Authors: Robert Conroy
It took Joe a little longer than he thought it would to get to the lot where he had his office and shed and kept his vehicles. Unlike many of his competitors, it was in Sheridan, which was expensive, but, so far, he’d been able to handle it. After all, it kept him close to his customers.
Traffic flow coming in to his office had been really crappy, and all the idiots who didn’t know how to drive in the snow seemed to be directly in front of him. When he got to the lot, he saw that one of his other drivers, Tommy Hummel, had already taken his truck with the attached plow blade and was out doing his jobs. Tommy was a good, dependable guy, and more of a friend than an employee.
Joe had a list of business and residential clients and they would be served in their turn, and, if the snow kept up, the businesses would be plowed as often as necessary to get their parking lots clear. Joe had a Wal-Mart lot to clear first, followed by a couple of large office complexes. Schools would come later since they’d be closed anyhow. Money, money, money, he thought happily as he mentally geared up for a day of hard work.
Gomez also had a contract with the city of Sheridan to clear their streets if the snow was so great that their own vehicles couldn’t do it in a timely manner. In Joe’s humble opinion, that was exactly the way this snow was going to play out. No way those rich suburbanites could be inconvenienced, no sir. C’mon snow, he said to no one. The city fathers would be glad to pay him whatever it cost to keep their affluent citizens in line.
Joe got behind the wheel of the big dump truck he’d bought from a bankrupt construction company and headed out. The truck was his pride and joy, and a lot of downtime work had been spent on it. Its size was more intimidating than necessary, but it was a statement that he took his job seriously. A large retractable plow hung from the hood, making it look like some kind of prehistoric dinosaur. A stegosaurus, his wife said. Joe did not disagree. He’d seen a picture of a stegosaurus on the Discovery Channel and the resemblance was clear. It really was a monster truck.
The tires were oversized and good and he had little trouble exiting the lot and getting onto his street, which was a side street that entered onto MacArthur. Christ, it was really coming down, he thought, and immediately slowed down to a crawl. The last thing he wanted was an accident.
He’d only gotten down the side street and to the main road when he stopped abruptly. Ahead and in front of him on MacArthur was nothing but wall-to-wall snow-covered cars that weren’t moving. He thought about barging his way in, but then what? He backed his truck up and pulled it aside so that anyone behind him could get through. Then he laughed at that possibility. Like where would they go if they did pass him? Besides, his street was a dead end, so he didn’t think anybody would exit from MacArthur, but you never knew.
He turned off the ignition and carefully climbed onto the slippery top of the truck to see what he could see through the swirling snow. Not very much at all was what he could see. Where there was highway there were cars and they weren’t moving. Plumes of exhaust were all that told him anyone was in them. Otherwise, they could have been abandoned wrecks at a junkyard, or a parking lot at a football game. What now, he wondered? The top was getting icy and he climbed down before he fell and broke something. Maria was always telling him to be careful and reminding him that he
was
the business. If he got hurt, the business hurt.
Through the snow, he saw someone walking in his direction. “That you, Joe?” Tommy Hummel asked as he emerged through a gust of even heavier snow.
“Naw, it’s Santa Claus,” Joe answered. “Why are you walking and where the hell is my truck, you incompetent Anglo?”
Tommy laughed. “I’m trying to do you a favor, taco-man. I’m stopped and stuck maybe two hundred yards up the road and people are beginning to leave their cars and head for warm buildings. Your precious truck is locked up and safe. Even if somebody tried to steal it, they couldn’t move it anywheres. Seriously, I was really hoping to catch you before you got stuck too.”
That made sense to Gomez. He and Tommy got into his monster truck and Gomez carefully turned it around and headed back to the yard. He dropped the plow so he could at least make himself useful by clearing something, if only a dead end side street.
“Tommy, why didn’t you phone me?”
“I did. It helps to have it on. Works a helluva lot better that way.”
“Oops,” Joe laughed. He noticed that the snow was nearly at the top of the plow blade. It was getting very deep real fast. So much for making a killing, he thought ruefully. All the snow in the world and no way he could get out and shovel it.
“Water, water everywhere,” Joe muttered.
“And not a drop to drink,” Tommy completed and both men laughed. Not much else to do but take what they’d been handed with good humor. When life deals you lemons, make lemonade. “What now, Señor Gomez? Wanna go back to the office and play cards?”
“Not unless you have a better idea,” Joe said. Nor were they going anywhere at all anytime soon. Driving home had suddenly become out of the question. There was a six pack of Coors in the refrigerator and, since they obviously weren’t going to be doing any driving or operating heavy machinery for a while, it seemed a fine time to demolish it. There was a couch and a couple of folding cots that he’d put in so workers could catch naps if they had to, along with a small bathroom that included a toilet and a sink. Now it looked like they’d be using the cots to bunk down tonight. Maybe they’d catch a weather forecast on the television. Damn.
* * *
The main travel guides listed the Sheridan Motor Inn as either a three- or four-star motel. Given the fact that Sheridan was a bedroom community without any significant commercial base, and that it also lacked anything to bring in tourists, the motel and restaurant were surprisingly upscale, well appointed, and popular. One hundred and twenty rooms, restaurant, lounge, indoor pool, gym, and conference rooms made it a complete facility. Weekend getaway packages sold well and augmented income from weekday business travelers. A mini-water park brought in families and filled the pool with screaming kids on weekends.
This Monday morning, the Inn was less than half full. Most of those who were departing had made it out, and those who had reservations for Monday weren’t going to keep them, at least not for a while.
Billy Raines looked out the second-floor window onto an ocean of white that used to be a parking lot.
This is not good,
he thought. Their plans were to get out of this town and on the way south as quickly as possible. Staying too long in one place was a bad idea. They could not depend on the last body going undiscovered for any length of time. For all he knew, the cops around Traverse City had found the guy, identified him, and were on their way right now. Cops and computers were a bad thing. He hadn’t wanted to use the guy’s ATM card or his credit card, but they needed cash as well as a place to stay. He’d figured on leaving right away and then the damn snow started.
Of course, Raines chuckled with some satisfaction, the cops would need fucking snowshoes to get anywhere near him.
“What’s so funny?” asked Jimmy Tower, the other half of what Raines sarcastically referred to as their dynamic duo. Tower was anything but dynamic looking. Slightly over five feet tall and chunky, Tower was four years younger than the forty-year-old Raines. At a lean six feet, Raines dominated the other man in more ways than one. To put it politely, Tower was more than a little slow and looked it. Raines thought Tower might either have a mild case of Down’s syndrome or Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Either way, Jimmy Tower was at least one egg short of a dozen.
Raines had befriended the smaller man in prison and had become his protector from the sexual predators who had stalked him. Tower owed Raines big time. Raines was a leader who always had a small group of supporters—white, of course—while Tower was an efficient and often brutal lap dog.
Jimmy Tower compensated for his slowness with his viciousness. Jimmy had cut the throat of the guy in Traverse City, and Jimmy had beaten the hell out of a woman in Green Bay. He had also raped her. Jimmy liked women, but they didn’t like him because he was such an ugly little shit. Jimmy thought most people were laughing at him, and he was often right. Raines made sure he never laughed at Jimmy Tower. So far, they’d gotten along well.
But that was the least of their problems. The mounting snow was imprisoning them as effectively as metal bars once had, and ruining their plans to move south. The key to not getting caught was to keep moving. This is what they’d done since escaping from a medium-security prison in Wisconsin. From there they’d stolen cars and driven across Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and south across the Mackinac Bridge to Traverse City where they’d killed that guy. From there they’d driven the dead guy’s car to Sheridan where they’d planned a very short stay.
Stand still and you become a target, so they had to keep moving. Their plan, such as it was, was to head south towards warmer weather and maybe even the Mexican border, although they knew they were well east of it. They’d heard that drug dealers south of the border liked Anglos. More reliable, they thought. Also, they could cross the border more easily since they didn’t look Mexican.
Raines saw a hunched figure walking through the parking lot to a trailer with two lumps on it. The man shook off some of the snow and checked a tarp that covered whatever was on the trailer. The snow was swirling, but Raines thought he saw something like metal runners poking out from the tarp.
Raines grinned. “Get in bed and cover up,” he yelled at an astonished Tower. “Start moaning like a woman when I return.”
Raines opened the door and ran down the hallway, confident that Tower would do exactly as told. The hunched over man had returned to the motel and was going into his room. Snow had fallen from his coat and was puddling on the floor.
“Sir!” Raines yelled anxiously and the man paused. “Are those snowmobiles on that truck?”
The man was wary and hesitated. “Why, yes.”
Raines affected great concern. “Thank God. My wife is complaining about abdominal pains. It may be her appendix. I’ve called 911, but they can’t help me. They can’t even get ambulances out because of the snow.”
The man softened. “I understand. Tell you what, my wife’s a nurse. I’ll let her take a look before we do anything risky. If she says we need to, we’ll figure out a way to get her to the hospital.”
“Great,” Raines said and gave him their room number. He ran back to the room to wait. In the bedroom, Tower moaned in an awful falsetto. “Not like that! Like you’re in pain!”
A moment later, there was a knock on the door and the man entered, followed by a heavy-set and concerned looking woman. They both looked about fifty.
It was so easy. Raines followed the two Samaritans into the bedroom. He suddenly pushed the woman onto the bed, where Tower grabbed her. Raines turned and hit the man on the head with a table lamp. The Samaritan dropped like a rock, while Jimmy easily subdued the woman. They tied her with torn cloth and stuffed a towel in her mouth. Jimmy was very strong for his size.
The two of them dragged the man into the bathroom where Raines hit him several more times on the head. Then Jimmy dragged in the shock-stricken woman. When she saw her husband lying in a widening pool of blood, her eyes rolled back and she moaned. Then she fainted.
Raines saw the look of expectation on Jimmy’s face. The woman was fat and ugly, but she was a woman and Jimmy wasn’t choosy. “No time for that,” Raines said. Jimmy shrugged and pushed the woman into the tub. A quick slash across her throat from a steak knife he’d taken from the kitchenette caused blood to gush out of her. She convulsed and in only a few moments, went limp. Raines dumped her husband’s body face down on top of her.
Raines and Tower left their room and dashed down the hallway. The Samaritans’ room contained everything they needed in the way of cold weather equipment. Even better, they found a pistol in the man’s luggage. The dead woman’s gear fitted Jimmy Tower almost perfectly, although he didn’t look too mannish in pink. However, those were all details and even Jimmy recognized the opportunity that had presented itself. Now they could get out of the motel and then out of town.
That is, if they could figure out how to drive a snowmobile.
CHAPTER 6
Wally Wellman stared at the unblinking television camera. The lens and the red light gave the impression of otherworldly life. He recalled how it terrified him when he was first starting out as a television personality. Back then, he spoke hesitantly and sometimes had an almost overwhelming urge to urinate. Now it was just a tool of the trade. His voice would be going out over the radio as well as television.
Genuine concern showed on Wally’s face. Gone was his usual casual and corny banter. Now he was grim. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s obvious that the weather situation has gone from bad to worse and could easily get even more dangerous. Those of you who are listening to me on your car radios know exactly what I am talking about. However, those of you considering leaving work or school or wherever you are and driving home are everyone’s concern.”
Wally paused for effect. “Simply put, it is far too dangerous to be driving in this weather. Worse, it is virtually impossible to move even if you do try. So, if you do try to drive home you will fail miserably and become part of a growing and dangerous problem. Almost every road in Southeastern Michigan is at a standstill and relief is not in sight. It is only noon and there’s much more than a foot of snow on the ground, and no letup in the intensity of the storm is predicted. We can only look at our maps and satellite photos and forecast snow, snow, and more snow. We have no idea when it will slow down, much less stop. To be candid, our science and our computers have all failed. We have no idea what is going to happen next. The weather has won this round and there’s nothing we can or should do except wait it out.”
The comment about computers wasn’t quite the truth. Computers never fail. They just didn’t have enough data to make a correct analysis. The analysts who’d assumed their infallibility had failed by providing the computers with insufficient data and not acknowledging that fact. Detailed weather records went back less than a century and satellite reconnaissance less than half that. So how could data be complete?
“Even if the snow were to stop in a few minutes, it would be many hours before the roads could be cleared. As you probably know, Governor Landsman has declared a state of emergency and ordered that everyone stay where they are. This could be inconvenient, but inconvenience usually isn’t fatal. At worst, you’re going to be a little hungry and have to sleep on something uncomfortable tonight. You may be concerned about loved ones, but please accept the fact that you are not going to reach them even if you try. Odds are, you won’t even get out of your parking lot or your driveway. Wherever you and they are, both you and they are better off not moving.”
Wally again paused to let that sink in. Hopefully. Some people were such complete and stubborn asses. “Please, use your heads and not your emotions. Stay put. For those listening on your car radio to our FM affiliate, you may already be in great danger. If there are open buildings nearby, leave your vehicles and get to them as soon as you can before the snow gets even deeper and more dangerous. If you stay in your car, you run the risk of freezing to death before the roads are reopened. If you insist on staying in your vehicle, only run your engine intermittently and then with the car windows opened a crack. If you don’t, you could suffocate. Bear in mind that your exhaust pipe may already be filled with snow. Like I said, your best bet is to get out of your car and into some other shelter.”
An intern handed him a sheet of paper. He read the contents and nodded. “Here’s something else to consider. Check the pipes that are the outside vents for your furnaces. If this snow gets much deeper, they might get covered. If that happens, carbon monoxide could back up and into your houses and that would be very dangerous.”
Wally signed off and looked at his producer. The two men were shocked by the intensity of the snowfall. The normally loquacious Wally Wellman, star of TV6, really had nothing further to say.
* * *
Two adults and three kids in a car, even a large mini-van, was a recipe for disaster, especially if the car wasn’t going anyplace.
“I wanna go home,” complained Milly, the middle child. She was seven. John was nine and little Amy was two. She was asleep, which was a blessing. Awake, she’d be trying to destroy the car and anyone in it. The term “Terrible Twos” must have been coined with her in mind, her parents thought.
Phil and Debbie Stiles had been taking the two older kids to school. Normally Debbie did the job, but she and Phil had the day off and decided a change in routine would be fun. After getting rid of the two older kids and dropping Amy at day care, Phil and Debbie would shop, have lunch, go home, and see about making another little Stiles. It’d been a while since they’d had any real privacy, and Phil had almost forgotten what Deb looked like naked.
But the sudden, heavy snow had been a very unpleasant surprise. They were on northbound MacArthur and not much was happening. The snow was falling heavily and he had to keep using the wipers and defrosters to see anything at all. As it was, the car in front was a white blob.
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for a while,” he finally admitted.
“What should we do?” Deb asked. There was a note of concern in her voice. People in their social and economic circles rarely felt helpless, yet that was exactly what they felt and neither she nor Phil liked it.
Phil admitted that he had no idea and that was upsetting. He always had ideas and he always felt that he was in control. “I suppose we should sit here until traffic clears.” Sometimes he thought he could see police flashers in front, but he didn’t know what they meant. Maybe they meant that traffic would move when whatever was holding them up got cleared out. If that didn’t happen soon, the snow would be too deep for the car to handle, four-wheel drive or not.
“I don’t know if I like that idea.” Deb said.
“Well, you want to get out and walk somewhere with these kids? I don’t like abandoning the car, either.”
She admitted he had a point and they settled down to do nothing. Walking was not an option. For one thing, they hadn’t dressed for the weather. They had no boots or heavy clothing. Hey, they were just going for a short drive in their own town, weren’t they?
Phil turned off the ignition, but it quickly got cold, so he turned it on again. However, that was dangerous, so he kept the window cracked open. He decided he would run the motor for a while, turn it off, and keep repeating the process. It should keep everyone warm enough, and conserve fuel. He had a little more than half a tank. He hadn’t had the radio on. Instead, they’d been listening to a CD. He and Deb always found the news depressing.
Turning the engine on and off was a good idea, but he couldn’t see under the car where the rapidly accumulating snow covered the exhaust and blocked it when he turned off the ignition.
Phil began to get sleepy. A blast of snow came through the window and hit him on the face, reviving him for only a moment. He closed the window, unaware that Deb had closed the one on the other side. He yawned and closed his eyes. He needed a rest.
* * *
“Hi Mike, it’s me. Try and guess where I am and what I’m doing.”
Inside the police station, Mike grinned into his cell phone, happy to hear a voice that was more than friendly. Hers was a calming sound in a world that was getting more and more dangerous with each moment and not just because of the weather. He was about to embark on a job that had the potential to be incredibly dangerous. He needed a light moment.
“Let me guess, Maddy. You’re at school with a couple of hundred antsy kids who are going nuts ’cause they can’t leave.”
“Close, but not close enough,” Maddy said. “I’m in the furnace room in my underwear, and I’m trying to warm up and dry out.”
“Is there a reason for this, or is it something you’ve always wanted to do? And if the maintenance man is in there with you, our budding relationship has just taken a big turn for the worse.”
Maddy laughed. It was good to hear his voice, too. She rarely called him at work and he had little opportunity to contact her, but today was a different story.
After putting on her coat and boots, she told him, she’d gotten a list of things the others wanted from their cars. The list included important stuff like food, cell phones and medications and low priority items like books.
“Like a fool, I agreed to get them,” she said. Mike laughingly agreed with her assessment.
She had made it to her own car without too much trouble. Lots of effort, yes, but no real trouble. She was the youngest, fittest, and most athletic teacher there, which made her the likely choice to go scrounging.
Then she’d gone on to other cars where she’d filled some bags with phones, boots, and all sorts of cold weather gear and whatever food that was in them. The food consisted mainly of potato chips and granola bars, which wouldn’t satisfy hundreds of kids.
Thus, she’d been heavily laden down with awkward parcels as she pushed her way through the snow and back to the school.
“I was doing so well until I stumbled over one of the parking bumpers. I fell flat on my face and all the crap I’d been carrying went all over the place.”
“You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“No, and thanks for asking. Only my pride suffered. I must’ve looked like an idiot. Someone with a video camera could’ve made a fortune showing it on
America’s Dumbest Teacher Tricks.
However, I then spent the next several minutes trying to gather up what I’d lost. I was already wet from the falling snow, and now I was up to my elbows in it. It took a while, but I got just about everything and headed to school. I almost made it.”
Mike was trying hard not to laugh again. “Almost?”
“I tripped over a bike rack.”
Mike couldn’t contain himself. He doubled over and pounded his desk. It felt so good to back off from the horrors that were developing. “Jesus, I wish I’d been there.”
Despite herself, Maddy laughed along with him. “Yeah. Me, little Miss Big Ten Volleyball Jock, couldn’t even stand up without falling down. I was right outside the door, so Donna and Frieda came out to help me. When I finally got in, I was soaked and freezing. Thus, I am now in bra and panties and sitting as close to the furnace as I can without burning my butt off while my clothes dry. And I’m alone, by the way.”
Across town, Mike smiled into the phone. Talking to Maddy was a bright and welcome break in a grim world that was getting worse real quickly. Without any of their normal resources or backup from other communities, the Sheridan police were planning a raid on the two men suspected of murder who, according to the motel manager, were still registered in rooms at the Sheridan Motor Inn. Maddy’s voice was a beacon of light in an otherwise miserable day, one that might just turn incredibly dangerous and ugly.
“Maddy, will you do me a favor?” he asked sweetly.
“What?”
He began breathing with mock heaviness. “Describe your bra and panties?”
She giggled. They were what she referred to as “industrial strength” and not something from Victoria’s Secret. She whispered into the phone, “If you’re so damn curious, come and see them yourself.”
Yeah,
he thought after hanging up.
Right after we take down two killers.
* * *
Six officers led by Sgt. Patti Hughes made it to the Sheridan Motor Inn on snowmobiles. Mike was one of them. Sheridan didn’t have a SWAT team or anything like it, although they had a lot of weapons and other equipment thanks to Federal government largesse. It had come from Homeland Security following the 9/11 attacks. Nothing big had come up in years to require a SWAT team. Had something occurred, they would have called in the county sheriff or the Michigan State Police for help. They did not have that luxury this time. Sheridan’s depleted police force was on its own. If the two murderers—alleged murderers, he corrected himself even though he knew damn well they were as guilty as sin—were still at the motel, they had to be stopped.
Mike was on the team because he had volunteered, and because his four years in Detroit qualified him as a combat veteran, even though he’d never pulled his gun, much less shot at anybody. Now, covered with snow and sneaking in the back entrance to the motel, he wondered about his sanity. They had Kevlar helmets and bulletproof vests that made them look dangerous, but they were far from being a well-trained unit.
The trip to the motel had been slow and had its own dangers. The snow was blinding, forcing them to drive their snowmobiles extremely slowly. They had to wind their way around large snow mounds that were cars and smaller ones that could have hidden thick shrubs or decorative rocks. Hitting one of them could easily disable a vehicle and possibly injure a rider. Visibility was so bad that Hughes was depending on GPS to get them to the motel.
When they arrived, they found the manager pale and shaken. He managed to pull himself together and confirm that two men had registered using the credit card of a man now known to have been murdered. He added that they were in a small suite on the second floor. He also said that the second floor was virtually empty because traffic had delayed arrivals. The men had pre-paid with a Visa card, so there was no guarantee that they hadn’t left, except for the fact that their car was still in the parking lot. Mike wondered just how the manager could tell that with all the vehicles covered with snow, but was then told that the guests had assigned spaces, which made it fairly easy to keep track of things. There was closed-circuit television for the hallway showing that it was empty. Hughes actually asked the manager if there were hidden cameras in the rooms and the poor guy was shocked by the question.
He vehemently denied it. “We’re not that kind of place, Officer.”
Too bad,
Mike thought. Just once it would be nice to have somebody break the law and have it be helpful. He asked for and was promised tape of the hallway for the last couple of days.
The suites on either side of their targets were vacant, which was also a blessing. After confirming that there were no maintenance passageways that could secretly lead police to the suspects’ suite, the task force broke into two groups. Hughes, Mike and two other officers moved to a suite with a door that adjoined the suspects’, while the others waited at the other end of the hallway, effectively sealing it. If the bad guys tried to exit their room, Hughes hoped she had set up a decent ambush. Mike thought it looked like the cops could get caught in a crossfire, but Hughes just shrugged and said there weren’t any really good choices. Her real fear was that, despite the manager’s assurances that the two suspects weren’t in the lounge or anywhere else, they would unexpectedly show up in the cops’ rear. Again, what could they do with their limited manpower? These guys were killers and they had to be taken down.