The Dead Peasants' Contract: A Sequel to The Dead Peasants File (The Dead Peasants' Series Book 2)

by L. Craig Harris

  He laughed. “Yeah, that’s true.” He paused. “Well, I’ll talk to you again in a couple of hours. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  The sun was still fairly high in the sky behind him. He took a deep breath and got his car up to the speed limit, setting the cruise control. He looked for a radio station he liked and turned it up.

  As it neared ten, he could feel his eyes beginning to burn a little with weariness. He stopped at a convenience store to get some coffee. He found a payphone outside the building and called Dillon. No answer. He reasoned he would try again at the next stop. Maybe Dillon was already on a plane. Maybe he would beat him home. He stretched his legs as he walked back to the car.

  Rachel called his cell as he got in, and he was relieved that she was settled back at home. He buckled his seatbelt and drove up on the interstate. He glanced at the map program on his phone. About eight hours to go. He could do this. He could stay awake and get home, then sleep all day once he got there. He kept telling himself this.

  He wondered how Travis and Julia were faring. He had missed two calls from Travis while he was locked in the conference room, but now he wasn’t answering. He tried again and it went right to voicemail. He’d try again when he got up in the morning, maybe around noon. Perhaps he, Rachel, Travis, Julia and Dillon could all have dinner tomorrow night. That would be great, a wonderful reunion. Oh, and Dillon’s new wife, Gabby. He didn’t really know her very well. Looking back at it, he wondered if Morgan had somehow broken up Dillon’s marriage with Jenny. He strained to read a road sign telling him how many miles it was to Kansas City. He rubbed his eyes, took a sip of coffee and sped toward home.

  *****

  Travis held Julia’s hand as they flew east to Springfield. He had been so frightened that he had lost her again, and couldn’t believe how good it felt to have her back, safe and sound. He was reluctant to let go of her hand. She called Jonathan and Karen to let them know she was safe and on her way home. Travis looked out the windows at the wheat and corn fields zipping by down below. He wanted them to go as fast as this craft would move. He couldn’t get home soon enough.

  Travis waited until she ended the calls with their children. “So, is it true that you stayed at Charles’ house?”

  “Yes, what a beautiful place. Huge windows looking out at the mountains. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “But, what did you do there all that time?”

  “I read and watched TV with his wife out by the pool. She stayed with me most of the time. She was very gracious.”

  “Out by the pool?”

  “Yes, they bought me a swimsuit and everything. It was like a resort.”

  “But they were holding you hostage, they wouldn’t let you call out.”

  “Charles said he thought I would be safer that way.” She shrugged. “I believed him. I didn’t feel like he was lying to me or being mean to me at all.” She looked over at Travis. “That Matt guy was scary. I thought he was going to hurt me, but once we got on this helicopter, he never spoke to me again.”

  Travis tried to process what he was hearing. He was confused, but glad she was okay, and that she hadn’t been mistreated. “Where did you sleep?”

  “A guest room. A nice maid took care of everything I needed. She woke me up in the mornings and fixed me breakfast.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Weren’t you worried about me? What I was going through?”

  “At first, but Charles said you knew where I was and that you were coming to get me. He told me he was keeping you posted and that you knew I was ok.”

  Travis felt a flash of anger. He shook his head. “It’s just not true. I was worried sick. I didn’t know where you were.”

  She shot a look at him and her eyes grew large. “Oh, Travis, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” She put her head on his shoulder and was quiet for a long time.

  The helicopter began its descent into Springfield sometime during the noon hour. The pilot brought it down into the field behind East Springfield Fellowship Church, where Travis had left his car. The pilot landed gently on the grass. The copilot opened the door and helped Julia out first, then Travis.

  They walked to the car and Travis unlocked the doors with his key fob. He opened the door for Julia and shut it behind her, then got into the driver’s seat. He watched the helicopter take off, the wind blowing grass on his windshield, then sighed with relief to be on the ground in Springfield, and in his own vehicle. He drove into their neighborhood and turned onto their street.

  He couldn’t drive all the way to the house though. There was yellow tape blocking the street. A fire truck was parked in front of their house – in front of what used to be their house. Now, it was a smoldering pile of ashes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dillon felt alone and vulnerable as he stood outside of the hotel with the gun bag and laptop. He didn’t know how to get out of Denver without getting killed. He had munitions to fight back, and he was glad about that, but his weaponry just made getting out of there more challenging. He couldn’t get them onto a plane, so he would have to rent a car, and it was going to take a long time to get home. He looked up at the evening sky and could see the top of the corporate headquarters in the distance. He was too close.

  He didn’t want to live the rest of his life running from Morgan and his henchmen. There had to be a way out of this, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe if he went into the headquarters and confronted Morgan. Maybe he could apologize to him. Maybe he could shoot him in the forehead.

  No, he wouldn’t go anywhere near the headquarters. He would rent a car and head home. It was his only move. He went inside and called a rental company that would bring a car to him, then he sat in the lobby and waited.

  It wasn’t a rental car that pulled up in a few minutes though, it was a black sedan. Dillon jumped behind the counter when two Morgan security guards got out of it, carrying guns and wearing body armor. They had found him. They walked into the lobby and told the clerk to leave the premises.

  “McGee, come with us,” one said into the room.

  Dillon wasn’t sure if they had seen him. He didn’t know if he should speak and give away his position. He continued to quietly assemble his AR-15 and insert the magazine, but it was so quiet in there, he knew they must have heard him.

  The men took positions on either side of the counter. He was trapped.

  One of the men threw some sort of concussion grenade behind the counter. Dillon jumped to run away from it. Bang! It exploded and knocked him to the floor, his gun flying from his hand. He struggled to gain his composure and turned to face the guard standing over him, pointing a long gun at him. Dillon grabbed the laptop and held it in front of him just as the man pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the laptop and into the muscle of his abdomen. He cried out in pain and doubled over on the floor.

  The two guards collected him and the bag, and loaded him in their car. One of the guards plugged the bullet hole in his stomach with paper towels from the motel office restroom. Then they drove him to the corporate headquarters. They took him around the back of the building and helped him walk into the nurse’s station. Dillon’s ears were still ringing from the grenade and he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Blood trickled down his legs and he fought to remain conscious.

  A nurse came in and examined him. His abdomen burned as she poked around his wound. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she held up the bullet in front of him and said something, smiling like she was telling him good news. Dillon reasoned the laptop must have slowed the bullet enough that it only penetrated his muscle and had not pierced his intestine. Blood was all over him as he glanced down. She went to work cleaning him up and stitching the hole in his stomach. The guards hovered nearby.

  She gave him a shot in the abdomen and then another one in the muscle of his arm. That was the last thing he remembered.

  When he awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed. He couldn’t hear at all out of his left
ear and his right ear continued to ring. They had hooked him up to a plastic saline bag to give him fluids, and it looked like, antibiotics. His stomach hurt, and so did his back, but his head hurt worst of all. The guard who had shot him was sitting a few feet away staring at him.

  “I need to go to the restroom,” Dillon said to him, his voice sounding strange coming from only the right side.

  The guard came over and helped Dillon down from the table, then walked him to the bathroom in the nurse’s station.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  The guard studied his watch for a moment. “About fourteen hours.”

  “What day is this?”

  “It’s Wednesday morning.”

  Dillon was glad to get back onto the table and lie down again. He stared at the guard. “Why didn’t you finish me off?”

  “Morgan wants you alive.” He wiggled his trigger finger. “I get a little itchy.”

  Dillon glanced down at the bandages on his abdomen. “Yeah.” He tried to adjust on the table so his back would stop stinging. “What’s going on with my back?”

  “We put a microchip back in.”

  Dillon nodded. That figured.

  An hour later, Charles Morgan walked in carrying the laptop with the bullet hole right through the center. “Hello, McGee.”

  Dillon continued to lie on the table. “Mr. Morgan.”

  “You’re gonna live.” He glanced back at the guard. “We got a little trigger-happy, but you should be back at work in no time.”

  Dillon looked puzzled. “Back at work?”

  “Yeah, I changed my mind about you. I thought I would lure you out here and get rid of you.” He crossed his arms. “I was going to make it look like you came here and shot up the place, and we had to take you down. But I changed my mind yesterday when I was with your preacher friend.” He glanced over at the gun bag. “I realized how good you are at what you do, and I thought I’d keep you on staff a little longer.” Charles leaned in close to him. “Don’t trifle with me, McGee. Don’t take that chip out again, and don’t go where I don’t want you to.”

  Dillon thought he was beginning to hear more from his left ear. “Why don’t we just part ways right now. You tear up the contract and I’ll never go near your store again.”

  “No I don’t want that. Like I just said, you’re good at what you do.”

  Dillon looked down at his bandages. “Yeah, real good.”

  Charles smiled. “Hey, it could have been worse.” He held up the laptop. “Looks like this baby saved your life.” He set it down on a table. “I’ll have to charge you for it of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Charles reached over and picked up the bag. He pulled the guns out and looked at them for a moment. “Looks like you were well armed for your trip out here.” He looked up at Dillon. “But I’m better armed. Don’t ever forget that.” He set the guns on a table and walked back over to Dillon and leaned close to his face. “I want you to go home and get back to work. Watch my store for me. And I don’t want any more trouble from you.”

  Dillon stared back at him.

  “I’m adding to your red lines.” Charles pulled out his smartphone and glanced at it. “Do you know what I mean?”

  Dillon knew what that meant: that he was adding places he was forbidden to go. “Yes.”

  “I don’t want you at that church where Reverend Forrest preaches. It seems like when you get with him, bad things happen.”

  Dillon could feel anger building. He had never experienced anyone telling him he couldn’t go to a church. Was this America? “You’re telling me I can’t go to my church again?”

  “Yeah, I’m redlining it.”

  “That will never hold up in court. You can’t infringe on my right to go to church.”

  “You can take it to trial if you like, but you signed a contract that said you would only go where I approve.”

  Dillon struggled and sat up. It took a moment for his head to clear. Then he climbed off of the table and stood to his feet. He stared at Charles in the face. “Maybe I will take you to court.” Dillon knew he didn’t always go to church anyway, but he sure didn’t want this man telling him whether or not he could go. Charles was obviously pushing him to see how much power he really had over him, how much he could control him. This had just become a civil rights violation and they both knew it, but did Dillon have the resolve or the finances to fight it? And if he lost the case, Charles could redline every church for every worker if he wanted. “You’ve gone mad, Morgan.”

  “Have I?” Charles leaned in close to Dillon’s face. He pulled back and looked behind him at the guard. “Put this man on a bus and send him home. Give his guns back to him.” He picked up the laptop and handed it to Dillon. “Oh, and this is yours now, you just bought it from me.” Charles stared at him for a moment. “Get back to work, McGee.” He squinted his eyes. “One day, I may get tired of you and something may happen to you. I’ll get your insurance. But in the meantime, just keep your nose clean.”

  Dillon stared back at him for several seconds.

  Charles broke his stare and left the room.

  It wasn’t easy getting on a bus with a bag of guns. Dillon had to sign several papers and the gun bag had to be stowed in the cargo area. He probably couldn’t have done it at all except the Morgan guard talked to the bus company manager and paid his fare.

  Dillon collapsed into a comfortable seat and watched out the window when the bus finally left the station. He hurt all over. He had never felt so deflated. He had never had a basic right, that he had always taken for granted, stolen from him. He wondered if Charles was just bluffing. They both knew no civil court would allow this. He wondered what would happen if he went to church Sunday like nothing had happened. But what if Morgan’s henchmen came in and shot up the place? Could he take that chance?

  He called Gabby. He had to hold the phone to his right ear so he could hear her. “Hey Gab.”

  “Where are you? I was getting so worried.”

  “Well, I had kind of a bad night.” He took a breath. “But I’m on my way home now. I think I should get there around two in the morning.”

  “Why so late?”

  “I’m on a bus.”

  “A bus? Did Christopher leave you? What about Julia?”

  “Julia’s fine. She’s already home, and Christopher’s fine too. It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.” He glanced around him. “I got shot in the stomach.”

  “What!” Her voice went up an octave.

  “Yeah, I ran into some of Morgan’s boys, but I’m okay, don’t worry.”

  “I can’t live like this,” she said. “I can’t stand this.”

  “It’s going to be okay. Honest. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

  “Please be careful.”

  After he ended the call, he laid his head against the window and fell asleep for more than an hour. He went into a deep sleep and dreamed. He dreamed he was blown up by a grenade. He dreamed he was being shot by Morgan guards. In his dreams he was screaming in pain. He couldn’t get away, he couldn’t get home.

  When he awoke, he called Christopher.

  “Hey Dillon, you okay?” Christopher said when he answered.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I had a rough night, but I’m on my way home on a bus right now.”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice,” Christopher said. “I hate to admit it, but I wasn’t sure I would ever hear from you again.”

  “Why, were you afraid they might shoot me?” He paused. “Well they did.”

  “What? But you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” He moved wrong and felt a twinge of pain in his abdomen. “I never made it out of the lobby of that hotel. They found me somehow and came and ambushed me.” He looked over his shoulder. “One of the guards shot me in the stomach, but I was holding the laptop, so it kept the bullet from penetrating very far. It just got my muscle layer, I think.”
<
br />   “I always knew that six-pack ab of yours would come in handy.”

  Dillon laughed weakly. “Have you heard from Travis and Julia?”

  “I’m sorry you asked. When they got home, their house had burned.”

  “You’re kidding me! I can’t believe that.”

  “Maybe the worst is over,” Christopher said. “ Maybe Morgan will cool off on us now.”

  “I hope so too.” Dillon shook his head as he held the phone. “But I don’t know. I saw him this morning and I think he’s still pretty steamed.”

  “You saw him? What did he say?”

  “He told me to get back to work. He let me go, but he said one day he would get tired of me and something would happen to me. He said he would collect the insurance.”

  “That’s an open threat,” Christopher said.

  “Yeah, I think he wants me to live with that hanging over my head.” Dillon was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Do you still have that microchip?”

  “Yeah, I’m keeping it safe and wrapped.”

  “Hang on to it, I think I have an idea.”

  “Ok, will do,” Christopher said. “I want you to go to your doctor when you get home. I don’t want you to get an infection.”

  “Probably not a bad idea. I’ll keep you posted.” He ended the call and sat and listened to the hum of the bus traveling on the interstate. His ears were still ringing, but he thought his hearing was getting better, especially on his left side. He watched the landscape go by to pass the time.

  A Hispanic lady came and sat by him at the next stop. “Espero que estés bien? You look so pale.”

  “Yes ma'am. I lost some blood last night, but I’m good.”

  “I have a sandwich here if you want it.” She reached into a sack and produced a ham and cheese.

  Dillon thought that sounded really good. He perked up. “If you’re sure it’s okay.”

  “Oh, yes, I brought both of us one.”

  He devoured the sandwich and laid his head again on the window, this time with her summer sweater as a pillow. It was much more comfortable. After a while he went back to sleep and dreamed of sitting at his desk at Morgan Retail. In the dream, a gunman came in and shot him in the back.