Smoke Stack

by Andrew Gruse

  Zack pointed at Pritchett. “But he was.”

  “I’ll deal with that when it comes up. All I know is that I’m walking out of here a free man with a lot of money.”

  “You thought all of this up just since you arrived here?” Zack asked.

  “Sometimes plans change without warning. Now I have a new plan, and I told you to drop the gun.”

  “Don’t, Zack!” Julie said, almost in tears again.

  “Her brains are three seconds from being blown out of her head! Now DROP THE GUN!”

  Zack dropped the gun. “You don’t really think you’re going to get away with this, do you?” Zack was exhausted. Emotionally spent. Physically weakened to the point of collapse. But he wasn’t finished yet. He kept his hand behind his back.

  “Let me see your hands. Get that hand from behind your back.”

  “I’m pushing against a disc that slipped in the tunnel,” Zack said. “I can’t stand without pushing it hard.”

  Sam bought that explanation. “Grab the cuffs from the good sheriff’s belt and put them on. Do it now.”

  Zack sidestepped closer to Orb, never turning his back. He improved his angle. “Sam, I was wondering, do you know how fast a .40 cal Smith & Wesson shot out of a Sig P226 travels?”

  “I said put on those damn cuffs! I’m not playing around.”

  “Relax, Sam, I will,” Zack said calmly. He took another step closer to Orb. “Just humor me. After all, you had me duct-taped in a tunnel and had your man Ogre throw buckets of water in my face every hour. Consequently, I had a lot of time to do some math in my head.”

  “It’s the last mistake I’ll make. I should have had you killed.”

  “Hearing that never gets old,” Zack said. He slowly moved closer to Orb as if to grab the cuffs. “Here are the stats. The cartridge I use travels about 1100 feet per second. Imagine that, Sam. 1100 feet per second.” Zack whistled. “That is about 750 miles per hour. Of course, a bullet can’t fly for an hour and most, not even a mile. But at this distance, say twelve feet, that comes out to about one-hundredth of a second, Sam. That’s faster than the brain can react,” Zack said.

  “And you’re telling me this why?”

  “I just want you to realize that your plan is flawed,” Zack said, and he gripped the handle of the gun behind him and placed his finger on the trigger.

  Sam laughed. “Flawed? I have the guns, hotshot. I have the badge, and all the witnesses will be dead or missing.” Sam chuckled more, the gun at Julie’s head drooped as he laughed, and he took his finger off the trigger.

  “Just saying, Sam, that in less than a second, your plan will be ruined.”

  Sam laughed more. “Oh, please,” Sam laughed. “You are going to die tonight, Stack.”

  “I know,” Zack said. “Just one last question. If you’re going to shoot me dead here, why handcuff me?”

  “What?”

  “You said you’re going to shoot me here. So why have me put on handcuffs?”

  Sam shifted his eyes. Suddenly the question made sense to him. He looked at Zack, but it was too late.

  Zack pulled out the Sig, swung, and fired. The bullet hit Sam’s forehead. Slowly, Sam fell backward and hit the floor dead.

  “Moron,” Zack said.

  Molly stood there, hands over her mouth in shock. Julie shook and looked at the corpse beside her, the back of its head missing.

  “Mr. Stack,” Derek finally spoke, the silence over. Zack looked at him. “Are there any more bad guys out there?”

  Zack tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. At least one. “Jules, find the keys, and get them out of those cuffs.” Zack bent over to Orb. His eyes were open, and he breathed normally. “We have to get out of this house, buddy. Can you walk?”

  “Get me on my feet, Stack. I can run.”

  Zack helped Orb to his feet while Julie fumbled with the handcuffs. Seconds later, they hit the floor. “Outside, everyone. And get away from the house. Help me with Frank,” he told Jules.

  The group reached the porch. Zack opened the door and helped carry Frank down the stairs. Molly helped the weak Derek. Julie helped Orb, and they all went to the driveway. “Behind the cars, as far away as you can get,” Zack ordered. They reached the street and rested against Orb’s police Tahoe. Zack put him down and turned back to the house.

  “Where are you going? Zack, no! Stay here,” Julie said.

  “I have to get Pritchett.” Zack ran up the stairs, opened the door, and saw Pritchett standing in the living room. He rested against the wall next to the thermostat and saw Zack.

  “Fuck you, outsider.” Gary turned the knob with a smile.

  Zack turned and ran. The Central Air unit clicked. Zack burst through the porch door and hit the ground when the central air unit exploded and obliterated the south wall of the house. Flames shot above the tree line and lit up the area. The plume rushed out in every direction. Zack rolled on the ground, jumped to his feet and dove behind his crushed car as the shockwave and flames rushed over the area.

  Just as quickly, it subsided.

  Julie watched in horror as the house burned, the large part of the tree atop Zack’s crushed car scorched and smoked. The wind blew, the imminent rain decided now was the time to start, and, to her relief, a figure walked out of the cloud of smoke towards them.

  She jumped to her feet, ran and leaped into his arms. Zack held her tight.

  Welcome to Clyde. Where it all begins.

  CHAPTER 55

  Zack was able to rest a little. Very little. The sirens that arrived were more than just police and fire. Michelle called the FBI. Her boyfriend decided Michelle dug up enough to warrant involvement and knew guys in the Chicago FBI office. One phone call later, they were mobilized and on the way. When the sun came up, Zack appreciated the sun and clean air. But he wanted to sleep, not to be part of this. The agent in charge thought otherwise.

  Until then, Julie stayed close to him, very close, and almost cried when he had to leave. Sheriff Orbison and Deputy Frank were rushed to the nearest hospital. Both would survive came the early report. Neighbors across the street took in Molly and Julie after the two cops and Derek were rushed off to the nearest hospital. State police took over one investigation. An APB was issued for the escaping Junior, a.k.a. Larry Perks. The FBI the other.

  Zack had to leave with the FBI for another stake-out. Zack wondered if Ronald the FBI Guy had any say in that. Zack knew there was jealousy there. What better way to show Zack who is in charge than by making him get babysat by the FBI several hundred miles from home? But, the agent in charge reminded Zack of one key element: the only person with first-hand knowledge of the tunnels the FBI had was Zack. Case closed.

  At least Zack got to put on new clothes: FBI tactical field gear. He liked the way it looked and felt. He just hated that they only had coffee for him to drink. No food, sleep or drink.

  Zack sat hidden in the thick shrubs and brush along the road not far from the entrance to the Miller farm. Gated and locked, the wait for the mysterious transport was a longshot. But a longshot that paid off an hour after dawn.

  The windowless white cargo van appeared on the county road.

  Zack shook his head. Such a cliché. He said to the agent, Tyrone Campbell, beside him, “if you’re going to engage in illegal activity by transporting kidnapped victims across state lines, wouldn’t you use a less conspicuous vehicle? I mean, where I came from, we called those pedophile vans. We expected to see them in the neighborhood with a clown inside promising free puppies and ice cream.”

  The agent smiled. “We’re leery of every single van like that, Stack.”

  “Well, the party is about to get started. You mind if I wait it out? I’m tired, sore, stiff, hungry, tired, and did I mention sore, stiff, and hungry?”

  “Only about twenty times. You’re coming with. You’re the only person we have with knowledge of those tunnels.” The agent, a nice looking, well-built black man, smiled at Zack. “I’ve told you that only
about twenty times. You’re coming with.”

  The van stopped at the gate, a man got out, unlocked and opened the gate. The van drove in, the man closed the gate behind them and got back into the truck. The long drive down the winding driveway to the rickety Miller farmhouse took a few moments. The agent watched through binoculars.

  “All units hold,” he said into a shoulder mic.

  “You really think this is something?”

  “You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” the agent said. “You sure you disabled the cameras?”

  “I disabled the guys operating the cameras, too,” Zack said. Well, they were disabled when I left them. Not sure about now.

  The men got out of the van, four of them, walked inside the house.

  “Close in on the house. In the forest, hold your positions. We don’t know all of the exits,” he ordered. “Come on Stack.”

  They crouched low and crept down the quarter-mile-long driveway, hidden by the three-feet tall grass along the drive. Zack followed the agent and watched as twenty other agents closed in on the house. Snipers held their positions in the fields, camouflaged by grasses.

  Several minutes passed. It was quiet. Then, the four men burst out of the house right as the agent and Zack reached the van. The men ran for it, aware it was a bust.

  “TAKE THEM DOWN,” the agent said into the mic.

  Before the men reached the van, the agents swarmed. They appeared from everywhere, guns drawn. The men tried to run, but it was futile. Just as quick as it started, it was over. One of the men brandished a handgun and pointed. He was eliminated immediately.

  The other three followed orders. On their knees, hands behind their heads. Cuffed.

  “All right,” the agent said. “Call in the cavalry.”

  Within seconds, sirens blared, a helicopter circled above, and vehicles and armed officers completely encircled the area. The only thing left was the tunnels.

  “Let’s go, Stack.”

  They entered the house carefully. Zack was fully aware the bad guys were capable of sabotage. Any misstep could be the last.

  They walked through the house into the kitchen in the back and saw the floor rug moved, exposing part of the floor that was noticeably cleaner than the rest.

  “Ty,” Zack said, “look.” He pointed. “The way in.”

  Ty nodded, his Sig pointed at the floor, and he kicked away the rug. He saw a gap between two of the six-inch-wide planking, slid his fingers into the hole, and lifted. Zack moved into position with his Sig pointed down the opening.

  A set of stairs into the tunnels. The way in and out. At least one of them.

  Ty squeezed the mic handle. “Confirmation of the entrance. Entering now. Get back-up here immediately.” He looked at Zack and nodded.

  “After you,” Zack said.

  The two men descended into the darkness, still lit by the single bulb system in the middle of the tunnels spaced about every twenty feet. Guns firmly in hand, pointed in front, they entered slowly. Ty held a flashlight in one hand pointed alongside the barrel of his Sig.

  They walked down and found an empty room as they heard several agents descend the stairs behind them. The tunnel ended after thirty feet. A solid dirt wall in front of them. Ty looked at Zack.

  “You were down here, huh?”

  “That has to be a trap door,” Zack said. He looked above them. The electrical cables Zack recalled on the floor that disappeared in the ceiling weren’t there. He wasn’t in this part. “Push against it,” Zack said.

  Ty pressed his hand against the dirt, put his hand on a treated 2x6 along the wall, and pushed it. The door moved, and Zack helped shove it open. It hinged on the wall and opened like a door. “Interesting.”

  “Keep this open,” Ty told the agents behind him. “Get some more light down here.”

  They walked down the tunnel slowly. It was straight and dark and curved after another forty-foot straight shot and came to a T. Zack remembered heading down the T. That’s how he got out with Derek.

  “Up ahead on the right is the room they kept Derek,” Zack said. “We left Pigface on the floor in front of the room.”

  “I thought you said you disabled him,” Ty said. “He ain’t there.”

  “I broke his knee and kicked his balls so hard he puked blood,” Zack said. “And Derek beat the crap out of him with a bat. He couldn’t have gone far.”

  Right before the room’s entranceway, Ty motioned his head. Zack took a deep breath and dashed across the door, swung around and pointed his gun inside just as Ty shone the light in the room.

  Nothing.

  They turned and looked down the hallway. “What’s ahead?”

  “Twenty feet on the left is the living quarters of Pigface.”

  Ty shook his head. “Pigface. How did you come up with that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They crept down the hallway and reached the wide doorway to the lit but silent living quarters. Zack saw the markings on the floor and pointed to Ty. Noticeable drag marks and proof of the puke. Ty slid his back against the wall, his Sig clutched in his hands. He dropped to a knee and spun into the room. He announced, “FBI” loudly.

  Ty dodged back as a shotgun blast blew a chunk of earth off the wall. Zack dove, did a somersault, ended on a knee with his Sig pointed in the room, and fired six rounds before he stopped. Ty hopped back to his feet as the other agents closed ranks, weapons drawn and ready.

  “Target down,” Zack said.

  “Are you sure?” Ty asked, the sarcasm thick, as he looked at the slovenly creature slumped on a chair in the room. He stepped closer with his flashlight on him. “You’re right. Pigface is a good nickname for this guy.”

  The man wheezed and fell off the chair.

  “He’s not dead,” Ty yelled. “Get an ambulance. Death isn’t good enough for this guy. Pronto!”

  The agents scrambled. Ty looked at Zack. “Six shots, and you didn’t kill him?”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill him,” Zack said. “If I was, his head would be missing.”

  “You shot his six times but weren’t trying to kill him?”

  “Look at the wounds,” Zack said. “You tell me.”

  Ty kicked the shotgun away from the hands of Pigface and rolled the fat blob over. “I’ll be damned.” He looked at Zack. “You should come to work for the bureau.”

  Zack shook his head. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Trust me,” Zack said. “We still have a mole down here.”

  “Right.”

  The wounds were in each arm, both knees and the shoulder holding the shotgun. None were lethal shots but disabled Pigface immediately. The only worry was bleeding out.

  Ty and Zack went further down the hallway. “Room to the right in ten feet,” Zack said. “That’s where we left Weber.”

  Ty turned around. “Jackson, get up here,” he said to another agent. “Get your light in that room with me. On three.”

  They counted backward from three, pointed the light, and then lowered their weapons.

  Coach Tim Weber, coach of the state football champion high school team, the hero of the town, laid in the middle of the room, on his back. A knife rested on the dirt beside his outstretched hand, and his hands rested in pools of dried blood.

  The bash to the side of the head still evident, but Weber decided after Stack escaped with Derek that it was over. Perhaps he got word that Pritchett and Solder were in custody and dead. Perhaps Ogre slit Weber’s wrists.

  They might never know, but they knew one thing: Weber was dead.

  Ty holstered his weapon as did Zack. He looked at Stack. “Is that everyone?”

  “Except for Junior, that’s all I know of,” he said.

  “And you think Pigface is Dick Miller?”

  “I do.”

  “And Keith Overton, the man whose name is on the papers of the business these guys were a part of, is who?”

  “I think he was a ped
ophile like Dick Miller. They were buddies. I don’t know what they did with the missing kids, but they killed everyone found dead in these woods. Then, one day a drunken Dick Miller made a pass at the wrong person. Perhaps he wanted to get with a woman instead of little boys, I don’t know. But he grabbed a young Molly Lockett. Molly escaped and told Sheriff Orbison, who had a crush on the single teacher. Orbison was already pissed that Miller escaped the long arm of the law and embarrassed Orbison came out here to settle the score. I think he broke into the house with his shotgun, saw a man sitting in a chair, and blew his head off, thinking that was Miller. Whether he figured out it wasn’t Miller, I don’t know, but he staged it as a suicide, and that was his story. The coroner was just that: a coroner. Unqualified to do the job and he did as little as he could to collect his paycheck and substantiated Orb’s claim. Problem solved. They never identified the body. Orb effectively got away with murder.”

  “Until now,” Ty said.

  “All things considered, is it worth ruining him?”

  Ty shook his head. “So, you’re comfortable with breaking the law?”

  Zack sighed. “I used to say the key to breaking the law is doing it for the right reasons.”

  “And now?”

  Zack looked at Ty and shrugged. “Justice is a finicky thing, Agent Campbell. And right now, I’m tired, sore, stiff, hungry, and want to get back to my lovely fiancé.”

  Ty smiled and chuckled. “Fair enough, Mr. Stack. I’ll take you back.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Zack directed the car to the end of the driveway at Molly Lockett’s neighbor’s house. Ty Campbell put the car in park and leaned forward to look at the area. Two county police cars parked on the driveway. Yellow tape surrounded the house. A fire truck remained on sight, along with several firemen from the neighboring Hobby fire department. An officer talked with Molly in the front yard. Zack saw Julie against the neighbor’s car in the driveway across the street.

  “This is where you were staying?”

  “Yep,” Zack said.

  “What the hell is under that branch?”

  “That used to be my car,” Zack said. He looked at Ty. “I’m pretty sure they knew I wasn’t in it when they killed it. I guess some people just like destroying things.”