by Jay Nadal
Jimmy found the light switch, and a single dim bulb sparked to life. A punching bag lay propped up against pallets and crates in one corner of the cellar. Pa had bought it for him when he turned twelve. He had told him it was about time he learned how to punch. Everything about Pa went back to fighting and violence. He thought he could still hear the beating. He screwed up his eyes, put his fists against the sides of his head. Then he attacked the punching bag.
Later—he didn’t know how much later—he crept out. His arms and shoulders were aching. The house was quiet, the night still. With the skill of long years of practice, he scaled the side of the house to the window of the bedroom he shared with Bobby. He heard Bobby’s crying before he even got through the window.
Bobby lay curled up on his bed, facing the wall. His head lifted when Jimmy came in.
“Jimmy?”
“Who else, dumbass. What did you do this time?”
“I was drumming. Didn’t even know I was doing it.”
No use telling him what he already knew. No use telling him it drove Pa crazy. Bobby knew it. He didn’t do it deliberately. Just like when he took a stupid risk, walking along the outside of the Weaver Bridge or climbing up Mount Dexter from the river. That was Bobby. He wasn’t made to be a Dexter.
“This guy’s a cop. So he says. Why would he just pick a fight with you for nothing? Did he see you at the garage?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“But you saw him, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, he could probably see you, dumbass.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Jesus. Last chance, Bobby. No more lies.”
Bobby hunched his shoulders and buried his face in his folded arms. “There was this girl. I’d been talking to her all night, buying her drinks, y’know. Then she brushes me off. I went after her, and this guy just appears. Tells me to leave her alone.”
Now it made sense. If Pa knew, he would kill Bobby. Not for trying to force himself on a woman. Jimmy didn’t think Pa had any morals at all, especially with women. He would punish Bobby for jeopardizing the plan. Jimmy would have to pull Bobby’s neck off the chopping block. Once again, he was the one who cleared up the mess while Bobby ran around doing whatever he felt like. Once, Jimmy had tried to defend his brother, had taken beatings because he stood up to their Pa. Now he had learned different.
“Jimmy…” Bobby began in a tone that said he was about to play on Jimmy’s sympathies. Jimmy didn’t give him the chance. His hands lashed out and gripped Bobby’s greasy hair, fists tightening in handfuls. He pulled up and then slammed down onto the table. He did it three times, then threw the table aside and grabbed Bobby by the throat. Jimmy’s lips curled away from nicotine-stained teeth in a rictus snarl as he watched his brother’s skin darken in his death grip. He could do it. It would be so easy.
Jimmy let go. He let Bobby fall to the floor.
“No more screwups, Bobby. Or Pa won’t have to tell me to kill you. Now, I’ve got an idea, and you’re going to help me. We’re going to give Pa what he wants, and for once he’s going to know that I, at least, am worth taking over from him.”
“Okay, Jimmy,” Bobby stammered. His face was swelling rapidly around the cheeks and eyes. Those eyes lanced Jimmy, but he repressed everything but the anger. He was a Dexter.
“Just you and me. None of the boys. I don’t want Pa getting word of this.”
15
“Hey, Tommy. This is the fifth message I’ve left for you. Call me back. Don’t want to share over a voicemail.”
Once again, Cade sat in the office of Collins Autos and called Rissa. It was just after noon, and Beth had gone to collect Madison. She had become frantic, convincing herself that her daughter was in danger. Cade wasn’t so sure she was wrong. He had held on to her long enough for Charlie to come over. He arrived with a shotgun and a box of shells. Cade concealed the weapon in the back of his truck, having to persuade both Beth and Charlie that they were unlikely to be carjacked in broad daylight.
Beth’s lip had swollen, as had her cheek. When Charlie saw her, he dropped the good ole boy persona. The look on his face was unforgiving. Cade couldn’t fault his courage. The Dexters were dropping the hammer on Beth, and there was no reason they would stop, having come this far. His place was by Beth’s side, but the cop in him couldn’t leave potential evidence. Each of the bully boys the Dexters had sent would have left his mark on the auto shop. None had worn gloves, and each carried guns bearing their fingerprints.
He called Nate again.
“I was just about to call you,” came Nate’s unexpected greeting.
“Not what I wanted to hear. What’s happened?”
“We’ve just had a visit from a lawyer. New Yorker. He was schmoozing with the chief when I brought you in yesterday, you remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, he’s made a complaint against you. Says you assaulted three of his clients and threatened them with a firearm.”
“He’s working for the Dexters.”
“You think?” Nate shot back, sarcasm loading his voice. “He’s pushing the chief hard for an arrest and a prosecution. Chief needs little pushing. He’s called in all the off-duty deputies and is putting out an APB on you. Chief’s going out himself to Mount Dexter to take statements.”
“They’re trying to get me out of the way to leave Beth on her own. I’m at the garage right now. Those guys I assaulted, they were attacking Beth.”
“So you attacked them?”
“’Course I did. What do you think I am? But it was to protect Beth.”
“Oh man. Come on. You used to be a cop, you know how this goes down. Your word against theirs, and there’s three of them.”
“What if I persuade Beth to make a complaint? No, I know already.” It dismayed Cade how fast he had fallen into deferring to Nate’s status as a cop. He knew the answer to his question without needing to ask. They had detained him for drunk and disorderly, fighting in the street. After his arrival, first Brandon and then Beth were attacked. And if they dug into his police record from Houston…There had been complaints toward the end. Incidents.
“I’m being set up,” Cade commented. He didn’t need Nate’s agreement. The trap was set, and he couldn’t see a way out of it. At the very least, the Dexters would see him locked up waiting on bail, leaving Beth and Madison alone, except for a septuagenarian ex-airman. The evidence at the garage was redundant. The men who had attacked Beth were making no secret of the fact they had been at Collins Autos and left their blood and spit behind to prove it. What could Cade counter with? Illegal possession of a firearm?
“Look, Tommy. Best thing you can do is to come in. Do you have a lawyer?”
“Hell no.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll make sure you get a state lawyer. Sooner you get in front of a judge, the sooner you can get bail.”
“Ain’t happening. I’m not leaving Beth on her own.”
“Where is she right now?”
“She’s gone to take Madison out of school. Charlie Biggs is with her. Then she’ll be heading home.”
“I’ll find her. She needs to stay public. And if you won’t turn yourself in, you need to do the opposite. Get out of town. The lawyer doesn’t have a description of your car, just you.”
“I’m not leaving, Nate. Beth needs me.”
“I’m just talking about not making yourself easy to find.” Nate sounded increasingly exasperated. “Just get away from the auto shop and Beth’s house. First places they’ll look.”
“Understood,” Cade agreed reluctantly. The trap was tight around his neck with no get-out-of-jail card in sight. No way out that didn’t make him look guilty.
Cade hung up the call and put the phone in his pocket. He picked up the gun he had taken from the man with the bolo tie and pushed it into the back of his jeans. He locked the garage and jogged across the lot to his truck. His phone rang as he reached it. Rissa.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly.
“Hey. Finally. For a man who wanted a callback urgently, you’re difficult to get hold of.”
“Got something for me, Rissa.” It wasn’t a question.
“Sure do. Got the complete history of the Dexter family, New Hampshire. Got time to listen now? ’Cause I emailed you an Ayn Rand novel’s worth of details.”
“Give me the highlights. I’m in a hurry.” Cade had the truck out on the road. He watched for police cruisers as he headed north away from the auto shop. He glanced into the rear-view mirror and at that moment saw the auto shop and surroundings framed for one second. The snapshot felt familiar. Or rather, he had seen that piece of land before, in a badly reproduced sixty-year-old photograph.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry, Rissa. Something just fell into place. I don’t know what it means, though. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”
“Care to share?”
“You first.”
She sighed. “So, William Dexter works hard to hide his tax liabilities. Lot of convoluted business arrangements. Officially, he’s destitute. No sources of income. Unofficially, he’s the managing director of a company called Green Eagle Ltd. Classic shell outfit. Post office box in Boston, no income filed, no tax returns. Inactive. Except they are the sole trustees of the Patriot League Trust Fund, a charity which leases several properties, ostensibly for the purposes of helping military vets in the northeastern states. Except they don’t seem to collect much or distribute it. They lease a few properties. Several lots in the Flint County area, formerly farmland. Several bars in Burford, Flint, Rockford, and Chester, New Hampshire.”
“Tax evasion.”
“Classic. And maybe some money laundering. All cash-heavy businesses. There’s more, though. Some of those properties, namely those outside of Burford, are owned by a Savings and Loan based in Manchester, New Hampshire—SwiftSure, operated by a Charles French. Don’t know who he is.”
“Don’t mean anything to me, either.”
Cade headed south through town, but drove a random route. He turned onto the Weaver Bridge behind a police cruiser.
“Shee-it,” Cade murmured. “Hold on a second, Rissa.”
He resisted the overwhelming urge to pull his cap down low. His entire body felt unnaturally rigid as he forced himself to move up closer behind the police car. He held a higher driving position, and he was close enough, the cops wouldn’t be able to see his face in their mirror. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about the Texas license plate. The bridge seemed endless. Finally, he bumped over the end and back onto the highway. The cruiser headed uphill along the road that Cade had followed into town what felt like weeks ago.
Cade took the first turnoff he could find. It ran south, following the river. At first the road was flanked by houses. They had been painted bright pastel colors at one time, a long time ago. A few sported American flags in their front yards. A junkyard and a used car lot flashed by, then open farmland on one side and the river on the other.
“What’s going on, Tommy?”
“Billy Dexter is running a protection racket. Beth and her husband are one of their victims. They’ve got local law enforcement in their pocket.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m sorta a wanted man right now.”
“Wanted? JC Cade. Cannot believe you. Really can’t. From cop to outlaw?”
“It’s not deliberate. Somethin’ doesn’t add up here. You can’t make money from empty farmland. You said some of the property was agricultural?”
“Yep. All in the… Grey Valley. That’s where you are, right?”
“Right.”
Ahead, the road descended onto a broad, flat floodplain. Cade could see the broad loops of paving that loosely followed the contours of the river. Ahead, coming in the opposite direction, he saw another patrol car. It would pass him in a few minutes, moving fast but not yet with the siren or lights on. An opening appeared in the trees to the right. It was a gated entrance, with a NorEl Mica sign on the gates.
As he approached, he could see that the chain-link gate stood slightly ajar. He swerved off the road onto the dirt track that led to the gate. Without getting out of the truck, he nudged it through the gates and drove up into the forest. The dirt track was new, two broad tracks of impacted gravel showed where heavy vehicles had driven. In between, the stones were loose, spitting out from under his wheels and pinging off the bodywork.
When he judged he was far enough in to be out of sight from the main road, he pulled over onto a broad grass shoulder that formed a spot for trucks to pass. In gaps through the marching pines, he could see the river glinting in the sun and just make out the tallest buildings of Burford off to the north.
“You still there?” Cade asked, picking up the phone.
“Still here.”
“Check out NorEl Mica for me.”
“As it sounds?”
“Yeah, don’t ask me what the abbreviation is for.”
“North East. Northern Electricity, Northern Energy. I’ll find out. What’s the connection?”
“Might not be one. Just a hunch.”
“I better be getting an exclusive out of this, Tommy.”
“You will. Promise. Thanks, Rissa. I appreciate it.” Cade felt glad Rissa was there. Her presence, even on the end of a phone, energized him. He felt a tumbling in the pit of his stomach. It went with the hunch and a sensation he hadn’t felt since before… Rivera. He knew he was onto something. He couldn’t see the whole picture yet, but the instinct never lied.
Cade felt the rumble of the heavy vehicle before he saw it. A cloud of dust heralded the dual-hauler truck as it powered up the track behind Cade. The driver sounded his horn, punctuating the silence and startling him. The truck slowed as it overtook.
“Hey, buddy. Can’t you read? This is private property.”
“Says who?” Cade shouted back over the growl of the truck’s idling engine.
“Says NorEl, that’s who. Didn’t you see the sign?”
“No.”
“Well, you drove through the gates back there. Whatever, buddy. I get paid to drive the trucks. I’m just tellin’ya that this is private property and NorEl don’ like trespassers. Do yourself a favor, pal.” The driver jerked his thumb back down the track.
Cade saluted him, and the truck rumbled on around the bend and upward into the hills. He texted Beth.
I’m a way out of town. Where are you?
He sifted through the emails Rissa had sent him. In one she had mapped the properties owned by the Dexters over a layout of Flint County and Burford itself. He zoomed, looking for Brandon’s auto shop. The Dexter properties made a line from north of town to the river. The auto shop stood in the middle of that line, breaking it into two. The shape those properties made matched the map he had seen in the library of the old railroad. Intuition grabbed him. The Dexters wanted the route of the old railroad. The closure of the railroad had killed the mine when it had gone under. So, NorEl’s plans were dependent on the Dexters linking up that line. Brand and Beth were in their way.
He traced the route of the old railroad from what he remembered of the image he had seen in the library. It made a distinctive shape. There were no other impediments if NorEl wanted to lay down new tracks right through the town. They would own everything they needed right down to the river. Put up fences, lay some track. He didn’t know how much it took to build a railroad, but the Dexters’ choices for their extortion were just too big a coincidence.
A reply pinged from Beth.
At home. Charlie is here. Told Maddie her dad is sick. Police have been here.
He replied.
I’m lying low. Got some intel. Have an idea.
An idea had formed as he scanned the material relating to the Dexters’ business interests. It was audacious and bordering on suicidal, but it might buy them all some time. The phone
lit up as Beth called him.
“Hey.”
“What are you up to?”
“Better you don’ know.”
“Tommy…”
“Trust me.”
Silence. “Okay, I can’t be worrying about you and everything else.” Beth sounded beyond tired. Her voice was flat. “I’m taking Maddie to see her dad.”
“Charlie going with you?”
“Yes. I’d have to tie him up to stop him.”
“Did Nate catch up with you?”
“Who’s Nate? Oh, the cop. No. Haven’t seen him. Why, what is it now?”
“Nothin’. He said he would look out for you. Just stay with Charlie and stay public. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
As he spoke, he opened Google Maps. He switched to satellite view and scrolled along the river. He looked for what he hoped was a very distinctive geographical feature. It was. He zoomed in, and an extensive, dark gray roof filled the screen. It had four dormer windows each facing a different direction. He pinched the screen back, and the building reduced in size, revealing a driveway, yard, and some cars parked around it. There was nothing else like it anywhere nearby. Mount Dexter.
16
Cade turned the truck and headed back down to the highway. He was halfway through the maneuver when a four-by-four in NorEl colors skidded to a halt across the track in front of him. Dust rose in plumes from the car’s sudden arrival. Two men got out. Both wore high-visibility jackets with the now-familiar logo on the breast. They moved with the competence of men with a deep understanding of their bodies’ full capability. Cade didn’t need to see the holstered sidearms to know they were security.
“Get out of the truck,” one of them barked.
He had a buzz cut and a brick-like jaw. It made his head look square. The other had a similar haircut but dark skin and oriental features. He moved around the back of the truck to take a position at the driver’s side. His colleague stood at the passenger side.
