Deadly Promise

by Brian Crawford

  “Larry, I will let that slide this one time. But only once. Boyd would not hurt me.” She hoped her tone effectively conveyed her irritation. Larry did not look convinced, which angered Jessica a little.

  “What if Boyd isn’t the one coming to check on the van?”

  “Of course, it would be Boyd. How many people do you think know how to operate a laser microphone?”

  “Shelley Baxter graduated with an electrical 0engineering degree and a law degree by 21. She’s a genius, probably smarter than you, me, and L.T. combined.”

  “Alright, point taken. But Boyd won’t stick around if he spots you casing his van.”

  “Then I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t see me.”

  “Good luck with that one. Knowing Boyd, he probably has a camera on the van as well.”

  Larry continued to argue with Jessica as they drove back to the van. Much like Legend, he discovered arguing with Jessica was a losing proposition. Ten minutes later, they were back in Mansfield’s affluent neighborhood. The van was still there, looking like they left it. Larry pulled up to the curb a hundred yards behind the van and shut off his vehicle.

  “You have any duct tape, Larry?”

  “No.”

  “Anything else we can use to cover up the laser beam?”

  “No.”

  “Then how about a lock pick set.”

  “I have one in the trunk. What are you going to do with it?”

  “With any luck, pick the padlock on the cargo door, then find the laser mic and disable it.”

  “Can you pick a lock?”

  “I suck at it, but you don’t have any tape. And you’re an FBI agent, so you can’t do it. Breaking and entering and all that.”

  “Fine, let me get my pick out of the trunk. If you can’t get the lock open, then we’ll go buy some tape.”

  Larry exited the vehicle to retrieve his lock pick, which he dumped on Jessica’s lap after sitting back into the driver’s seat. “Tell me the truth, have you ever done this before?”

  “A couple of times with Legend’s help. I’ve never done a padlock before.”

  “Jessica, you’re killing me, you know that? I’ll do it,” he huffed. “From here on out, I’m carrying duct tape in my car.”

  “What kind of man doesn’t have duct tape in his car anyway?” Jessica teased. “Of course, if you had the tape, I’d have to do it since the hole for the laser is so high.”

  Larry seemed to know what was coming next. He grabbed the pick set and quickly opened the door to exit the vehicle.

  “You know, because I’m so m—.”

  Larry quickly shut the door before Jessica had a chance to finish, knowing she was going to tease him about his height. He called her Jess. She poked fun at him for being two inches shorter than her.

  It was good that Larry decided to pick the lock on the cargo door. She could have done it given enough time, but lurking around the van in the dark for that long would have looked suspicious. And suspicion in a rich neighborhood was sure to result in police involvement. That the van had been allowed to sit on the street of the affluent neighborhood for as long as it had was already a surprise.

  The fear of the local police showing up and ruining her chance at contacting Boyd had Jessica wondering what would Legend do. Probably something crazy like strap himself to the bottom of the van with his belt and ride it back to Boyd’s secret lair.

  The ridiculous mental image of Legend strapped to the bottom of the van brought a smile to her face as she watched Larry walk to the van. In less than 30 seconds, Larry had the lock removed and was opening the cargo door. The cargo area was dark enough that Jessica couldn’t see anything. Larry climbed inside the van and disappeared into the darkness.

  Seconds after Larry climbed inside, the brake lights of the cargo van suddenly lit up. Larry must have tripped the electrical system somehow while he was disabling the laser microphone. Jessica realized she was wrong when the reverse lights lit up. Boyd was in the cab. He had to be. Jessica watched in disbelief as the van started moving quickly in reverse. Was Boyd preparing to jam on the brakes to throw Larry from the back of the van? If so, why wasn’t the van showing any sign of stopping or slowing down.

  “Stop it!” she yelled from inside Larry’s car. She knew Boyd could not hear her. Her yelling was a sign of her helplessness as the van continued on its path directly towards Larry’s vehicle.

  He’s going to ram me. Damn it, Boyd, what are you up to? Larry could get hurt.

  It was too late to move over to the driver’s seat and start Larry’s car to avoid the inevitable collision. All Jessica could do was brace for the impact and helplessly wait for Larry to come flying out of the back of the speeding cargo van.

  The crash was horrible. Boyd must have been doing 30 miles per hour when the van struck Larry’s personal vehicle. She felt the impact travel through her feet and arms into her torso and neck, ending in a violent chattering of her teeth. She might be sore tomorrow. She might not. No matter how she felt, she was sure to be better off than Larry.

  Newton’s first law of motion, sometimes referred to as the law of inertia, states that an object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and direction unless acted upon. Every freshman physics student learns the law. Jessica learned it when she took physics as a prerequisite for her engineering degree. Meaning, unless Larry found something to hang on to, he would be thrown from the back of the van.

  Jessica expected Larry to catapult out the back of the van headfirst in an uncontrollable fashion only to strike the windshield. His body did fly out, but he was feet first and lying on his back when he left the van. He hit the windshield hard, his buttocks cracking the glass in the process, before sliding up and over the roof of the car and coming to a rest on the trunk lid.

  Jessica climbed out of the car. “Damn you, Boyd, what do you think you’re doing?” she yelled.

  No answer. Just the sound of the van being shifted into drive before speeding away. There was nothing she could do. Sadness filled her heart at that moment. Special Agent Marshall was right about Boyd — he had moved over to the dark side. If he would endanger Larry, a friend, then Mansfield was as good as dead once Boyd lined up his perfect shot. She turned her back on Boyd’s vehicle and braced herself for the worst as she prepared to help Larry.

  ***

  “You want me to go to Oklahoma City? To talk to the families of two guys who died in Washington, D.C. seven years ago while there on vacation?” I was talking to Jessica and Special Agent Marshall on a payphone in Missouri.

  “Yes,” Marshall replied. “I told you, they didn’t just die seven years ago. They were killed between the time George Mansfield paid the ransom and the time Shelley Baxter’s body was found. An apparent mugging while the two men were on vacation in the city.”

  “I mean no disrespect to the dead guys, but so what?”

  “Shelley Baxter was born and raised in Oklahoma City. So was her brother. I want you to find out if either man knew the Baxters. The records show that a few D.C. detectives on the case weren’t convinced the men were mugged, but lacking a better explanation, the official report sided with the mugging hypothesis.”

  “You think that since their death is questionable, then maybe they were accomplices to the fake kidnapping? Or the real kidnapping, whichever it is?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No offense, Marshall, but I’m not here to help the FBI make its case. I’m here to find Boyd. And after what he did to Larry and Jessica with the cargo van, I’m also here to kick his ever-loving butt.”

  “I told you I’m okay, Legend,” Jessica said. “And Larry isn’t hurt too bad. He was lying on his back when he flew out the back of the van. Fortunately, the friction created from that position slowed him down quite a bit. They x-rayed his ankle and back at the emergency room. There’s nothing broken.”

  “I’m an ER physician, Jessica. All we do is triage the patient and tell them to follow u
p with their primary doctor.”

  “Yeah, he already called his chiropractor.”

  “He could be in for weeks of pain. He should call his primary, not a chiropractor.”

  “You tell him that when you see him. He’s going with a chiropractor. Legend, before you get too mad at Boyd, we should consider that Boyd wasn’t driving the van.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “No, really. Larry and I both feel Boyd isn’t calling all the shots.”

  “It was his microphone in the van. It makes sense he was driving it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, Legend. Let’s not get too hasty blaming Boyd.”

  “Has he paged you? Because he sure as hell hasn’t paged me. Someone rammed your vehicle and catapulted an FBI agent out the back of a van. I think we deserve a call. Larry surely deserves a call.” I was yelling into the phone by the end of my last sentence.

  Jessica and Marshall were quiet for several seconds before Marshall resumed talking. “Oklahoma City, will you do it?”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “It’s possible the information you find there might help Boyd in the long run.”

  “I don’t see how. Boyd injured a federal officer. You probably already have a BOLO out on him. You’re trying to give me something to do so I don’t drive up to Chicago and finish what I started.”

  “What exactly have you started, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I’m not telling you. If the FBI is as connected in Chicago as they seem to think, then you can find out from them. I’m sure as hell not giving you anything you could use against me.”

  “I thought we were past that level of distrust.”

  “No offense, Agent Marshall, but the circle of people I trust has tightened. And I haven’t decided if you’re on the inside or the outside. Tell me you wouldn’t arrest Boyd on sight.”

  Marshall didn’t answer.

  “That’s what I thought. Agent Marshall, I need to talk to Jessica alone for a few seconds.”

  “No problem, L.T. So you know, I hope your friend wasn’t driving that cargo van.”

  I shouldn’t have been mad at Agent Marshall. She was doing her job, and Boyd deserved to be arrested if he was driving the van. From Jessica’s description of the collision, Larry’s vehicle was probably totaled, and it was a miracle Larry wasn’t seriously injured. His decision to lie flat probably saved him serious head injuries. Whoever was driving the van, also endangered Jessica. If Boyd was driving, I would knock my friend’s teeth down the back of his throat, then pick him up and drive him to the dentist. If it wasn’t Boyd, then I would...well, I hadn’t decided yet how I would handle that.

  “Legend. Legend, are you there?” Jessica asked over the phone.

  I groaned to let her know I was listening. “What do you think, Jessica. Should I go to Oklahoma City or not?”

  “I think you should go. You might uncover some information that proves useful in helping Boyd once we find him. Plus, it might give you a chance to calm down before you decide on your response concerning the Outfit.”

  “I can’t promise I will be calm when the time comes to reek justice on Mr. Robert Deluca and Scott Beyers. All I can promise is that the plan will be well thought out.”

  “Fair enough. Do you already have a plan?”

  “No. Well sort of. I’ll tell you about it when I get there. For now, are you sure Agent Marshall isn’t giving me busy work to keep me away from D.C.?”

  “I don’t think so, Legend. She seems fairly genuine to me. Before you go, I might have something useful. How would you like the license number of the cargo van, which I haven’t shared with the FBI or local police?”

  “You’re keeping information from Larry? He might be able to use the license plate to find Boyd.”

  “I don’t want the FBI to find Boyd. We need to find him before they do. They won’t be kind to him when they find him.”

  “Jessica, I’m not planning on being kind to him either if he was driving that van.”

  “Fair enough, if he was the one driving.”

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do for Boyd, but how do we find the cargo van without the FBI’s help?”

  “Your little voice still isn’t talking to you, huh? Legend, I do believe you have friends in the intelligence community.”

  “Crap, why didn’t I think of that. Thank you, Jessica.

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  I laughed.

  “What so funny?” Jessica asked.

  “I was wondering if this is what Boyd feels like when he’s working with me. He told me in Collinsville that I was the planner, and he was the windup toy that gets stuff done. Now, the tables feel turned. I feel like this is your investigation, and I’m just the windup toy. It’s unsettling.”

  “It’s our investigation, not mine. I couldn’t do this without you. You’re just a little off your game at the moment.”

  “Either way, I’m going to thank you properly when I see you next. I’ll kiss you so hard it will make your toes curl.”

  “That’s it, I was hoping for more.”

  “Fine, I’ll let you decide how I should reward you.”

  Jessica and I said our goodbyes after each of us promised to be careful. Mom agreed to follow me to Springfield, Missouri, where I would turn in my rental vehicle. After that, we would take her vehicle to Oklahoma City. Before we left, I needed to call a friend who could help me track down the cargo van from the license plate Jessica had given me. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow night, I could be back in D.C. to resume my quest to find Boyd.

  CHAPTER 27

  Part of me wanted Agent Marshall to be wrong about sending me to Oklahoma City so I could tell her I told her so. Another part of me felt the whole situation with Boyd and Shelley Baxter was a game to her, or, at the very least, an advancement opportunity. It wasn’t a game to me. And a final part of me wanted to be able to blame her for wasting my time in case things got worse while I was on her wild goose chase. That part of me ended up being disappointed. My investigation into Bill Lewis and John Wood, two men from Oklahoma City who were killed while visiting our nation’s capital seven years ago, took less than a day. The parents of both men were unequivocal that their child was acquainted with Evan Baxter. The three boys had gone to the same private school together as children, although neither set of parents felt their son was particularly close with Evan. Marshall might have been on to something after all. I was impressed; it was not an angle I would have considered. I hoped she didn’t gloat too much when I saw her.

  “I know you’ll find Boyd, son. If anyone can do it, you can.”

  Mom and I were standing on the tarmac of an executive airport in Dallas, Texas. Kent Rutherford was standing off to my left to give me and Mom personal space as we said goodbye. He looked as he did every time I saw him. An expensive tailor-made suit, a cowboy hat, boots, and a belt buckle that would have looked completely out of place on anyone other than a Texas oilman.

  He seemed to sense I was thinking about him. “Dr. McCain, I know you want your mother to come with you, but I can assure you she will be quite safe with me. She won’t go anywhere without my bodyguard present until you say it’s okay. I promise. I will use my new, improved resources to protect her as if my life depended on it.”

  Rutherford smiled as he finished his sentence, alluding to our first encounter last year when Boyd was hired to collect a debt from the rich Texan. Boyd asked for my help, which I provided. When we caught up to Rutherford in the parking garage of his office building, I easily disarmed his bodyguard. Rutherford’s new bodyguard did look much more capable.

  “But the plane?” I said, pointing to Rutherford’s private jet. “It’s too much.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. It isn’t enough. I like Boyd. He’s done excellent work for me. Now, go get him, and when you find your friend, please apologize to him for me for referring him to that Mansfield character.”

  I thought back to the last t
ime I’d seen Rutherford. Right after we returned the horses we repossessed from Marino. Nick Marino...after all that’s happened, he seems like something out of the distant past. Rutherford had treated Boyd cordially. Now, standing there on the tarmac, there was a noticeable affectionate quality to his voice.

  Rutherford walked over, shook my hand, and then used the opportunity to pull me in close. “There’s a small present for you inside the plane courtesy of my head of security,” he whispered. “If you need anything else, please let me know. I mean that.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Rutherford stepped away so Mom and I could finish our goodbyes. “Remember what I used to tell you before stepping onto the wrestling mat?”

  I remembered. Both parents supported me in my quest for athletic excellence, but their roles were different. Despite my father’s background in athletics, despite playing 16 years in the NFL, he was my cheerleader. And despite knowing nothing about wrestling, Mom was my coach. My inspiration. The one who always knew what to say and when to say it. Mom was referring to one of her favorite sayings. “The unstoppable force or the immovable object. Only one can be true. Be the force.”

  “The same holds true now. Be the force, Legend.”

  I hugged and thanked her before turning to climb the steps to board Rutherford’s private jet before Mom hit me with another saying.

  I ducked through the cabin door of Rutherford’s private jet. Valued at around 30 million dollars, the Gulfstream IV was one of the most appreciated and best-selling business jets on the market. Despite the hefty price tag, I quickly realized I could not stand up straight without hitting my head on the six-foot, two-inch cabin ceiling. Low ceiling aside, the plane was pure aviation luxury. Leather executive chairs, plush carpet, a small dining table for two, a bar, even a large sofa that someone my height could stretch out on. All decorated in bold tans, browns, and other earth tones.

  “First time in a Gulfstream?” the pilot asked as I climbed inside. He must have sensed my awe.

  “I’ve been in a military version. It didn’t look anything like this on the inside. Damn.”