place Fish assures me is safe and comfortable. I can control Fish as long as you behave. I’m hoping we can put this foolishness behind us. Good night, Wes.”
I stared down at him for several moments, then turned and left. What else could I do? As soon as I got out to the truck I set the gun on the seat next to me and tried to call Roy again, but my phone was dead.
By the time I got back to the marina I thought I’d figured out where they were keeping Cathy. I remembered hearing the train when we were at Fish’s place. It would be just like Fish to take Cathy back to his place, and when I thought about what he had tried to do to Jessica a cold finger of fear crept up my spine.
I was going to check out my theory with or without Roy’s help, but I knew I had to let him know what I was doing. I didn’t trust Rusty to live up to his side of the bargain and I knew that if something happened to me, Cathy would be at Fish’s mercy.
I parked the truck and ran to my boat. I knew my twelve volt phone charger was packed in a plastic box stored under the front berth. The problem was a dozen plastic boxes were piled under the berth.
Naturally, the charger was in the bottom box. I fumbled around until I found it, then I grabbed a flashlight and headed back out to the truck. As I drove out of the lot I plugged in the phone and tried Roy again. There was still no answer so I left a message telling him about Cathy and my theory that Fish had her at his place. I also asked him to meet me there if he got the message.
By the time I reached the turnoff to Fish’s trailer, I’d managed to calm myself down. I was still worried about Cathy, but the truth of the matter was, my keeping a cool head about the whole thing was the only chance she had.
I parked the truck, climbed out, and took three deep calming breaths. Then I released the automatic’s safety and started off into the woods at a brisk pace. The air was crisp and biting and smelled of apple wood and pine. Above, the night was clear and star filled.
I paused at the end of the wood line and looked around. The trailer was dark and appeared deserted.
Fish seemed like the kind of guy who was over confident and I suspected he might very well be sleeping. Then again it may be a trap. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t leave without checking the place out and seeing if Cathy was there.
I drew another deep breath and took off running along the tree line toward the back of the trailer. This time, without the rain and mud, the going was much easier. When I reached the front of the trailer I climbed the steps and stood listening for a good five minutes before reaching for the door latch.
The door was unlocked and it squeaked as I pushed it open. Again I stood and listened. I could hear the drip, drip, drip of a leaky water faucet off to my right. I took the flashlight from my pocket, switched it on, and started forward. The floor groaned, and I felt a knot begin to form between my shoulder blades. It began to itch like a giant mosquito bite, but I had the gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other so I couldn’t scratch it.
I headed toward the bedroom, well aware that if Fish was there the floorboards were telling him he wasn’t alone. Realizing I would not be able to sneak up on Fish, I crossed the room quickly.
The place was empty. No Fish. No Cathy. But someone had been there since I’d last visited. The bloody sheets had been removed from the bed and lay in a crumpled heap in a corner of the bedroom.
I moved back to the kitchen and there, lying next to a McDonald’s takeout bag was a small brown wallet. I walked over, picked it up, and opened it. All that was inside was Cathy’s driver’s license.
Chapter 20
I turned and ran for the barn, the pistol held out in front of me. This time there was no light on in the building. When I reached the door I took out my flashlight and stood listening for about a minute. In the distance I heard the rumble of a train and somewhere off toward the highway a car engine sputtered to life.
The barn itself creaked and groaned as old buildings often do, but there were no voices. No sounds that indicated anyone was nearby. I slipped inside, crouched, and staying as deep in the shadows as possible extended the pistol in front of me.
I then held the flashlight in my left hand out to the side, as far away from my body as possible. I knew that if someone was waiting for me they were likely to shoot as soon as the light went on. I hoped if that happened they would shoot toward the light, which was now three feet from my body.
I turned on the flashlight. Nothing. No shots. No sounds of someone rushing toward me. No Fish. Just the old car sitting in the middle of the barn.
When I stepped outside I found Roy, rifle in hand, leaning against the side of the barn. He stood staring out into the night, watching and listening.
“I see you got my message,” I said as I joined him. I tucked the pistol into my belt and asked, “You alone?”
Roy shook his head. “We got here just as you started running to the barn. I’d have followed you in but I was afraid you’d shoot me, so I decided to stand guard out here. I left Jessica at the trailer. I take it you didn’t find Cathy.”
“I found her wallet in the trailer, but she’s not here.” I said. “Looks like Rusty keeps the manuscript.”
A branch snapped and Roy put a hand on my arm. He brought his rifle up, and I reached for my pistol, but it was Jessica who raced from the shadows. She was holding a phone book and seemed excited as she ran up to us.
“I think I know where Cathy is.” She pushed the book into my hands. I took it from her, shined my flashlight on the open page, and looked at the heading: MOTELS.
“This doesn’t tell us a thing.” I said. There was a ring of disappointment in my voice and she snatched the book back from me, pointing to a small ad that had been circled in red.
Roy and I both leaned in and read:
Turner’s Motel and rustic cabins.
Daily, weekly, monthly rates.
“What’s the likelihood he took her there?” I asked. “He could have circled that ad months ago. And even if she is there, what do we do? Go up to the desk clerk and ask if Fish Conners came in with a kidnapped woman. I think we’re just going to have to trust that they’ll let her go once they sell the manuscript.”
I started back toward the truck, but Jessica stopped me. “Don’t be so pig headed, Wes. We can’t trust Rusty, and we can’t trust Fish. I’m telling you, the book was right next to the phone and the red pen was sitting on top of it. You’ve seen his place, what are the chances that he’s organized enough to keep a specific pen with his phone book. If he used that pen, he did it today.”
I moved away from Jessica, but Roy stepped in front of me. “She’s right, Wes,” he said. “It’s worth a shot. An old classmate of mine, Leroy Parkens, owns the place. It’s only a five minute drive. If she’s not there, we let them have the damn book.”
I stared at him for several moments, then looked over at Jessica and saw the excitement reflected in her eyes. “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, after all,” I said.
“I prefer Kinsey Millhone,” she said. “Sherlock’s a little too stuffy for me.”
“Who the hell’s Kinsey Millhone?” I asked.
“You mean you’ve never read any of Sue Grafton’s books? You’re not one of those guys who wouldn’t think of reading a mystery by a woman, are you? What, a tough woman detective threatens your masculinity?”
Roy reached out, grabbed Jessica’s arm, and began to steer her back toward the way we’d come. “This isn’t a book club. This girl must be scared out of her wits and the sooner we find her the better. Besides, once we find her we can go after Rusty. I’m getting real sick of this guy.”
Deep in thought, I followed them to the car. I no longer cared about getting the manuscript back. It wasn’t right that Cathy had to suffer because my grandfather took a souvenir off of a dead German soldier over sixty years ago. If we didn’t recover the book, so be it. But I’d be damned if I was going to let Rusty and Fish profit from its sale after this.
Jessica’s car was parked in front of the truck and as we approached the vehicles Roy stopped and held out his hand. “Why don’t you give me my keys. You can drive with Jessica and follow me.”
Jessica didn’t talk at all as we drove. I didn’t know if she was mad at me or just concerned about Cathy. It was just as well, I was worried too and the quiet suited me.
The motel lot was dimly lit and in need of paving. Jessica slowed to a crawl and swerved to avoid a pothole while Roy plowed ahead to the closest parking space to the motel office. He was waiting at the door, tapping his left foot impatiently when we walked up.
“I didn’t see Fish’s truck,” he said. “Did you?”
Jessica shook her head and I asked, “Is this the only place to park?”
“He could have driven it down by one of the cabins,” Roy said. “Come on, let’s go into the office and see what Leroy has to say.”
The interior was paneled with smoke darkened knotty-pine planks. A leather couch and sofa, cracked with age, faced a small television set. A nineteen seventies era Mediterranean style hanging lamp cast a shadow along the walls, and an artificial palm tree stood next to the counter. A sign read: ‘If you don’t see me, try the buzzer’. In parenthesis, and capitalized, was the word ‘ONCE’. An arrow pointed to a small button behind the palm tree.
Roy pressed the button. Somewhere, further back in the building, the buzzer reverberated like an ailing bullfrog. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see that it was almost three in the morning. No wonder it had been a battle keeping my eyes open on the trip over here.
After perhaps five minutes I reached over to press the button again but Roy caught my wrist. “Didn’t you read the sign, boy?”
“I figured he must have gone back to sleep,” I said. “Can’t hurt to give it another try, can it?”
“You people come down here from up north and I swear ya’ll are wound so tight I keep expecting you to start spinning around in circles as you walk. Leroy said once, he means once. Leroy’s not a patient man. Ring that bell again and it just might piss him off. Then he’s just as likely to tell us to get off his property and go to hell as help us.”
“Not a very prudent way to run a service business,” I said.
Roy shrugged. “Leroy doesn’t need a lot to live on. He once told me that what he likes about working for himself is that nobody can make him work if he doesn’t want to. Says he can invite the devil to dinner or tell him to go back to hell, and nobody sits around in an office and calls him on the carpet for doing it. He’ll be out here shortly. That’s a Southern shortly, not a Northern shortly.”
As if he’d been waiting off stage for his cue, the door behind the counter opened and a small man in his mid-to-late fifties pushed into the room, bringing with him the fetid smell of stale tobacco and whiskey.
A fading tattoo of a naked woman ran the length of his lower left arm. He wore a pair of bib overalls that looked like they might have survived the Civil War, and although his arms and legs were pole bean skinny, he had one of the meanest beer guts I’d ever seen.
He nodded in our direction. “Roy. Whatever possessed you to think you could come out here and haul my ass out of bed at this time a night?”
“I’m looking for Fish Conners. Mick Conners’ boy.”
“I know Fish.”