Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  Something there after all. “Tell me about them.”

  “Nope. Ain’t saying another word. Do your job and figure it out on your own. How else do you expect to learn anything? You won’t burn me on anything so have a ball.”

  “You’re such a tease. Tell me something.”

  “I’ll tell you two things. Fuck and off. Keep me out of it.”

  The beautiful face of the dead girl floated through Jake’s mind. Those finger bruises around her neck. The utter brutality of it made his skin crawl. “Langston killed one of them in a shithole trailer in Branson. There might be a lead to help me track him down.”

  “Good luck with that. I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait a sec. I’m going to finish him this time. Help me out.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  Jake thought for a moment. Keats was altruistic with kids, but nothing else. He’d help if Jake could show him how it aligned with his interests. “Things have been good for you with Langston locked up, right? But there’s the threat he’s going to come back. How good would things be for you if he wore a pine overcoat?”

  “Better, but not enough for me to dick around with it.”

  “You telling me you don’t have your guys out looking for Langston?”

  “They know he’s out and what to do if they see him, but I don’t have the time and resources for a nationwide manhunt.”

  “He sent you his brother’s severed head in a box for Christ’s sake.”

  Silence. “That was pretty fucked up. But—”

  “Come on, man. You hate this guy. A world without Shane Langston is good for everyone, including you.”

  Undecipherable muttering floated across the speaker. “A coffin is too good for that dickhead. Alright, goddamn it. Why do I like you so much? There’s a bar downtown called Lockwood’s. If you can find it, meet me there at ten o’clock tomorrow tonight.”

  “You gonna buy me a drink?”

  “Yup. Then we’re going to an auction. Don’t say anything to your overgrown Boy Scout boyfriend and dress nice.”

  The line clicked dead and left Jake wondering what Keats meant by an auction.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Clayton Shifflett made the call, cell phone slippery in his sweaty palms. He hadn’t talked to the man since they’d met in the diner. He paced around his desk as if his movement would cause this powerful figure to answer the call this time.

  The man spoke in a hushed voice, the murmur of a crowd in the background like ocean waves breaking against the shore. “Why are you calling me?”

  “We should talk.”

  “We talked at the diner. If you don’t relax, you’re going to give yourself an ulcer.”

  Shifflett grabbed the Tums as if the mere mention of his ulcer caused it to flare. “I already have one of those with your name on it.”

  A door clicked on the man’s end and the crowd noise silenced. “Nobody dragged you into this, Clayton. You came along of your own free will and accord.”

  Shifflett popped two Tums in his mouth and crunched the chalky tablets. “It’s gotten too big.”

  “There’s no such thing. Listen, you’re along for the ride on this one. If you want to ride off into the sunset after this score, be my guest. What has your panties in a bunch, anyway?”

  “Caldwell and Parley keep sniffing around. Word is they’re asking about the girls.”

  “You talk to them since Monday?”

  “No, but someone at the truck stop said one of them passed around a picture of the dead girl. One of our girls.”

  The man fell silent for a moment. “That’s not good.”

  “No shit. Why do you think I’m popping antacids like candy?”

  “What do they know?”

  “Not much yet. But they have Delbert. If they link Delbert to the trucking, there could be trouble.”

  The man clucked his tongue. “You think he’ll talk? Maybe we should take care of him.”

  “Can’t do anything now. He’s locked up at the Taney County Sheriff’s Office, and I don’t see eye to eye with their head honcho.”

  A grunt rolled through the line. “Well, can’t do much tonight. Let’s get through the shipment tomorrow night and worry about the rest later.”

  “You have any dirt on Parley we could use? Maybe slow him down?”

  “If I had any leverage on Bear, I would’ve used it already. Delbert knows where the bodies are, right?”

  Shifflett plopped in his chair, goosebumps surfing his arms at the thought of those girls. “He helped bury them, so yeah.”

  “Shit. Call Garvan and have him move the bodies.”

  Shifflett groaned. “He won’t like it.”

  “Like I give a shit. Unless we want to be cellmates together in your prison, he’ll do what he’s told.”

  “What about Parley and Caldwell?”

  “I have a feeling Shane Langston is going to take care of that problem for us. Don’t call me again.”

  The line clicked silent, and Shifflett rubbed his palms against his protruding jowls. One more score. One more.

  * * *

  Given the late hour, Jake headed to Leawood to check on Maggie and Halle. Though a mere three days since he saw them last, it felt like weeks. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror, checking for a tail, and spent an extra fifteen minutes wandering through nearby residential neighborhoods, where a trailing car would stick out like a sore thumb. Though satisfied he wasn’t tailed, he left nothing to chance and called ahead to Mac who opened the garage door. Jake whipped into the narrow garage, the door dropping before he even opened the door of the truck.

  He gave Mac a fist bump. “How are things around here?”

  “Quiet. Just the way we like it. Any progress on your end?”

  “Finding Langston? No. But other shit is popping up on the radar. Might be tied to him. It’s too soon to tell for sure.”

  Mac’s thin eyebrows shot up. “You should do what you can to get this guy quick. The natives are getting restless. They’re running out of things to do and tempers are getting short.”

  Jake reached for the door. “Well, maybe I can calm things down.”

  Mac snorted. “Wrong door, man. That goes to the basement.” He pointed to the door on the other side of the truck. “As for calming things down? Good luck with that. I raised two teenagers, and I recognize the look on your girls’ faces.”

  Inside, Halle and Maggie threw themselves at Jake, knocking him back a step. They acted like he rescued them from a sinking ship.

  Halle’s eyes grew wide and hopeful. “Does this mean we can go home?”

  Jake stroked her cheek. “Not yet, sweetheart. We’re getting closer to finding Shane, but you can’t leave yet.”

  The light in her eyes snuffed like a blown-out candle, her toned shoulders sagging. “Great. More board games and DVDs. If I don’t get out for a run, I’m gonna weigh a thousand pounds by the time we get out of here.”

  “Thought there was a treadmill in the basement.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whee. Running stationary in a windowless cinderblock prison that smells like mold. Awesome.”

  Jake patted her on the shoulders. “Well, maybe I can talk Mac or Toby into taking you to a high school track or something. Let you stretch your legs out.”

  “You would totally be my hero, Dad. I could even wear one of those wigs in the bedroom as a disguise if it’d make you feel better. Hell, I’d fight that scumbag Shane if it meant I could do it in the fresh air.”

  She wandered back into the living room and resumed a Yahtzee game with Landry and Toby, who sat with his back to the wall and a Glock 19 on the coffee table at his side. He gave Jake a curt nod. As Mac lumbered toward the kitchen where remnants of spicy aromas lingered, Maggie pulled Jake down the hall.

  She planted a firm kiss on his lips. “You any closer to getting Shane? Keeping Halle and Landry occupied without the availability of social media is getting tough.”

  “I wish
we were. Bear and I are working with the Taney County Sheriff’s office and tracking a few leads on Shane that’s blooming into something a lot bigger.”

  “Like what?”

  Jake hesitated to bring up what they’d found so far. Since their reunion after his sixteen-year absence, it seemed trouble latched on to him. His stomach used to agitate in constant fear that Maggie would get sick of the danger he kept finding himself in and dump his ass. Maggie managed to assuage those fears when she agreed to marry him and the churning in his gut dulled to a minor grumbling. Still, there was only so much one person could be expected to take.

  Maggie poked him in the chest. “Jake? The truth.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. No sense pulling punches. “Langston had help on the inside getting out. We’re digging into a few leads to figure out who. There’s also some wonky shit with a trucking company we think is shipping illegal stuff from Mexico and probably other countries.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Drugs, guns…maybe girls.”

  Maggie recoiled. “Girls? Like sex trafficking?”

  “Maybe. That’s what I’m here in town for. But I don’t know a thing about trafficking.”

  Maggie’s eyes shot to the ceiling. “There’s a lady you could talk to. I saw her at a women’s conference last year. Former prostitute who started an organization to help girls get off the street. She gave some sex trafficking stats which made us sick to our stomachs.”

  “You remember her name or the organization?”

  “Christine something. Restoration House was the outfit.”

  “Maybe I’ll look her up if my other tried and true avenue of information doesn’t pan out.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Wait a minute. Tried and true avenue? If you tell me you’re meeting with Jason Keats, I’m going to knee you so hard in the balls they’ll pop out of your mouth.”

  Jake bit his bottom lip and turned his hips to the side. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

  “Jesus, Jake.” She stomped down the hallway before turning back. “You keep sticking your head in that alligator’s mouth and it’s going to bite it off.”

  “You sound like Bear. Except he used a lion.”

  “Well, at least the two of us are making sense.”

  Jake clamped his hands onto her shoulders to still her. “Listen, I think Shane is tied into the guns and drugs and trafficking somehow. Nobody knows more about that business than Keats. Every cop in the State of Missouri is looking for Shane, but there’s so many places he can hide. If I can backtrack Shane through his businesses, maybe we get lucky.”

  She locked her jaw, eyes blazing. “And what are you going to do if you do find him this time?”

  “I’m going to blow his fucking head off, sweetheart.”

  The fire in her eyes faded, and she stifled a laugh before pressing her lips against his. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since you got here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jake overslept with Maggie snuggled up against him. Truth be told, he woke up plenty early but wanted to revel in the warmth of his wife’s limbs wrapped around his and her head resting on his chest. After nine in the morning, he cruised up I-435 on the Kansas side heading toward Heartstone Trucking, his GPS placing the business on the east side of the highway past Holiday Drive. Cat interrupted the directions, informing him in addition to Xtreme Entertainment in Branson, PMA also owned Kappelmann Laundry service. Kappelmann. The name rang a bell, but Jake couldn’t place from where.

  Cat crunched chips while he talked. Annoying as hell since the guy ate them for breakfast. “PMA also owns another interesting property. It was buried deep in the files and I almost missed it.”

  Jake waited for the punchline as his truck chewed up the road. “You going to tell me or continue to annoy the shit outta me while you crunch Cheetos?”

  “I’m off Cheetos, man. Too many calories. I’m onto whole grain chips. Better for the old waistline.”

  “Not if you eat a whole bag of them at one sitting for breakfast. Spill it, Cat.”

  “Well, it’s weird because it looks like a shitty bar in your hometown. Dinky with minimal property value. Unsure why it’s in their portfolio.”

  Another puzzle piece clicked into place in Jake’s mind. “Let me guess. A place called The Asylum.”

  Cat whistled. “Score one for Jake. Good guess, man. How’d you know?”

  “Who runs PMA?”

  “Haven’t figured that one out yet. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

  The exit for Heartstone loomed in the distance. “Say, you know a bar called Lockwood’s in downtown KC?”

  “Heard of it but haven’t been there.”

  “Where is it?”

  Cat spewed some vague directions, north part of downtown. “It’s an upscale bar for the white-gloved crowd. They don’t even put up a sign with the name on it. They wouldn’t let me and my Cheeto-stained t-shirt in the door.”

  “Thought you gave up the Cheetos.”

  “What can I say? I’m an addict. A relapse is inevitable. I’ll let you know if I find out anything about PMA.”

  Jake missed the exit for Heartstone and traveled to the next one, winding his way south along an access road. The main building for Heartstone Trucking sat fifty yards off the access road. Red brick façade on the front, sprayed stucco along the sides. The building stretched a couple hundred feet along an asphalt drive with an employee parking lot holding a dozen cars to the right. Further down the drive, a massive corrugated steel expanse the size of a football field served as a maintenance shop or service area given the vehicles scattered in various states of disassembly.

  Jake turned into a visitor’s spot at the front of the building and walked up a sidewalk splitting beds of red river rock. The sweet odor of gasoline mixed with the acrid smell of burning oil drifted on the western breeze from the maintenance area. He tugged open a sticky front door and a buzzer announced his arrival. A few seconds later, a compact blonde with sheared hair popped her head up from behind a cubicle wall to his right, a phone against her ear.

  “Help you?” she asked.

  Jake shuffled forward. “I’d like to talk to someone about one of your drivers.”

  Her thin eyebrows knit together. “You with DOT?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  The scowl disappeared. “Good. Give me a second.”

  She resumed her phone conversation as her head dropped out of sight like a prairie dog down a hole. Jake walked in circles on the tiled floor of the tiny lobby, eyeballing employees bustling around with noses buried in folders or ears locked to phones. Beige paneled cubicles housing twenty or so workstations lined either side of the entryway.

  After another minute, the woman slipped around the edge of her cube wall and her tennis shoes squeaked their way across the tile. Wearing jeans and a Kansas City Royals World Series t-shirt, she extended her hand and introduced herself as Sheri Muldony, the office manager.

  Jake returned the introduction. “I need information on one of your trucks.”

  “You want to file a claim?”

  “Ummm…no.”

  Her shoulders dropped in relief. “Thank God. Had enough of those this week, and don’t want to start today with another one. Besides, my daughter has a doctor’s appointment in an hour, so my schedule’s a little tight.”

  “You have a driver named Delbert Dunn. We’ve heard he’s made runs down south and to the west coast, and I want to verify the information.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “Private investigator.”

  Her lips set in a thin line. “Why Delbert?”

  “So, he does drive for you?”

  “You gotta give me something besides your dashing good looks. I don’t hand out information about our employees to any schmuck walking in off the street.”

  Jake chewed the inside of his cheek. What could he tell her? One of her employees was a drug and gun-running biker who may be involve
d in trafficking women? Probably wouldn’t sit well or open the information floodgates. Maybe he could offer a flicker of truth and, since she had a daughter, pluck at her heart strings.

  “We think Delbert Dunn has used Heartstone Trucking as a front for doing some illegal things, and I have to verify his locations.”

  She took a half-step back and hugged herself, the Royals logo disappearing beneath her arms. “What kind of illegal things?”

  “I can’t say yet.”

  “Go to the cops.”

  Jake wondered if he would get anything helpful from her or keep dancing in vague circles. “I’m working with the cops, but if you help me out, you could be saving someone like your daughter.”

  Her manicured nails drew over her lips. “You mean…”

  “Maybe. Help me out, Sheri. I just need to know where Delbert’s been, and it could answer a whole lot of questions.”

  “How do I know you’re legit?”

  Jake couldn’t blame her for being skeptical. “Call the Benton County Sheriff’s Office and ask for Sheriff James Parley. Or call the local FBI office and ask for Agent Victoria Snell. They’ll both vouch for me.”

  Her hazel eyes probed his. “Come back to my desk.”

  Jake followed her around the cubicle wall to find a desk covered with enough paper to fill the Library of Congress or burn the Heartstone building to the ground. Leaning piles took up every potential surface except for a keyboard and mousepad adorned with the Heartstone logo.

  “How do you keep track of where the trucks go?”

  She dropped to a high-backed leather chair that squealed as she spun it to her computer. “We have GPS units on all our trucks. We can track where they are within a few feet at any given time.”

  Jake peered over her shoulder at a twenty-inch monitor. “Can you tell me where Delbert’s been in the last few months?”

  Sheri moved the mouse and clicked through a series of folders. A spreadsheet with Delbert’s name at the top popped on the screen. “Any place in particular?”