by Colin Conway
Then he began the walk toward Daphne’s house. He thought about slinking toward the front door or maybe crouching into a run. Everything about it seemed wrong. No matter how he approached the house, they would see him. It was broad daylight. In Pleasant Valley, Maine no less.
He didn’t want a shootout on Blue Street. This town shouldn’t be subjected to the continuing drama of the Satan’s Dawgs or the mob.
So he did the only thing possible. He tucked his gun into his waistband and walked with his head up, and his shoulders pulled back. If Suicide Mike or the Fixer wanted to shoot him, then he would take his punishment like a man. He wouldn’t back away from it. He was betting that Mike wanted to take him alive, though.
When he reached the white picket fence at Daphne’s house, no shot rang out. He opened the gate, took a moment to touch a purple flower, then proceeded up the sidewalk to the front porch. As he ascended the stairs, he prepared himself for a bullet to rip through his flesh.
His footsteps sounded heavy on the wooden porch. His fist banged on the door, causing it to swing slightly open.
“Come on in, Beau,” Suicide Mike Eslick said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Chapter 37
Daphne sat duct-taped to a dining room chair. A piece of thick silver tape covered her mouth, and she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. Suicide Mike stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.
“Pull out your gun—carefully—and kick it over here,” the tall thin man in the corner said. He was impeccably dressed. He wore a black club shirt, olive drab slacks, and expensive-looking loafers. His dark hair was cut short on the sides but remained thick on the top.
Slowly, Brody removed his gun from the back of his pants. He laid the pistol on the ground and kicked it over to the impeccably dressed man. When he stood upright, he took a step toward the end table where the ceramic rhinoceros proudly stood.
“Been a long time, brother,” Mike said.
The big man shook his head. “We’re not brothers.”
“We’re brothers until the council says we’re not.”
Brody knew better than to argue further. Once a Dawg in the club, the only way out was death or ex-communication. Death was an easier way. If he returned to the club, the ex-communication ceremony was an ugly and painful process. It was that way, so members would never consider leaving.
The tall man began to whistle softly.
“You must be the Fixer,” Brody said.
“And you must be the rat.”
Suicide Mike chuckled.
“What do we do now?” Brody asked, his eyes focused on Daphne’s.
“We wait,” Mike said, his hand absently twirling Daphne’s hair.
“Wait?” Brody asked.
“The Dawgs are on the way.”
Brody’s heart began to race. “Which Dawgs?”
Mike’s grin was malicious. “The entire club, man. There’s never been a rat like you, Beau. The whole crew has some pent-up aggression. They’re going to love tearing this place apart.”
“They don’t need to come here. This is a nice town.”
Mike sneered at him. “This place has made you soft, Beau. I can’t believe you chose to live here.”
“I didn’t choose it.”
“Yeah? Who did?”
Brody didn’t answer.
“The marshals picked it for you, didn’t they?”
The Fixer pointed his gun at Brody. “Answer him.”
“Yeah, they picked it.”
Suicide Mike leaned down to Daphne’s ear. “See? I told you he was a rat.”
Daphne stared at Brody with tears in her eyes.
“This man was a stone-cold killer, princess. Then he rolled on us to save his own skin.” Suicide Mike kissed Daphne’s cheek. “You love a rat. It sounds like a Disney movie.”
Brody eyed the two gunmen. The first thing he needed to do was get Daphne safe, but he only had a few cards to play. Now was the time to begin laying them on the table.
“I’ve alerted the FBI and the U.S. Marshals about you being here, Mike.”
The biker raised his eyebrows and looked to the Fixer, who shrugged in return.
“State patrol is on the way, too,” Brody said.
That got a laugh from both men.
“The staties?” Mike said. “What about the boy scouts? You call them, too?”
“There’s a cop out back.”
Their laughing stopped.
“There better not be,” Mike said.
“He’s the local constable.”
“Constable?” Mike uttered.
Daphne muttered something into the tape covering her mouth.
Suicide Mike bent down to Daphne’s ear. “You know this cop?”
She nodded.
The Fixer said, “I’ll take a look,” and moved toward the back of the house.
Mike and Brody stared at each other.
“Thanks for bringing my bike,” Brody said.
“You ain’t getting it back, Beau.”
“Oh, she’s coming back to me.”
“There is a cop outside,” the Fixer yelled.
When Mike turned his head to respond, Brody took another half step toward the end table.
“Deal with him,” the biker yelled.
“You deal with him,” the Fixer called back.
Mike turned and eyed Brody for a moment. Then he moved away from Daphne to look down the hallway. “What’s he doing?” Mike asked.
Brody bent slightly at his knees and picked up the ceramic rhinoceros. He cupped it in his hand, hiding the weighty statue behind his arm.
Daphne’s eyes widened, and Brody winked at her.
“He’s talking to someone on his cell phone,” the Fixer hollered.
Mike turned back to Brody. “Who’s he talking to?”
“The state patrol,” he said. “I already told you.”
The biker turned his attention toward the hall and yelled, “He’s talking to the state—”
Brody threw the ceramic statue then.
Suicide Mike noticed the motion in his peripheral vision and ducked out of the way. Unfortunately for him, he moved right into the path of the flying rhinoceros. The heavy knickknack hit him squarely in the temple, and its ceramic horn pierced his skull.
The biker’s knees buckled, and his eyes fluttered in surprise. He opened his mouth in a silent squeal, and his gun fired into the floor.
Brody ran across the room and tackled Mike into the wall, knocking pictures to the floor. The gun fired again, this time into the ceiling. Brody grabbed the pistol with both hands and pointed it down the hall.
The Fixer appeared now, his gun at the ready.
Brody’s hands covered Mike’s hand, which still held his gun. Brody pulled the trigger, firing the weapon at the Fixer. A round hit the tall man in the shoulder, spinning him and throwing him to the ground.
The big man then yanked the gun back and forth out of Suicide Mike’s hand, breaking his index finger with several sickening cracks. When he stood, he pointed the pistol down the hall at the Fixer, but the man was gone. The backdoor swung slowly closed.
From outside, Constable Emery Farnsworth hollered, “Freeze, police!”
Several gunshots fired.
“I said freeze!” Farnsworth yelled in the distance.
Brody thought about pulling the trigger and shooting Suicide Mike, but Daphne watched him with eyes wide. Instead, he only pointed the gun at the biker.
He moved toward Daphne. “This is going to hurt,” he said before yanking the duct tape from her mouth.
She howled in discomfort.
Brody then stepped back to Suicide Mike, who lay writhing on the floor in pain. Several times he tried to remove the knife from the biker’s belt. Each time he reached for it, Mike moved and screamed in pain. The body of the white rhino lay next to him while its horn was still in the biker’s skull.
He tucked his gun into his waistband and picked up the heavy
knickknack. He then viciously clubbed Mike with the butt of the rhino. The man cried out, louder than before. Brody had to apply a second dose of pressure before the biker fell unconscious.
When Suicide Mike Eslick finally lay silent, Brody was able to remove the knife from his belt. He also pulled the keys to his motorcycle from the man’s pocket. He then tossed the rhino to the floor and opened the knife. He began cutting the duct tape away from Daphne.
“What’s going on, Brody? Who are these men?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“I have a right to know!”
Brody stopped for a moment and met her gaze. Then he returned to cutting and pulling on the silver tape. “My name is Beau Smith. I’m not a naval officer, and I don’t own a bookstore.”
Daphne stared at him.
“Then what are you?”
“I’m a... well, I used to be a bookkeeper.”
Chapter 38
Holding Daphne’s hand, Brody stepped onto the front porch. In his free hand, he held the pistol.
A newer Ford pick-up screamed around the corner. Red and blue emergency lights were blinking in its grill. A siren wailed from somewhere under the hood.
“Here,” Brody said, handing the gun to Daphne.
“I don’t want that.”
“You need to take it,” he said. “I’m not allowed to have these anymore.”
With a distasteful look on her face, she took the gun from him. “We are definitely not done with this conversation.”
When the truck skidded to a stop, FBI Agent Max Ekleberry hopped out and put his cowboy hat on. While he trotted over, his head swiveled back and forth. “You okay, Beau?”
“I’m fine.”
“Who’s this?” Daphne asked.
“He’s nobody.”
“Nobody?” Ekleberry said. “Really?”
“Suicide Mike is inside the house.”
“Eslick is here?”
“He’s going to need a doctor. He’s got a rhino horn stuck in his head.”
Ekleberry looked to Daphne.
“It’s true,” she said. “A rhino horn.”
“Anybody else in there?” the G-man asked.
“No, but there are a couple of prospects in the basement of the bookstore.”
“What are they doing there?”
“Sleeping off a beating. I’m not sure how strong the latch is on the basement door. You might want someone to get over there and check on them.”
Ekleberry glanced at Daphne, then returned his attention to Brody. “Your cover here is blown.”
“That’s an understatement,” Brody said as he stepped off the porch with Daphne by his side.
Constable Emery Farnsworth walked up the street. His shoulders were slumped, and he shook his head.
“What’s wrong, Constable?” Brody asked.
“He got away.”
“But I heard gunshots. Didn’t you shoot him?”
“He shot at me, but I didn’t want to shoot him in the back as he was running.”
Cops and their rules, Brody thought. But Farnsworth was taking it hard that he’d let The Fixer escape.
“It’s okay,” Brody said. “Everything will be fine.”
“If I had my bike, I would have caught him.”
Brody put his free hand on the officer’s shoulder and gave him a small shake. “Emery, you did a great job. We saved Daphne.”
He lifted his head and smiled. “We did, didn’t we?”
Daphne smiled. “You’re a hero, Emery.”
The constable pulled his shoulders back. “We are, aren’t we?”
“There’s another FBI agent in the house arresting one of the guys. Why don’t you go help him?”
Emery nodded several times. “Sounds good.” He hurried up the sidewalk.
Daphne studied Brody. “Another FBI agent?”
“I told Emery that I was an FBI agent.”
She frowned. “Do you ever tell the truth?”
Brody kissed her. “That’s the truth,” he said and kissed her once more.
When they finally broke, she didn’t say anything. She just eyed him with suspicion but didn’t let go of his hand.
A minivan turned the corner and raced up to them. Alice sat behind the wheel, and Carrie Fenton was in the passenger seat. When the driver’s window rolled down, Brody could see the old waiter in the rear of the van.
“Alice!” Daphne said.
“Hey, kid. I see you met my friend.”
Brody asked, “Find what you were looking for?”
“It took some time, but we did.”
Daphne looked to Brody. Confusion played across her face.
Carrie Fenton sat in the passenger seat and stared straight ahead.
“She okay?” Brody asked.
“She’s in shock. She’ll be fine soon enough. She finally got to see what she writes about. It surprised her.”
The big man eyed the waiter. “What about him?”
Alice smiled. “Him? We’re going on a trip together. Someplace exotic.”
“What about your cat?” Brody asked.
“Marlowe? What about him?”
“You should stop by the store and get him.”
She shook her head. “No, thanks. That cat’s a hazard. Besides, —”
“I know,” Brody said. “Every bookstore needs a cat. Want me to tell Onderdonk you’re okay?”
“Let him worry about me for a bit. When I come home from my trip, maybe I’ll call him. I don’t want to be found. After forty years, I need an opportunity to stretch my legs. You’ll understand soon enough.”
He did. Even though it had been less than a week, he already felt the weight of watchful eyes and governmental expectations.
Brody tapped the door. “You better get going then. I’m sure Ted’s on his way.”
Alice nodded. “Stay out of trouble. Be good, Daphne.”
The minivan’s tires chirped as it sped away.
Chapter 39
Brody and Daphne were outside the Italian restaurant, holding hands and examining the chopper.
“This was yours?” Her face scrunched in disbelief.
“Originally, it belonged to one of the club’s founders, but I rebuilt her from the frame up.” Brody’s hand caressed the gas tank.
Sadness crossed Daphne’s face. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“The club knows I’m here. If I stay, evil men will keep coming to Pleasant Valley.”
She looked away.
“There are two seats on this bike,” Brody said.
“Do I look like a biker’s girlfriend?”
“I’m not a biker anymore.”
“What are you then? You’re not a bookstore owner, and that’s the guy I fell for.”
“You can’t fall for me if I’m on the run?”
“I don’t want to be on the run,” Daphne said. “I like it here.”
He smelled the ocean’s aroma and felt the humidity on his skin. He admitted to himself that he liked Pleasant Valley, too, but a lot of it had to do with the woman next to him.
A Chevrolet Impala pulled up to the curb. U.S. Marshal Ted Onderdonk sat behind the wheel. Brody knew he only had a moment to tell her how he felt before the lawman came up and destroyed the moment.
“Daphne, I—”
The door to the Italian restaurant opened, and the Fixer stepped out with a gun in his hand. “Get inside, rat. And bring the woman.”
Brody instinctively pulled Daphne behind him. “You don’t want to do this.”
“It’s already done,” the Fixer said, leveling his gun at him. “I called the bosses. They know you killed Frankie the Dove. You think you had trouble before. Now the whole world is about to come down on you.”
A car door opened behind Brody.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.
The Fixer smirked. “Stop stalling. Get in—”
A gun fired, and Brody flinched. Daphne screamed and hugged him from behi
nd. The glass door to the Italian restaurant splintered behind the Fixer.
The gunman looked around, trying to determine what had just occurred. Then he listed to the side, took a half-step to correct his balance, before shuffling forward several steps and dropping to a knee. He remained there for a moment as his chin fell to his chest. He blinked several times, each blink slower than the last. Finally, he stopped blinking all together and tilted to the side. His head thunked on the sidewalk.
Onderdonk slowly approached, his gun between two hands. When he was near the Fixer, he kicked the man’s weapon away. He reached down and pressed two fingers against the gunman’s neck. When he was satisfied, he righted himself and put his firearm away.
“You didn’t tell him to put his hands up,” Brody said.
“That’s for the movies.”
“Don’t think I owe you,” Brody said, “because you created this mess.”
“There’s a whole pack of Satan’s Dawgs coming up Interstate Ninety-Five. We need to get you out of here.”
“I’ll get myself out of town.”
“Not a chance. You’re my responsibility. I told you I would protect you, and I meant it.”
“Not today,” he said. He pulled the keys from his pocket and lifted his leg over the chopper. “I’ll call you when I get someplace safe. I promise.”
Daphne watched him with sad eyes.
“You coming?”
“I can’t.” She leaned in and kissed him on the lips. When she broke away, she stepped back and said, “This is my home. Besides, I’ve got to get back to the store.” He watched her walk away. She never turned around to look at him.
For a moment, Brody thought about staying, but that would be suicide. The club was on the way, and the mob knew who had killed their underboss. Running was his only option—for him, Daphne, and Pleasant Valley.
“Hey,” the marshal said. “That woman you had me look into, the one in Massabesic Lake? It wasn’t Alice Walker.”
“Don’t worry, Ted. Alice will turn up. Trust me.”
“What do you know?”
He put his hand on the motorcycle’s key.
“Do not start that bike,” Onderdonk said.
“I’ll call you when I get somewhere safe. If you’re here when the Dawgs arrive, tell them I went to Daytona Beach.”
