Finding Floyd

by Melinda Peters

  Everyone at the B & B had made it clear that he wasn't welcome there, but worst of all Diane was so hurt and angry, she'd refused to speak to him. He couldn't blame her. After his furious outburst, accusing her of helping Toricello, she wouldn't have anything to do with him. Her guilt had seemed so certain, the pictures of her driving away with Toricello so damning and yet...it had all been a mistake. Everything had been going so smoothly, until Rodriguez got there. That woman always screws everything up.

  A cautious man, he'd always worked hard and played by the book, moving steadily ahead of most other agents his age. Putting off vacation time and neglecting his personal life, his goal had always been to reach a point where he wouldn't be traveling or going undercover for long stretches. Then he could get married and have some kids.

  Now everything was shot to hell. Never at any point in his career, had absolutely everything gone so wrong. The call to his boss had resulted in an angry tirade, and the big promotion he'd been working towards had disappeared like a puff of smoke. Rodriguez, who hadn't been inclined to take any of the blame for insulting the local law enforcement people, was no longer even answering his calls. With no options left, he'd retreated to his house to plan his next move.

  Picking up his beer, he drained it, and tossed the can towards the empty five-gallon spackle bucket he was using for trash. It bounced off the rim and rattled across the concrete floor. Defeated, he dropped into his chair and sighed.

  Sheriff McAndrew isn't happy with me. He's right. With the help of his deputies, we might have captured Toricello by now. That bastard is dangerous. If he was planning to kill Diane, then anyone who gets in his way, potentially, is toast. I've got to find The Blowtorch and bring him in, dead or alive. Right now, dead seems like the best way to go.

  He'd kidnapped Diane, and threatened to kill her. Just thinking about her captivity enraged him. Never before had his job put someone he loved in jeopardy. Even though she didn't want him, he was still furiously protective of her. Toricello would pay dearly for what he'd done. That he could do, even though Diane might never speak to him again.

  There came a soft rap on the basement door. He spun out of the chair and saw a man's silhouette through the glass. He hadn't heard the approach of a vehicle, or footfalls outside. Moving out of the line of fire, Chris snatched up his pistol, crossed to the back of the house, and approached the door from the side.

  "Who's there?"

  "Put down the damn gun, Owen. It's me, Sam."

  Chris stepped back, opened the deadbolt, and allowed him to enter. He was actually glad to see the coal black eyes, handlebar mustaches, and stern countenance of Sam Woodruff.

  Sam just nodded as he silently glided into the basement.

  "This is a surprise," said Chris. "Nobody else will talk to me."

  A smile lifted the enormous mustaches and the big man's dark eyes twinkled. "Thought I'd lend a hand to the FBI," Sam rumbled in his deep base voice.

  "Forget the FBI. I'm the one that needs help." He indicated a cooler on the floor. "There's beer and some bottled water if you're thirsty."

  "Don't mind if I do." He lifted the lid and rustled around in the ice, coming up with two cans, proffering one to Chris, who took it.

  Both men popped the tops and drank.

  Sam wore his usual highly polished black cowboy boots, black jeans and black leather jacket. His appraising dark eyes darted around the room, taking everything in. "Nice place." He said, stepping to the bottom of the stairs and peering up at the open door. "We alone here?"

  "As far as I know," answered Chris. "I didn't hear you drive up."

  For a response he received only a slight nod from Woodruff. Sipping his beer, Sam made a circuit of the cellar. Finally, he returned and stood, legs braced, facing Owen.

  Chris studied the man in black. "You know, I've been wondering. How did you get the idea that Toricello was down here?"

  Sam gave him a cool look. "Probably a lucky guess. Some guy who worked for Bruno in New Jersey had a cousin here. It's what I heard. Your boss sent you to nose around?"

  Chris took a long drink and nodded. "And then he sent Rodriguez to help me."

  "They thought you ought to have some backup, I imagine." Sam shrugged. "Nothing unusual about that."

  "That woman is a menace. She's screwed up every case we've been on together. I'd rather be on my own and take my chances," said Chris, drinking deeply and stifling a belch.

  "Yeah maybe, but that can be dangerous. And McAndrew ain't too happy with you FBI folks just now. He's a good man, though. Once he calms down, he'll be a big help to you and Connie."

  "Connie?" Chris smirked. "So that's how it is. You and Agent Rodriguez pretty tight now, or what?"

  Sam gave him a cool, noncommittal look and shrugged.

  Chris tossed his empty can in the spackle bucket, pulled two more from the ice, and handed one to his guest. "I want to find Toricello, kill him or bring him in, I don't care which." He paused to pop open his beer and drink. Then gesturing with the can, he said, "No, that's not true. I'd rather just kill him."

  "It would save the government a ton of money if you did," Sam said.

  "Yeah, you know that's right. Why not save the government a few bucks. I need some help, Woodruff. Most people around here aren't even talking to me anymore."

  "Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here."

  He peered at Sam, who stood in shadow, just outside the circle of light shed by the lamp. Woodruff could look sinister without even trying. "So, how come you're talking to me? Everybody else has written me off. My boss up in New York is sending me hate email and Rodriguez is ignoring my calls."

  "You're up against a wall, all right," said Sam. He crossed his arms and leaned against the work bench. "If you want it, I've got one piece of advice. It's always easier to plow around the stump." Sam cocked his head and asked, "Know what I'm saying?"

  "Not really."

  "Well, let's see. Right now, Connie Rodriguez, and maybe your boss, thinks you're being way too easy on the boys and girls from New York. Maybe because you're sweet on Miss Diane? The local sheriff and his deputies don't want to work with you because you FBI folks snubbed them. You're out in the cold, man."

  Chris grinned, and shook his head. "You're not telling me anything new."

  "So, plow around them. If you capture Toricello on your own, you'll redeem yourself with your boss and your girlfriend. I don't know about Connie though. She's kind of got a case of the ass about you. Know what I'm saying?"

  "You think I could? You think I might be able to take Toricello?"

  "You've got as much chance of finding him as any of them do. The local cops have more manpower, but they're also busy with other things. Besides you're a highly trained, skilled Federal Agent, right?" Sam winked at him.

  Chris sipped his beer and wondered how Sam knew so much.

  Right now, you've got nothing else to do." Sam grinned. "Because Diane has no time for you."

  "Now that he knows we're on to him, hunting him down on my own will take forever."

  "Always glad to help the underdog and you surely do fit that description," said Sam, chuckling. "I'm willing to help you. Two heads are better than one and it'll give you twice the man power."

  "Got any suggestions?"

  Sam nodded and dropped his empty into the bucket. "Hey, don't you recycle?"

  "Give me a break. I'm hardly ever here."

  Sam popped open the fresh beer. Leaning against the table again, he crossed one black boot over the other and stared thoughtfully into space.

  "What do you suggest?" Chris waited for Sam to speak.

  "I'd say we go out Franklin Pike to about where young Kyle found your girlfriend. Start from there and work out in every direction, looking up every little dirt road, checking out every house, barn and so on. I've got a buddy who's a deputy. I'll find out what the Sheriff's department is doing, so we don't duplicate our efforts. Let him know you're working with them, even though McAndrew won't deal with you j
ust now."

  "Sounds like a plan. You don't think they'll mind us nosing around?"

  "Well, I'll give you a hand with that. For now, let me deal with the Sheriff's office. You don't want to piss those boys off any more than you have already. When we find the bastard, then you'll be the hero. You're a good man, but recently it seems like you can't catch a break. I kind of feel sorry for you, Owen."

  "I appreciate your help, but I don't need your sympathy. Let's just run down Toricello, okay?"

  "We'll find him, unless he's decided to run off somewhere else. It's only a matter of time. I know your girlfriend has nothing to do with this situation, but you gotta see it from your boss's point of view. He knows that this Blowtorch guy was hiding out in your basement, and because of Diane, you let him get away. After that, Connie spotted him with Diane, but wasn't fast enough to catch him. Then he does this kidnapping, again it's Diane."

  Chris thought of the scathing text messages and emails streaming out of the New York office, faulting him for everything that had gone wrong, accusing him of shielding Diane and not being objective. The boss was due to retire in three months and had practically promised him the promotion into his position, but now....

  "Yeah, they know the whole story. Nobody's happy with me up there." He sighed. And nobody's happy with me down here either."

  "None of this was your fault, but now, chances are slim that you'll get the boss's job when he retires," said Sam.

  Was there anything this guy didn't know? Chris looked him in the eye for a long moment, squeezed his beer can, and pitched it towards the bucket.

  "I don't see how you know it, but you're right about the job. I'm not even sure if I still want it, or if I'll even stay with the Bureau. All I want to do now is to get Toricello."

  "Okay. Here's what I think we should do. You talk to that Evans kid first thing in the morning and find out if he remembers anything else important. I'll check with my sources and get back with you."

  Chris nodded. "I'll text him and have him meet me at the Blue Ridge. Nothing like food to attract Kyle."

  "It's late," said Sam, glancing at his watch. Let's get some sleep and make an early start tomorrow. Maybe we can get the jump on the Sheriff's boys."

  * * *

  "Kyle, here's your usual. A tall stack with sausages, side of fried sliced potatoes, and a biscuit." The waitress slid the first plate onto the table with a heavy thud. A large pat of butter was softening atop the golden cakes surrounded by tender sausage links. Another plate held a heap of crispy potatoes. The Blue Ridge Restaurant was buzzing with conversation, punctuated with the clatter of crockery. The dining area was filled with the warm comforting aroma of fried food.

  "Thanks, Nancy!"

  "Preston, you got the Denver omelet and country ham. We're all out of blueberry muffins, so you've got an extra biscuit and jam." The fluffy mounds were piled high with steam rising off them. The ham, nestled along an enormous omelet and mountain of home fries, was browned and crispy along the edge and smelled wonderful.

  "That'll be fine, darlin'," Preston said reaching for the butter.

  She slammed down Chris's plate without comment. He stared at limp bacon beside a small scoop of scrambled eggs and some unremarkable toast. The bacon looked underdone, the toast nearly black, and the eggs were cold.

  "Umm. Could I have some of those fried potatoes?" Chris asked hopefully.

  Nancy was arranging ketchup, hot sauce, and syrup in the center of the table. "Don't come with it. If you want taters it'll be a buck more." Without waiting for a response, she marched back to the kitchen.

  Chris looked puzzled. "Did they change the menu, or maybe I ordered the wrong thing?"

  Preston leaned closer and confided in a whisper, "Nancy is Boone McAndrew's sister."

  Chris closed his eyes and groaned. "Just my luck."

  Preston smiled knowingly. "Look at it this way. She's thinks the world of her brother. Word has got around how the FBI snubbed the Sheriff's office. If you weren't with us, you'd be goin' hungry altogether."

  "Great." He poked at the rubbery mound on his plate and decided to eat it anyway. He'd had worse in his high school cafeteria.

  A small dish with a few fried potatoes landed next to his elbow and Nancy began refilling coffee cups.

  Preston looked up. "Nancy? Would you mind fixin' me up some ham biscuits and coffee to go?"

  "Sure thing." She scribbled on her order pad, tore off their bill, and laid it on the table. "Anything else y'all want, just holler at me, okay?"

  Kyle was already deep into his breakfast when Chris started to speak, "I appreciate you both meeting me here. You two are familiar with the area along Franklin Pike where Diane was found last night. I need to know where she was when you first saw her, so I'll know where to start my search. They looked at him skeptically over the rims of their coffee cups.

  "Preston sliced into his omelet, watched the melted cheese ooze out and confided to Chris, "My Sarah is real worried about this guy being so close to home. Can't say that I blame her. Last night she made me double-check all the doors were locked and insisted I keep a shotgun loaded and handy in the bedroom."

  "Sure, why not! That guy's dangerous!" Kyle reached for the hot sauce and the ketchup, anointing his mountain of potatoes. Scooping up a forkful, he paused and asked, "You're not going to arrest Diane are you? Cause if you are, you won't get any help from us, right Pres?"

  "I believe that's about right," agreed Preston.

  "Listen, I made a mistake. Rodriguez showed me that picture...." Chris rubbed his face and sighed. "All I'm interested in is catching this guy. He's a dangerous murderer. The more we know, the faster we can get him behind bars."

  Kyle looked up from his pancakes, pointed his fork at Chris, and said, "You'll leave Diane be?"

  "Of course I will. She still couldn't tell you where she'd been held?" Chris arranged the limp bacon neatly over his dry toast, added the eggs, and bravely bit into the breakfast sandwich.

  "Yeah. Pretty much." Kyle shook his head. "That poor girl couldn't remember where she'd been. She might have turned down two or three different roads before I rescued her."

  Chris swallowed and picked up the ketchup. "Were you and Boone able to figure out roughly where you found Diane?"

  Kyle pointed at Chris with a fork on which he'd speared a piece of sausage. "It must have been when you come round that bend, after a little patch of woods, just before you get to that old barn on the right. Maybe a mile in from route 221."

  Chris was tempted to snatch the sausage from him. Instead, he lifted the lid on his sandwich, gave it a generous dollop of ketchup, and asked, "Did she remember anything else?"

  "Well, she was pretty rattled. Right smart how she managed to get herself free and all. Yup, that Diane, she's one smart lady. She remembered a lot about the place where the guy took her. I'll give her that much."

  Preston nodded his agreement. He reached for the plastic packets of jam and picked out two strawberries. Opening one, he carefully spread the red jam on a biscuit half. "Kyle and I have been talking with her. She told us the guy tied her to a chair in an upstairs room."

  Chris watched as Preston bit into the jam soaked biscuit.

  "Maybe it was in a small house or even over a garage, or barn." Kyle continued, "Said the place was awful dirty, like nobody's lived there for a long while."

  "Does that sound like some place either of you are familiar with?" asked Chris.

  Kyle thought for a moment while he neatly sliced another sausage in two. Half disappeared into his mouth and he chewed. Then he looked up. "Oh yeah, she could recollect about the furniture and like that."

  "Furniture?"

  "Uh huh," mumbled Kyle, waiting until his mouth wasn't quite so full before continuing. "She said it was one room. There was a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. In one corner, there was sort of a little kitchen, with a sink and cupboards." This apparently reminded him that he had a full mug at his elbow. Bringing it to his lips,
he slurped noisily. "Diane said all the stuff was pretty beat up looking, but she tried real hard to notice everything so she could tell you about it later." He grinned at Chris. "You really screwed up last night. Diane's sure pissed off. I never saw a woman so angry. Can't say I blame her."

  He ignored the comment about Diane being mad at him. "I wasn't there when she was telling Boone all these details. Can you remember anything else?"

  "She might never speak to you again." The thought seemed to please Kyle.

  "Can we get back to why you're here?" Chris was losing patience.

  "Hmm," murmured Kyle, chewing thoughtfully. "Yeah, she said this guy took a mason jar from a cupboard, it must have been some 'shine, and drank nearly all what was inside. Sounds like he got pretty drunk, pretty quick, and then passed out. That was how she was able to get away. She remembered a lot of little stuff, like he was drinking out of an old Flintstones jelly jar. Remember them?"

  "Yeah. My mama has a few of those in the kitchen cupboard still," said Preston.

  "Did she say anything else?" Chris asked, trying to keep them focused.

  "Let's see," said Kyle. "Yup, after he came back from taking her car somewhere, he left for a few minutes and came back with food. What was it she said?"

  "I don't know Kyle. I wasn't there for this part of it, remember?"

  Kyle picked up a biscuit, dripping with jam, but before he took a bite he looked up and smiled, pleased with himself. "That was it. She told how he sat there with a big 'ol plate of ham and biscuits, wolfing it all down before he started talking with her. Then later, he kept drinking the 'shine and telling her just how he was gonna shoot her. That's about it. Can't remember anything else. Hey Pres, you left a biscuit. You gonna eat that?"

  "Nope, go ahead. It's all yours," said Preston. He turned to Chris. "Sarah made a ham last week and we're still eating on it. It's not easy for two people to work through a whole ham. We took some ham biscuits out to her grandma. There's nothing like a ham biscuit, with some nice smoky country ham, sliced real thin."

  "You know you got that right Pres. Your wife makes a mean glazed baked ham and that's a fact," offered Kyle.