Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  “Probably?”

  “It’s better than maybe.”

  Jake chewed on the odds while Bear relayed his location to Klages. Her laugh spilled through the speaker before Bear disconnected. “We taking our guns in?”

  “Hell yes. My momma didn’t raise no dummy.” Bear slipped out of the truck.

  Jake took another look at the black bar growing darker by the minute. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. Shit. He pushed open the truck door into the cool night. With the sun disappearing, the temperature went from seventy to fifty-five like it spotted a state trooper. Invisible anchors tugged at his feet as he followed Bear to the front door.

  “You boys lost?” the biker asked, sliding in front of the entrance to block it. His shit-eating grin revealed a row of stumped teeth, like dirty little corn kernels.

  Bear placed his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. “Just going to talk to Garvan.”

  “You got an appointment?”

  Bear’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Harley Copan, right? I have a warrant with your name on it sitting on my desk. You want me to execute that warrant right now or do you want to get the fuck out of my way?”

  Harley’s grin faltered, and he hustled down the sidewalk, taking a final glance over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner of the building.

  “You really have a warrant for the guy?” Jake asked.

  Bear tugged open the front door. “Beats the shit outta me. Probably. Let’s go get a beer.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The inside of The Asylum looked like someone filled a sprayer full of blood and blasted it on the wood-paneled walls. Jake guessed a woman was involved at some point during the interior design due to a couple of well-placed accent walls in black breaking up the crimson visual. A guy wouldn’t think of an accent wall. He’d think of how much money and time he saved painting everything one color, but Jake learned more about accent walls than he ever wanted to know from Maggie in their living room two months ago.

  Cheap, round tabletops with flimsy wooden chairs filled the empty space between a bar on their left and a dance floor with a raised stage to their right. Cigarette smoke and weed hung thick in the air, the smell of stale beer embedded in the wooden floor. A half-dozen men gathered around a table playing poker with wads of cash crumpled in the middle, tweaking Jake’s urge to jump in. But it was the kind of game where you’d get your face broken if you won the wrong hand.

  On the stage lounged a man in a high-backed chair, obscured by a long-legged brunette clad in Daisy Duke shorts and a lacey bra as she danced in front of him. Her eye-popping figure and moves indicated the song “Legs” was well chosen.

  Bruno and Gunner huddled at a table near the poker guys. White tape spanned Bruno’s nose, and stained, heavy gauze the color of rust covered Gunner’s shoulder. They didn’t waste time getting here after Jake beat the crap out of them.

  Four more grungy dudes in Blood Devil vests hunkered at the end of a thirty-foot scarlet-topped bar. A heavy-set blonde woman in a t-shirt that fit her fifty pounds ago laughed with them. Her sharp, knife-like voice cut through ZZ Top blaring on the juke box and stabbed Jake in the ear. She sported not a muffin top, but a three-layer cake spilling over the sides of her blue jeans. Her laugh went out like a snuffed candle when she spotted Jake and Bear, her buoyant breasts jiggling at she waddled toward them. Jake wondered how far they’d drop below her knees if she took off her bra. The narrowed eyes of the men at the bar locked on the fresh meat as they swiveled on their barstools.

  Jake’s eyes swept the room again. One exit behind them and one through the hallway on their left. There was another door on the opposite end of the bar, but they’d have to wade through the dozen guys to get there.

  Bear tipped the brim of his hat in a charming, Old West kind of way. “Marlene. How are you doing on this fine evening?”

  “Bear. You boys lost? Happy hour don’t apply to cops.” Marlene’s teeth were tan chicklets under bloated, rosy cheeks. From the dim lights at the other end of the bar, Jake guessed her age at forty, though up close she looked like she could be a card-carrying AARP member.

  “We want to talk to Garvan for a minute.”

  She flicked her eyes to the stage. The man’s beady eyes lasered in on them despite the distraction swaying in front of him. “He’s busy.”

  “How many songs did he pay for?”

  “Garvan doesn’t pay for anything. What do you want?”

  “Asked and answered, Marlene. How’s your brother?”

  The scrape of metal and shuffle of feet signaled the approach of the four men on the stools, and the valve on Jake’s adrenaline creeped open. Judging by the steely eyes and clenched jaws, these four were ready to rumble, along with the poker boys who stopped their game and focused on Jake and Bear as well. Marlene threw up a palm to the barstool boys, stopping them in their tracks.

  “Doing ten years. No thanks to you.”

  “He had a pound of meth on him and passed out sitting on his running motorcycle in front of the Turn It Loose. You should buy me a beer for not giving him a DUI in addition to the possession.”

  Marlene reached below the bar and produced two long-neck bottles, twisting the tops off with a much-practiced precision. She set them on the bar top as the ice slid down the glass. “There. We’re practically even.” She swept her eyes over Jake. “Who are you?”

  “Jake,” he said, taking a pull from the bottle. The beer inside wasn’t as cold as the bottle made it seem, and the skunky flavor bit his palate. Jake guessed she reserved the well she pulled it from for unwelcome visitors who wouldn’t be tempted with ordering a second. “Jake Caldwell.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ahhh. Bruno and Gunner talked about you. Said they had plans for you if they ever saw you again.”

  Jake thumped the bottle on the bar top. “Must be their lucky day. Or their last.”

  Marlene threw a grungy bar towel over her shoulder. “You might get your chance, and Garvan might talk to you both after the song’s over.”

  “How will we know?”

  “Either he waves you over or the guys in here will drop on you like a pack of wild dogs on a three-legged cat. Personally, I’m hoping for the second one. We ain’t had a good fight in here for a couple of nights.”

  She waddled back to the other end of the bar as the guitar solo in the song neared its end. The four bikers followed her gesture and settled back on their stools. The poker game resumed, leaving Bruno and Gunner to scowl at them from across the room.

  Bear took a slug from the bottle and winced at the contents. “Remember how I said I sent Marlene’s brother up the river? He’s also Garvan’s brother. Well, half-brother on his momma’s side.”

  “Think Garvan will hold that against us?”

  “Doubt it. Earl was an asshole. Nobody liked him, not even Garvan.”

  “At least you earned the dirty look she gave you. What do you think our chances are of making it out of here unscathed?”

  Bear see-sawed his hand. “Eighty-twenty. Garvan’ll know it’s important and will grant us an audience. God, this beer is fucking horrible.”

  “Recognize any of the clientele?”

  “A few. Definitely some new blood. We don’t want to linger too long in here, though. The night crowd will descend from the back hills soon and make this group of derelicts look like GQ models. My badge and your size might keep these guys at bay, but if the crowd gets too big, who knows what’ll happen.”

  ZZ Top struck its last chord, followed by a breather, before Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” strummed its slow build-up. On the stage, Garvan pushed the brunette away, and she wandered to the poker table, dropping on the lap of one of the players after he smacked her on the ass.

  When she raised her face to take in the clubhouse visitors, Jake did a double take. She was the spitting image of the dead girl in Branson. “Jesus, Bear. That’s…”

  “Yeah, I see it. You said Hooker Candy mentioned the girl had
a clone. It’s either that or we’re seeing a dead girl risen from the grave.”

  The girl disappeared through a door at the end of the bar. Garvan flipped his hand over and waggled his fingers at Jake and Bear in a come-hither motion. Bear led the way and Jake followed, giving a wide berth to the poker table, and they angled their bodies so their backs weren’t to the crowd.

  Jake put Garvan in his early fifties, thick across the chest and hairy as an ape with black and silver tufts poking from the top of his black t-shirt. His hands were like hams on the end of chiseled forearms with scarred knuckles like walnuts. Slicked back, peppered hair hung to his shoulders. He eyeballed the poker table, held up two fingers, and motioned to the table at his side. One of the poker guys jumped up and carried two chairs over, setting them on the stage, shooting daggers at Jake and Bear as he went back to the game.

  “Have a seat, gentlemen,” Garvan said. His deep and grizzled voice reminded Jake of the actor Sam Elliot.

  “Garvan,” Bear said, “this is Jake Caldwell.”

  Garvan extended a hand across the table and Jake grasped it. Powerful grip. “I know who he is. Your dad and mine used to break bread and beer bottles together back in the day. Walt Connelly.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell, but anyone who broke bread and bottles with Stony would be a character worth forgetting. Still, no reason to be rude. “Think I remember him.”

  “Your old man was a mean motherfucker.”

  Jake nodded. “And I have the scars to prove it.”

  “Me too. My dad liked to talk with his fists. Makes for shitty parenting.”

  “I like your bar. It’s very…red.”

  “The red paint saves time on blood cleanup after the brawls.”

  “Marlene said it’d been a couple of nights since a good fight. She was hoping for a good one in a few minutes.”

  Garvan stroked a thick mustache hanging over his thin lips. “Last night was Wednesday and Wednesday nights are slow. Tonight should be better. You boys want another beer?”

  Bear piped up. “As long as it’s not the shitty kind she gave us a minute ago.”

  Garvan held up three fingers, and Marlene waddled over three fresh ones from the good end of the bar, scratched her nose with her longest finger to Bear, and plodded away. “My sister’s pissed at you for busting Earl.”

  Bear took a long pull from the bottle, eyes locked on Connelly. “He didn’t leave me a choice.”

  “I don’t disagree. Earl is a dumbass, but she’s still pissed. I also lost Xavier to the little spitfire you sent here last month. What was her name? Klonges? Cages?”

  “Klages.”

  Garvan pointed a finger. “That’s the one. But I get why that one happened, too. My boys got a little over-exuberant with a vacationing idiot who wanted a beer, so someone had to answer for it. I get it. What I don’t get is why Jake here roughed up two of my favorite guys. That shit is not cool.”

  Jake set the beer bottle on the table. “Your two guys sold meth to my sixteen-year-old nephew, and Gunner there stuck a .38 in my face. They’re lucky they’re still upright enough to drink a beer.”

  “They’d like to skin your hide.”

  Jake cocked an eyebrow. “Let them try. They had their chance, both with guns on their home turf against an unarmed man.”

  “I bet you had a gun.”

  “I didn’t need it against those two. I wanted to ask them to stop selling meth to my nephew. They made the wrong choice to escalate things.”

  “Actions have consequences.”

  “Yes, they do. I think they’re clear on what’s acceptable and what’s not.” Was Garvan talking about Jake’s consequences for beating up the two bikers or recognition they got what they deserved for pulling guns on him?

  Garvan settled back in his throne and rested the beer bottle on his belly. “So now that we got the ground rules squared away, what do you want?”

  Bear placed his elbows on his knees. “What do you know about Shane Langston?”

  Garvan chewed on the question and his upper lip at the same time. “Why?”

  “He escaped Jeff City earlier in the week.”

  “I heard.”

  “You know anything?”

  “Why would I?”

  Bear’s head tilted to the side; his lips pursed. “Didn’t you two have a business arrangement?”

  “You know something I don’t?”

  He thought about dropping a line about an informant, but Garvan might trace that back to Bennett. Bennett was a dip shit, but Jake had no desire to see the kid on a slab in the morgue with a toe tag. Better to keep Garvan focused on his own rank and file. “How about Delbert Dunn? You know him?”

  Garvan flicked his green eyes between the two of them. “He’s cooling his heels in a jail cell in Branson, but I think you know that.”

  “We do. We also found his cell number at the house of the guard who helped Shane Langston escape.”

  Garvan popped an unfiltered cigarette from a generic pack and lit it. He blew out a plume of smoke and studied the swirling cloud. “What’s it got to do with me?”

  “Come on, Garvan,” Bear said. “One of your guys is tied to a guard who helped the meth king of Benton County escape, leaving a void your gang was more than happy to fill.”

  “So you say. We’re just a happy bunch of guys who like to drink beer and ride Harleys.”

  “And sell meth to my sixteen-year-old nephew,” Jake said, clenching his fists. He knew they wouldn’t get anything out of this guy.

  Garvan waved the thought away. “I can’t control everything my guys do, whether it’s those two dipshits over there or some guy in Branson. I’m just a bar owner. Whatever they do is on them.”

  “I want to know if Shane shows up here.”

  Garvan pressed his lips together as if holding back a laugh. “Sure thing, Bear. You’ll be the first person I call.”

  Bear stood and Jake followed suit. “We’re watching, Garvan. If I find even the slightest trace of evidence you’re tied to Shane Langston and his escape, I’ll be on you like white on rice. You and your band of misfits.”

  “Thanks for stopping by, Sheriff. Always good to catch up with you. Say, you mind if I have a word with Jake alone for a second?”

  Bear’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

  “Humor me. Won’t take but a minute. You can head to the safe end of the bar and finish your beer.”

  Bear wrinkled his brow at Jake, who shrugged and sat back in the chair. Bear stomped toward the bar as Jake swallowed three gulps of the beer. “Who’s the girl dancing for you?”

  “Alina? Why?”

  “She’s way too hot to be hangin’ around a place like this.”

  Garvan smirked. “You got that right.”

  “You two been together long?”

  “Why? You want a taste? She’s leaving for Kansas City, but I could hold her for you. Or you makin’ polite conversation?”

  Jake took another drink. “Just curious. Seems like I’ve seen her somewhere else.”

  “I doubt it. You know, Bruno and Gunner are two pretty tough sons of bitches,” Garvan said. “You took them both out without a scratch on you.”

  Jake held up his right hand. “Not true. I skinned my knuckles breaking out Bruno’s teeth.”

  Garvan pulled at the whiskers on his chin, his eyes hard. “A lot of stories flying around about you since you came back to town.”

  “Anything good?”

  “Mostly jealous talk since you landed Maggie Holden.”

  “I’m still wondering how I did that myself. Are you going to warn me about the repercussions of busting up two of your guys?”

  Garvan stubbed out his smoke. “Nope. They’re big boys and can handle themselves. I’m more interested in something you can do for me. Let’s call it a favor.”

  “I don’t generally do favors for people I don’t know. What is it?”

  “I’d like a meet with Jason Keats.”

  Jake wasn�
��t sure what he expected as a favor request, but that wasn’t it. Keats was the head of the Kansas City mafia and Jake’s former boss, who became filthy rich running drugs, guns, and making high interest loans to desperate people. Since getting out from under Keats’s thumb two years ago, they’d suffered a couple of run-ins when Keats’s interests ran afoul to Jake’s.

  Jake crossed his arms. “Why?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Actually, it does.”

  “We share similar interests.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as things I’d rather not get into with you considering your boy scout best friend is the county sheriff. I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. Just the introduction. That’s all.”

  Interesting. Garvan and the Blood Devils either filled the drug void left when Shane went to prison or coordinated the drug trade with Shane all along. But, if he worked with Shane, why would he want to meet with Keats? Keats and Langston were mortal enemies. Keats ordered Jake to kill Langston, which was the whole reason Jake came back home.

  “Keats will want to know why. He doesn’t meet with anybody. Plus, he’s pretty pissed at me, so I don’t know what good an introduction would do for you anyway.”

  “Let me worry about that. Do me this favor and I’ll owe you one.”

  Jake took another long drink from the bottle as he considered Garvan’s request. Shane being out of prison couldn’t be good for Garvan, even if the two worked together. If they were, Garvan controlled things while Shane was on the inside. If they weren’t, Shane being out put a fly in the ointment of what had to be a lucrative stream of income for the Blood Devils. “Okay. But favors run two ways. I need to find Shane.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Bear and I are the ones who put him away and Shane is the type to hold a grudge. If he’s out, it puts my family in danger, and I can’t have that. I don’t care what you said while Bear sat here, and you can deny it all you want, but I know in my gut your guys lent a hand in busting him loose. Just give me a bead on him.”

  Some of the swagger drained from Garvan’s face. “No way, man. I ain’t crossing that cat.”