Authors: Jack Patterson
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But then, neither did he ever imagine anyone would hunt him down with the express purpose of killing him.
CHAPTER 52
THERE WERE ONLY TWO
reasons Mayor Gold ever drank alcohol. The first was to celebrate on New Year’s Eve. The second was when pacing wouldn’t calm his nerves. New Year’s Eve assured that the bottle of Crown Royal hidden in his study would never go a year without taking a hit. However, uncapping his secret elixir rarely occurred before the annual visit from his in-laws at Thanksgiving. This year, he was three months ahead of schedule.
Pacing and drinking only hyped up Gold. He preferred to take his whisky sitting down. But he didn’t know if anything could settle him at this hour. Presiding over the murder of not one but two FBI agents was enough to make him consider searching for a barrel of whisky. But he knew that would be the least of his problems if the feds discovered what exactly Statenville was up to. All he could now was wait.
The clock ticked slowly. It was 10:30 p.m. Thus far, Gold’s contingency plan had been executed flawlessly. However, the two reporters trying to be superheroes threatened to mar his precious ointment. For years, Gold held
The Register
under his thumb, buying off editors with the publisher firmly in his pocket. He never really considered a reporter from
The Register
having the ability to flesh out this story, much less two of them. They usually consisted of halfwits who – if they somehow graduated from community college – struggled to write a well-constructed sentence. But the economy’s poor state flooded the market with able-bodied reporters, even
The Register
had jobs available that appealed to top journalism students. They had to write somewhere. Gold had underestimated Cal’s skills and wherewithal to pursue this story. It was a rare mistake.
Gold looked at his watch again and took another pull on his whisky. He figured Yukon Grant was about 30 minutes away from correcting that mistake.
Keeping a secret of this magnitude requires a commitment to sacrificing profit to keep it silent. When you tell people you’re going to pay them, you pay them. And when they do a great job, you sometimes pay them more than you agreed. Happy employees don’t blow whistles. Keeping a secret like this also requires the guts to do the dirty work. This was the part that Gold didn’t like, but one he accepted as a necessary evil.
He didn’t simply dislike the dirty work—he loathed it. But Yukon wasn’t the only one with an assignment. There was one job Gold needed to finish on his own. He drained the last drop of whisky and grabbed his 9 millimeter handgun. His work was almost done.
***
Guy hung up the phone. He wasn’t sure if he could convince his old paper,
The Tribune
, to run Cal’s story, but he had pulled it off. He had done the same with
The Times
, too. If Cal could put together what Guy thought he was capable of, tomorrow might bring relief. No more lies. No more deception.
He began buttoning up the house for the evening, shuffling from room to room in his robe, turning off all the lights and securing all the doors and windows. His bedtime routine consisted of being fully ready for bed and sitting up for his DVR replay of the late local news. It was a luxury never afforded to him so early in the evening while working the late shift at a daily newspaper. But working at a weekly newspaper with 9 to 5 hours almost every day made him feel like he had a somewhat normal life. At least now he could slice up his time into convenient and predictable parcels like most Americans.
Guy had just finished brushing his teeth when he froze.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Somebody was knocking at his backdoor.
Guy crept back toward the kitchen, unsure of who might be dropping by unannounced at this late hour. Would it be Cal and Kelly ignoring his warning to stay out of Statenville? Would it be one of the mayor’s thugs?
He grabbed a wooden baseball bat from the large floor vase he used to store his umbrella—and other objects handy during a home invasion. He inched closer to the door and flipped the back door light on.
It was Mayor Gold.
Guy exhaled. He slid the baseball bat back into the vase and swung the door open.
“Mayor Gold. What brings you out here at this time of night?”
“We need to talk,” Gold said. “May I come in?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
This wasn’t Gold’s first time visiting Guy. Gold strode through the kitchen and into the den, while Guy scrambled to turn on some lights. They sat on opposing couches with only a glass coffee table separating them.
“I know it’s late, so I’ll be brief,” Gold started.
“So, what’s going on?”
“Well, I need to ask you a very important question.”
“OK, shoot.”
“Why did you help Cal and Kelly escape Statenville today? I was under the impression that you had been instructed to keep them pre-occupied with other assignments so they wouldn’t be digging too deep on things that are best left alone.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t help them do anything but their job.”
“Well, I know your VMAX is missing and we’ve had reports from several people that Cal and Kelly were seen on it heading out of town. Care to explain?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Should we go to your garage and look at your VMAX.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. You know I would never break our agreement.”
Gold didn’t say a word. He pulled a digital recorder out of his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. He pushed play.
“… put together her best photos with your story and send it to
The Tribune
in Salt Lake and
The Times
in Seattle. I’ll let those editors know your story is coming.
“And they would print it, Guy?”
“If I tell them you’re trustworthy, they will. They’ll know what to do with it.”
Gold pushed stop.
“Would you care to revisit your last statement, Guy?”
Guy avoided eye contact and said nothing.
“I thought you were on our side, Guy. I really did. I trusted you. But that is unforgivable.”
Guy knew he should’ve known better. Tapping his phone should have been a given, especially with the suspicious treatment he received earlier in the day. But he was careless.
Gold pulled out his gun and pointed it at Guy.
“You’ll never get away with this, you know? I know deep down you’re a decent man. You wanted to make a better life for people in this town, but you made some poor choices a long time ago. You don’t have to take another innocent life.”
“You’re not innocent, Guy—stand up!”
Gold was already standing, while Guy slowly rose from the couch, placing both hands in the air as to surrender. However, Guy knew this wasn’t a time to surrender. In a matter of minutes, Gold was going to fill him with lead, dump his body and have a tight alibi and plausible story about Guy’s accidental death.
“Go get some jeans and a shirt on. We’re going outside. Move it!”
Guy had resigned himself that this was the end. With all the accidental deaths in Statenville, you would’ve thought local clothing shops only offered shoes in pairs of left feet. Guy knew the truth behind every single one, but printed the invented version fed to him by local law enforcement. He knew his story would be no different.
Well, if I’m going to die, I’m not going to make it easy on the mayor.
Gold marched behind Guy as he moved through the kitchen toward his bedroom. Just as Guy was about to leave the kitchen, he lunged for his baseball bat.
Gold didn’t even wait for Guy to turn around. He shot Guy twice in the back and once in the head.
Guy fell toward the corner, his head slamming against the now blood-spattered wall. He slumped face-first to the ground, his maroon robe turning a deeper hue of red.
***
Gold looked at the mess in Guy’s kitchen. One of his workers would scour the house. It would be spotless when Sheriff Jones came to do a standard investigation on the strange death of Guy Thompson, who would drown in a fishing accident on the Snake River. A number of witnesses would see him fishing that evening after work. But only the coroner would see his body, falsifying his report about the cause of death. A cremation would follow since the next of kin never responded.
Gold sighed and looked at his watch. He couldn’t stand waiting much longer to hear from Yukon. If Gold was lucky, Cal and Kelly would be in Yukon’s possession right now.
CHAPTER 53
CAL AND KELLY NEEDED
to find a makeshift workstation and fast. The nearest possibility was about 20 miles back in the town of Ellington, which had a McDonald’s. Covering the Statenville-Ellington football game the year before, Cal learned that the dining room in the Ellington McDonald’s stayed open until midnight on the weeknights and 2 a.m. on the weekends. It was the only eating establishment open late at night in Ellington with the exception of Esther’s Café and Eats located inside a local gas station.
When they pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot fifteen minutes later, it was nearly vacant. Cal hated writing in public places, but if it was quiet at least he could begin to organize his thoughts and pound out a story. Between the two of them, they had three pieces of equipment: two iPhones and a camera.
“You start uploading photos and video to a drop box somewhere and I’ll start writing.”
Cal wasted no time and began pecking away. Kelly hooked up her SD card reader to her iPhone and went to work, uploading videos and photos that backed up the extraordinary claims they were about to make.
Most of Cal’s story was written in his head so it didn’t take him long to turn it into a thrilling read in an email to be sent off to two major metro dailies.
***
Yukon rolled down his window and adjusted the mirror on his black F-250. After all the excitement this evening had wrought, he wasn’t too worried about anyone following him. The blood stains on his hands gave him all the reassurance he needed. Statenville’s hallowed secret was dangerously close to being exposed. But there was only one more obstacle to make it safe again.
He scanned every approaching set of headlights, searching for a single one, a motorcycle’s.
They’ve got to be out here somewhere.
Yukon understood just how high the stakes were if Cal and Kelly eluded his grasp and broadcast a fanciful story. It was a story that would struggle to be supported given the carnage left in Yukon’s wake. Some secrets are best left unuttered, even if the people trying to expose them do so with a custom-fitted tin foil hat. There always seemed to be some shred of truth in what conspiracy theorists claimed. In Statenville’s case, a shred could be damaging. Yukon had already been to jail after resorting to crime to make ends meet. Not even a GED was enough to earn him a job as a mechanic in Statenville. But that was before his acquired prison skills became vital for Mayor Gold. Life was good now. And he wasn’t going back – not to a life of petty theft and certainly not to prison.
His hair whipped in the cool evening air. Yukon stroked his scraggly beard and smiled, plotting all the ways he would rage on Cal and Kelly before killing them and depositing their bodies in Cold River Canyon, his favorite dumping ground. This time, he wouldn’t fail to finish the job.
So far, the long stretch of highway from Statenville to Salt Lake City had been quiet, mostly semi trucks transporting their wares from one Western outpost to another. An occasional car interrupted the monotony with the flicker of bright to dim headlights, but not a single motorcycle on the road.
Up ahead, a city limits sign reflected his headlights. He began slowing down. He didn’t want to attract any more attention than necessary at this time of night.
Yukon had arrived in Ellington.
***
“Pick up the phone, Guy!” Cal said. “Why aren’t you answering?”
Kelly finished uploading the last of her photos and videos to her personal storage server in cyberspace. She then decided to answer Cal’s rhetorical question.
“Maybe he’s on the run again.”
“From who? For all they know, Guy is one of
them
, remember?”
“What if they found out he wasn’t?”
“They wouldn’t try anything on Guy. He’s too prominent of a figure in the community.”
“That’s an assumption I’m not willing to make so quickly, Cal. I think we’re barely scratching the surface on the depths to which this town will go to hide its dark secret.”
“Well, if they killed him, they would have to kill us, too.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Somebody has already tried it once today. Maybe two groups of people for all we know.”
“With all the evidence that we have, there’s no stopping this thing now. Statenville will be flush with the 21
st
Century’s version of a gold rush – a national media frenzy on a compelling story that includes a government conspiracy.”
“If we have enough proof.”
“What do you mean, Kelly? We’ve got all the proof we need. A coroner’s report. Our own investigative videos. Corroborating testimony. Not to mention people who would all sing to avoid a harsh prison sentence.”
“I know, but as good as it sounds to us, those editors have to be willing to stick their necks out for us. And what if they’re not? And what if we wake up tomorrow and all the witnesses are dead?”
“Look who sounds like the conspiracy theorist now?”
“I’m just saying that we still need to be careful, Cal. Just because we have evidence doesn’t mean anyone is going to believe us.”
“Don’t worry. After I talk to Guy and send this story in, nobody will touch us. Doing so would only implicate them more.”
“I hope you’re right – just hurry up, OK?”
A familiar engine roar filled the north parking lot. Cal froze. He knew where he had heard it before – the night his car had gone careening off the road. He cut his eyes toward the window and saw a long-haired muscular man climbing out of his Ford F-250. Getting instructions from Guy would have to wait.