Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  “I like her,” Bear said, cranking the engine. “She’s sharp. And easy on the eyes.”

  “Careful, big boy. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

  Bear pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward home. “Shit, I wouldn’t know what to do with that much woman. She’d eat me alive.”

  * * *

  Shane Langston wrung the life out of the steering wheel while he watched a handcuffed Delbert slide in the back of a squad car. Jake Caldwell and Sheriff Bear stood right out in the open. Shane envisioned whipping into the lot, gunning them down and watching their hot blood blend into the dirt. But he wouldn’t get far and he wouldn’t let them off the hook with something as easy as getting shot to death.

  How did they find Delbert in the first place? Delbert was supposed to snag some untraceable wheels for the next leg of the journey. Now Shane would have to make other arrangements. But the bigger question was how much did Delbert know of the operation? The correct answer—too much. Pulling out a burner phone, he dialed the number of the man who could answer the question.

  “It’s me,” Shane said. “We have a potential problem. Delbert got pinched.”

  “By who?” the man asked.

  “Taney County Sheriff’s Department. Caldwell and Parley were here, too.”

  “What the hell are they doing there?”

  “Beats me. Harlan’s dead so I’m flying solo.”

  The man groaned. “Harlan’s dead? Jesus Christ, Shane. My sister’s gonna be pissed. How?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Cops won’t find him for a while, and trust me, your sister’s better off with that waste of oxygen out of the picture. In any case, I need a clean ride.”

  Static filled the line for a moment. “You coming back home?”

  Shane drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, getting antsy after sitting in one place too long. “Depends, you find him?”

  “Not yet. Working on it.”

  “Hurry up. I want to sing the little shit a lullaby.”

  “You’re not exactly lying low, Shane. Keep it up and you’re gonna end up in a world of hurt.”

  Shane laughed. “I may be dead by the end of the week, but I plan on taking some motherfuckers with me. Call me back when you find me a new ride.”

  He tossed the phone on the passenger seat and glanced up to see Caldwell staring directly at him. Shane’s heart leapt to his throat; his body frozen in his seat. When a semi-truck coasted to a stop and blocked his vision of his prey, Shane threw the car in drive and tore out the back of the lot, turning on a side street. The motel disappeared in his rearview mirror. That was too close. He wasn’t ready for Jake and Bear just yet. He drove away from the motel on the hunt for a place to lay low until he received the call about the car. His contact came up snake eyes on finding the traitor, but Shane thought of another alternative. It would be time to focus on Jake and Bear once he took care of the little bastard.

  “I’m comin’ for you, Willie.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake and Bear headed back to Warsaw when the Passport Truck Stop loomed in the distance on the east side of the road.

  Jake pointed toward the aged mass of concrete and glass. “Let’s get some coffee.”

  “Then I’ll just have to pee.”

  “You should really see a doctor about that. Might be your prostate.”

  Bear grunted. “Like I want creepy Doc Eversby sticking his finger up my ass. Let’s just get home.”

  “I’m buying. You can get a donut since you ate all the pie last night with Orson.”

  The seatbelt cut into Jake’s collarbone as Bear slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel into the Passport entrance. He angled into a grease-stained spot at the side of the building.

  As Jake climbed out, something Uncle Orson said about the truck-stop hookers tickled the back of his brain. He scanned the rows of tourist-filled gas pumps on the south end of the plaza and swung to the north where the tractor trailers fueled up. Fifty yards beyond the pumps on the trucker’s side rested row upon row of long haulers catching a few hours of shuteye. The image of the dead girl from the trailer flickered in his mind’s eye. What the hell was a gorgeous girl like that doing in a shitty doublewide in the middle of the woods?

  Jake pointed to the trucks. “What if the dead girl was a pro?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “If the girl was from around here, maybe someone saw who picked her up and could give us something to help track Langston down. Maybe a make and model of a car.”

  Bear chewed on the thought for a moment. “Only problem with that theory is the girl was drop-dead gorgeous. Way too high class to be in that shithole trailer. Way better than the one over there.”

  Jake followed his eyes to an too-thin, frizzy-haired blonde who lurched from the cab of a yellow semi, wiping her mouth with one hand and stuffing bills in the pockets of her jean shorts with the other. “Subtle, isn’t she?”

  “Guess Orson wasn’t blowing smoke, though it looks like she was blowin’ somethin’. Want to go talk to her?”

  Jake stepped toward the trucker lot. “Let me do it alone while you go get the coffee and whatever artery-clogging pastry you want to shove down your gullet. No offense, but you look a hell of a lot like a cop and might scare her off.”

  “Thought you were going to pay.”

  Jake dug out his wallet and dropped a twenty in Bear’s paw. “Get me a coffee and a bottle of water.”

  Bear slapped him on the back and disappeared around the corner, and Jake followed the angles of the building to the other side as he tracked the woman. She threw an extra swing into her bony hips as she approached a heavy-set driver heading to his rig. He waved her off before she got within twenty feet. The woman flicked her longest finger to the man’s back and sauntered toward a brunette who smoked while perched against a cab at the far end of the row of trucks. Jake crossed the lot, and the two girls struck their best seductive poses as they noticed him. Their best wouldn’t have been anywhere near good enough, even if he was the most desperate, sex-starved man on the planet.

  “Hey, handsome,” the blonde cooed. She was twenty-one going on forty, a hard life imprinted on her face under heavy makeup. In another time and another place, she would be quite pretty. “I’m Candy. You want some company? Angel and I got a special two-for-one going this morning.”

  Jake held up his wedding ring. “Tempting, but I just got married.”

  “We won’t tell if you won’t,” Angel said. She ran her tongue over teeth the color of dirty dishwater, her dull green eyes glazed over.

  “All I need is some information.”

  Suspicion dropped over Candy’s pale face like a shroud. “You a cop?”

  “I look like a cop?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Jake slipped another twenty out his wallet, holding the bill up between two raised fingers. “All I want is a little info, and I’ll let you two get back to business.”

  Angel held out a trembling hand. Judging from the track marks peeking out under the sleeve of her t-shirt, she itched for a fix. Jake handed her the bill, which she shoved into her jeans. “What kinda info?”

  “You two worked this stop long?”

  Candy’s eyes rolled to the sky as she calculated. “Three…no four months now. Angel lives over yonder and lets me stay at her place. I’m from Texas. Workin’ my way up to New York to be an actress.”

  “What about Hollywood?”

  “Broadway. I’m a singer. I could give you a private audition and show you my vocal cords.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass.” Jake punched up the picture of the dead girl from the trailer and held the phone out for the two women to see. “You recognize this girl?”

  The girls tilted in to check the picture and jumped back as if it would bite them. Angel turned away, and Candy spoke through the hand covering her mouth. “Jesus Christ. Is she dead?”

  “Unfortunately. Found near here.
You recognize her?”

  “If you ain’t a cop, why’re you askin’ about a dead girl?”

  “Come on, Candy. I’m not a cop.” Jake snapped out his last twenty and shoved it toward her. He splayed open his empty wallet to let her know the bank was closed. “You recognize her. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Candy ticked her chin over her shoulder to her partner. “Looks like one of the circus girls, don’tcha think, Angel?”

  Angel backed away. “I ain’t sayin’ shit. Whoever did that got a screw loose, and there’s enough crazy assholes around here without pointin’ them out. I’m gone.”

  “What did you mean by circus girl?”

  Candy’s apple green eyes tracked Angel as she disappeared around the trailer. She lit a cigarette from a crumpled pack in her back pocket. “That’s what we call ’em. They ain’t from the real circus. No Barnum & Bailey shit. But every three weeks or so this truck pulls in, and the truckers bust out of their cabs like their balls are on fire. They rotate in and outta the truck for four or five hours like one of those circus clown cars and then the truck pulls away, so we call ’em circus girls.” She flicked the ashes from her smoke and watched them roll across the cracked asphalt. “We wasn’t sure what was in the truck at first, and then we saw the girls come out a couple at a time to use the bathroom. They ain’t like us.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I know I ain’t no model, but I ain’t too bad, either. These chicks were young and beautiful. Tits bouncin’ where they supposed to be and asses not dragging on the ground. Tried talking to one of ’em once, but I don’t think she understood a word I was saying. Word traveled around pretty quick what was goin’ on in the back of the rig.”

  Jake held up his phone. “That’s where you saw this girl?”

  “Uh huh. There was two of ’em. ’Course, I was pretty high that night so I mighta been seein’ double. If there was two, they was like those clones from the movies.” Candy sniffed, sadness reeking from her like a bad perfume.

  “Can you tell me anything about the truck or the driver?”

  “Not really. Didn’t get a good look at the guy. Cab of the truck was dark, maybe black or blue but he always parks it in the far corner where the lights ain’t so good. Something painted on the side, like a sun or flames or something.”

  Her description rattled something in his brain, but the thought fluttered away before he could grasp it. “You said he comes every three weeks? When was the last time he was here?”

  She stubbed the smoke under her plastic heel of her scuffed shoes. “Two nights ago. Once we seen the truck pull in, Angel and I went home cuz once those girls get here, ain’t nobody throwin’ anything our way.”

  Jake fished out a card with his name and cell number on it. He handed it to Candy. “If you think of anything else or spot the truck, give me a call. Might be some more cash in it for you. Easier than what you’re doing now.”

  Candy studied the card. “I ain’t exactly proud of what I’m doing, you know.”

  “Then why are you doing it?”

  “Life takes weird turns, you know? Three years ago, I was fuckin’ homecoming queen. Can you believe that? Now I’m stuck here. I don’t know what the hell happened.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have to stay.”

  She batted her eyes. “Maybe I’m waiting for a white knight to rescue me.”

  “Be careful. Maybe the girl in the picture was waiting for the same thing.”

  The flirtation melted from her face. “You seem like a nice guy.”

  “My wife seems to think so.”

  Her haunted eyes probed his, and Jake could almost watch the shit show of her life playing behind them. “Tell me something and be honest. If you wasn’t married and you spotted me in a bar somewheres and didn’t know what I did to make a buck, would you ask me to dance?”

  Jake shifted his feet. “I’m not much of a dancer. Born with two left feet.”

  “But if you were?”

  Jake forced a smile. She needed it. “Sure, a nice slow song, Candy.”

  Her eyes watered and she tucked his card in her back pocket. “Thanks.”

  Bear waited for him back at the truck with coffees in hand. “What did she say?”

  Jake took the coffee and pitched his eyes back to the truck lot. “That was the most depressing fucking conversation I’ve had in a while. Let’s roll and I’ll tell you on the way.”

  As they flew up the highway, Jake filled Bear in on his discussion with the truck-stop pros. “There was something about her description of the truck that rang a bell, but I don’t know from where.”

  Bear chewed on his upper lip for a moment before his eyes lit up, and he smacked the steering wheel. “Blue truck with flames at Xtreme. It was parked in the back corner of the lot when we went in.”

  “Jesus, thank you. I’ll call Katrina and fill her in.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clayton Shifflett stirred his drink in the back booth of the Jefferson City diner, hypnotized by swirls of white creamer mixing with black coffee. His mind focused on the potential trouble looming on the horizon if things went south. Smells of frying meats and grease wafted through the air, cutting through the sounds of silverware scraping plates from the lunch crowd. He wondered for the thousandth time if his ambitions had outgrown his intellect, which he himself would admit wasn’t off the charts to begin with.

  The man he waited for strode through the front door, shoulders thrown back like a strutting rooster because it was the only way the man knew how to walk. A few patrons offered a wave to him in recognition.

  “You’re late.” Shifflett sunk back in the booth.

  The man sat and slid across the cheap vinyl. He grabbed the attention of the waitress and pointed at Shifflett’s cup. “I’m a busy man, Clayton. Things don’t always run on a set schedule. What’s so important we couldn’t talk about it over the phone?”

  The waitress angled to the table and filled the man’s cup and put a hot top on Shifflett’s. Her eyes rolled when they waved away menus.

  Shifflett leaned across the table and dropped his voice. “Parley paid a visit to the prison yesterday. Him and some guy named Caldwell.”

  “Why?”

  “Shane Langston.”

  The man tipped his head back and forth as he considered the response. “Makes sense. Langston is from that neck of the woods and he’ll be back. Personally, I hope he takes out a few people including Parley. A little chaos is good for the system.”

  “I don’t like chaos. I like when things go like they’re supposed to.”

  “Like your screw up with the truck? How’d that work out for you?”

  Shifflett sucked air between his teeth as if he got burned and checked to ensure other diners sat out of earshot. “Why don’t you broadcast it while you’re at it?”

  “I didn’t lose the shipment. I didn’t bury the evidence. That was you and your dumbass crew.”

  “But your hands aren’t exactly squeaky clean either.”

  The man’s chin jutted out. “Cleaner than yours. Relax, Clayton. The shipment and auction are coming up, and it’s going to be a huge score for the both of us.”

  Shifflett gritted his teeth. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Looking over my shoulder so much I have to go to my chiropractor to fix my neck, and my ulcer is flaring up like a Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza. I’m out after this.”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. You make sure everything’s on schedule and let me worry about Bear Parley and his sidekick.”

  “What about Langston? The crazy bastard is as unpredictable as a tornado.”

  The man wrung his hands. “What does Langston know?”

  Shifflett cocked his head. “Are you kidding? Everything.”

  “Shit. Well, the good thing is even if they get Langston, he won’t get taken alive.”

  * * *

  Shane Langston held the picture of Jake Caldwell and Maggie Holden
in his hands, wanting to smash it to pieces on the floor and piss on Caldwell’s head. Instead, he dropped it back on their fireplace mantel. He envisioned Caldwell and Maggie strolling through the front door, maybe with cute little Halle in tow, and the surprise on their faces when they found Shane in their living room. Oh, the things he would do to those girls while he made Caldwell watch.

  But they weren’t here, and the house smelled musty, like it hadn’t been aired out in a few days. He imagined Jake and Bear cleared out their families the second they learned Shane escaped, knowing he’d be coming for them. He’d do the same if he stood in their shoes.

  Shane moved from room to room, pawing through drawers and cabinets for any sign of where they took the girls. His internal radar blared. Time to get out, though the temptation to wait for Caldwell to come home quickened his pulse. And as much as he’d like to kill Jake, a few other loose ends required attention including a pit stop at The Asylum.

  He sucked in the stale air, picking up hints of lilac matching the scent coming from Maggie’s clothes hanging in the closet. The tidy home reeked of comfort; unlike the chaos he grew up with in Chicago. He allowed himself a few extra minutes and dropped to the couch.

  The cushions hugged his weary body as he imagined Maggie under one arm and Halle under the other, trying to taste the love of family. Lines sprung on his brow, and his nails dug into his trembling fists. He couldn’t feel the love, but was he jealous Caldwell could? That anybody could, but him? He and Caldwell both endured childhoods of violence and lived on the wrong side of the law, but Caldwell nabbed the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow leaving Shane on the run.

  He stomped to the fireplace and swept Caldwell’s perfect little family portrait off the mantle with a primeval growl, relishing the crash as it smashed against the wall. Crunching over broken glass, he plucked the picture from the floor and carried it to the kitchen. Resting it on a wooden cutting board, Shane plucked a knife from the butcher block and went to work. When he finished, he stepped back to admire his art. This would send Caldwell over the edge.