Sandbagged: A Theo Ramage Thriller (Book 2)

by Edward J. McFadden III

  Ramage didn’t think she saw him, because she slowed and ducked behind a large pickup that looked like a reject from a monster truck rally. If he hopped the fence, she’d see him for sure, maybe use one of her three remaining bullets, so he worked his way along the back of the warehouse, staying in the shadows, waiting and watching.

  Karma eased out from behind the truck and headed for the entrance to Gemco. As soon as she passed inside, Ramage jumped onto the fence, vaulted over, and chugged across the parking lot. He saw his reflection in the large windows on the front of the Gemco building, and behind him Queensbury emerged from the warehouse with several officers in tow.

  A white sign proclaimed that Gemco had made more rubber chickens last year than any other company on the planet. There was something about balloons as well, but as Ramage threw open the glass door and plunged inside the sign was obscured from view.

  There was an empty reception desk to his left, three seats and a half dead palm tree to the right, a hallway with a closed door straight ahead. He charged down the hallway past closed office doors, picture’s all along the hall depicting rubber chickens in various states of repose. A print of a rubber chicken being pulled from a magician’s hat. One holding a colorful array of balloons—the companies other mainstay. A photo of a large woman standing in front of the Rubber Chicken Museum.

  The door at the end of the hall opened and gunshots rang out, two bullets pinging off a metal doorframe and plunking into the wall.

  The snubby’s final shot got Ramage in the left arm, passing through the flesh of his left bicep. Excruciating pain filled all the empty spaces, blood leaking from the wound as he struggled to stay on his feet.

  Karma exploded through the door, wrapping Ramage up and taking him to the ground. She punched and clawed at the gunshot wound like a racoon with rabies, the dark bags beneath her eyes shining in the fluorescent light. Karma froze, her gaze finding the front windows. She hit Ramage one last time and disappeared back through the door into the rear of the facility.

  Ramage struggled to his knees, his hand over the gunshot wound to stop the bleeding. Queensbury, red faced and huffing and puffing, was lumbering across the parking lot toward Gemco. Ramage used the wall for support, his anger growing as he followed Karma.

  In the backroom several employees stood within a maze of machines, storage containers, and vats of melted plastic. Most of the vats weren’t in use on a Saturday, but there was a skeleton crew working the balloon making machine, a big vat of blue liquid latex feeding it.

  Ramage was lightheaded, stars dancing in his eyes, head pounding in rhythm with his heart, the stench of chemicals and hot plastic, like burning wires, hanging in the air.

  A loud buzzing made Ramage jerk his head right, and he dove out of the way as Karma came at him driving a forklift with a stack of boxes on its claws.

  Employees screamed and clogged the door, fighting to get away from the chaos.

  Ramage staggered to his feet like a boxer who’s spent too much time on the canvas, gunshot wound throbbing. He was dizzy, his vision blurry. He briefly considered sitting down, giving up. He was the one that had been shot, but it was the rest of the questions that gave him one last burst of energy. That and the thought of losing Anna.

  Karma spun the forklift’s wheel, rubber squealing, engine whirring as she turned in a tight circle, coming back at Ramage.

  Ramage tipped over a pile of boxes, and they crashed into the forklift, but it hardly slowed the nine-thousand-pound piece of equipment.

  A single employee still stood above the blue vat of molten latex, the large stirrer in his hands still dipped into the spinning blue liquid.

  “Get out of the way!” Ramage yelled.

  The guy lifted his paddle from the plastic, blinking as if seeing for the first time. He took a step back.

  The forklift’s payload fell forward, and its wheels got caught up in the wreckage, and it started to tip over. Karma lept from the forklift and it crashed into a supply bin next to Ramage, billions of tiny white plastic balls leaking from the container like artificial sand, half burying Ramage as he struggled to free himself. With one functioning arm and pain ripping through him it was difficult.

  The worker watching from the edge of the vat of blue molten latex took another step back from the crashing boxes, sea of white plastic pellets and the crashing forklift. He tripped, arms cartwheeling, dancing along the edge of the vat, and he overcompensated and fell into the mass of broken boxes and white pellets.

  Without a driver the forklift bounced off a support column, the two right wheels catching an edge, the steering wheel spinning hard. The lift crashed into the vat, a wave of blue melted latex surging over the container’s side and crashing over Karma.

  Ramage stood gaping, mouth hanging open a crack, blue latex undulating and spreading like spilt honey.

  The employee who’d fallen stood and emerged from the pile of broken boxes and white plastic pellets, staring wide-eyed at the devastation.

  Ramage fled, heading toward an emergency exit, leaving Karma’s latex encased body in his wake.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A crisp breeze blew off the mountains, biting Ramage’s cheeks. Thin clouds drifted across a clear blue sky, the sun easing toward the horizon in the west, sparkles of light dancing off the rocks that dotted the open plain. His arm throbbed, the heat of blood dripping down his side comforting. He was freezing, despite his heavy jacket and gloves. It had been the longest Saturday of Ramage’s life, and it was far from over. He was in the wind again, and it felt oddly comforting.

  Except, this time was different. Shelly was most likely already on her way back to Prairie Home, and Rolly and Karma were dead, not to mention the significant collateral damage he’d left in his wake. He’d be the obvious suspect, and with a bloody arm and no money running wasn’t an option. Rex would find him. He already knew Ramage was knee-deep in the sewage puddle Rolly and Karma had created, but he only had one strike left, and it didn’t matter who threw the fastball. Big Blue was gone, nothing but an insurance check waiting to happen, and Ramage didn’t think he’d buy another truck. Whether Rex took him off the streets or not, his hauling days were over.

  Then there was Anna. His decision might mean he never saw her again, but if he ran that was a certainty. He pictured the disappointment in her eyes, the way her lips curled when she was upset. The thought of police charging through the gate at the end of Santino’s long driveway filled him with anger, angst, and sorrow. He couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t. Even if that meant Rex locked him away on some military base.

  Ramage stood behind an abandoned building at the edge of Utah State University Eastern. He’d made it across town, keeping in the shadows, hiding within himself. He was good at that. Price had settled down, but he still smelled the scent of burning rubber, gasoline, and smoke on the breeze, the remnants of Big Blue. He stood in a niche in the wall, a spot that only existed because some architect thought it would be cool to have two walls meet at a thirty-degree angle. Rex had given him the address. Told him to wait for help.

  Ramage’s mind drifted, the cold penetrating his body to its core like a shot of alcohol. He could go for a shot of whiskey, or a martini. The sweet heat, the numbing bliss. The cold burrowed into him, except it felt like heat. He was back on the conveyer belt, sliding through darkness, jungle and buildings streaming by on both sides. A horn sounded, and Ramage looked up.

  A black Chevy Impala came to a stop twenty feet from where he stood. A buzz sounded over the wind as the driver’s window slid down, revealing a young African American woman, her curly hair tied back in a ponytail. Her dark eyes locked on him, her lips a thin red line. She said, “Theo?”

  Ramage looked over his shoulder and shrugged.

  “Rex said you were a hard-ass. Get in before I leave you here. That what you want?”

  Ramage said nothing.

  “I’ve got no problem leaving you to Queensbury,” she said.

  “You got
a name?”

  “Agent Tanya Joli. Now get in before you fall down.”

  Ramage sighed and slipped from his hiding place, glancing around, his arm wound throbbing. He pulled on the passenger side door handle, but found it locked.

  “Back, please,” she said. “No offense.”

  “Some taken,” Ramage said as he got in the Impala via the backdoor.

  She peeled out, kicking up pebbles and dust as she spun the car back onto Eastwood Drive, heading south.

  Ramage settled into his seat, letting the pain take control.

  Agent Joli said, “You O.K.? Rex said you were shot.”

  Ramage waited.

  “I’ve got a med kit in the trunk. Some aspirin.”

  Ramage stared out at the bleak terrain to the west, the mountains rising from the hardpan like an approaching army, the purple-orange sunset sending streaks of white and yellow through the thinning clouds.

  “Fine. Suffer.”

  He coughed and cleared his throat, his arm and leg throbbing with pain and reminding him he was being a dumbass. Then Anna and his mom chimed in with their familiar refrains; why can’t you let people help you? Your stubbornness is going to get you killed someday. Show some respect, blah, blah, blah. Ramage said, “Actually, I could use some of that aspirin.”

  Joli smiled at him in the rearview and said, “Hang in there. Let me find a quiet place.”

  With Price in the rearview, Joli pulled the car to the side of the road, parking behind a thick stand of juniper and scrub pine. The car rolled to a stop with a crunch and she shutdown the engine.

  A buzzard cawed, sand pelted metal, and the faint scent of pineapple from an air freshener hanging from the radio dial irritated his nose.

  Joli put a hand on her sidearm, and said, “Are you armed?”

  “Look, we’re on—”

  “You look!” she yelled. “I’ve got a boyfriend I love, a life, and from what I’ve heard you’re the darkest little cloud in the sky, and I don’t want you hovering over me. Got it?”

  “Not armed,” Ramage said. “And why the hell would I want to hurt you?”

  “Like I said, you don’t have the best rep.”

  “Whatever.” Ramage was so tired. Of everything.

  “Wait here until I tell you.”

  Ramage said nothing.

  “Nod if you understand me.”

  “I understand.”

  “See? I told you to nod and you can’t follow the most basic of instructions.”

  Anger surged in Ramage, but when he saw her thin smile, it faded.

  She popped the trunk and got out of the car, and she didn’t have her hand on her gun.

  “O.K., let’s do this. I’ve got a dinner date with my boyfriend.”

  Ramage got out of the car. “What does he do for a living?”

  “High School teacher.”

  “He doesn’t mind you running around with bad guys?”

  “Not his decision, is it?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Strip off that bloody jacket and shirt. I’ve got fresh stuff for you here.”

  “The FBI thinks of everything.”

  “That’s our job,” Joli said. “Here, let me help.”

  Together they took off Ramage’s jacket, and stripped off his blood-soaked shirt.

  “Damn,” she said.

  The wound was red and puffy, its edges white and tattered.

  “Looks like the bullet passed through.” Joli cleaned the wound with rubbing alcohol.

  “Can I get a sip of that?” Ramage said, but she didn’t respond.

  When she was done cleaning the bullet wound on his arm, the pellet hole in his leg, and the numerous contusions and cuts on his face, she bandaged him up and helped him into a clean shirt.

  “That’s better,” Joli said as she handed him a bright green ski jacket.

  Ramage accepted the jacket and lifted an eyebrow. “Couldn’t have picked something a little less… loud?”

  She chuckled. “It’s my boyfriend’s. Now I can buy him a new one.”

  “Where to now?”

  “I got you a rental car,” she said.

  His eyebrows rose. “Why’d you do that?”

  Joli said nothing as she got back in the car.

  Ramage stared after her, not moving.

  “You coming?” she said. “Like I told you, I’ve got plans.”

  He tried to get into the backseat, but the door was locked.

  “You’ve graduated to the front,” Joli said.

  Ramage jumped in next to her.

  She pulled back onto the road. “Swallow these.” She handed him three white pills.

  He downed them without question, but then panic ran through him. She could be drugging him, knocking him out. Ramage turned his burning gaze on Joli and she felt it immediately, her eyes flicking from the road to Ramage. “What?” she said.

  If she’d meant to knock him out, he’d already be in dreamland. Sounded awesome. “Nothing,” he said.

  Agent Joli’s phone buzzed, and she said, “Right on time.” She picked up her phone, read, and let it drop back onto the car seat beside her. “Get your phone out. You’ve got an incom—”

  Ramage’s phone vibrated. It was Rex.

  “Ramage.”

  “What the hell is going on down there, Ramage? I’ve got a real mess at that truck depot. The locals are going batshit. I don’t need this right now.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” Ramage looked over at Joli, who was pretending not to listen, eyes locked on the road.

  “Tanya fix you up?”

  “To the extent I can be fixed.”

  “We found Rolly’s Tahoe abandoned down on RT-70, and we’re pretty sure Shelly’s headed back to Prairie Home, but don’t worry, I’ve got a man keeping an eye out.”

  “Thank you,” Ramage said. “You think she’ll start trouble?”

  “Who knows,” Rex said. “A smart person would run and hide in the deepest hole they could find, being the last of the crew and all. But as you’ve seen, smart isn’t a word I’d use in this situation.”

  Silence over the line. A buzzard cried as it circled overhead.

  “Sorry about Big Blue,” he said. “Crazy stuff with this Karmen Brassi psycho. You’ve got to feel good she’s out of the way. We’re handling your mess, but don’t ever go to Price again or Queensbury will arrest you, and I’ll let him.”

  Funny thing was, he wasn’t happy Karma was dead, though he should be. “Where’s Kar… Karmen’s body? She’s got a son.”

  “The locals are taking care of it. Consider her a problem solved and forgotten. Another wart removed from the ass of humanity by Theo Ramage.”

  There was a time when that comment would’ve made him smile, but those days were gone, and deep regret and anguish filled him. The thought of a young boy who would never see his mother again crushed his hope.

  “And Rolly, well, let’s just say nobody gives a shit about him except his mother, and she only cared because he owed her money.”

  Joli pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket that had closed for the day, only three cars left in the lot. A young man collected empty carts and Ramage saw an older guy moving around inside the store through large front windows.

  A white Ford Focus sat alone in the corner of the lot, and Joli headed for it.

  Ramage said, “What now? I drive to your office for… reassignment?”

  “Not yet,” Rex said. “This one really wasn’t your fault. Except for Rolly and Karma.”

  Ramage harrumphed, but said nothing.

  “And I need you,” Rex said. “But you’re grounded until further notice. Go straight home. Do not pass go and do not collect two hundred dollars. Got me?”

  “I think.”

  A sigh. “I’ll be watching.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ramage said. He glanced over at Joli whose eyes were locked on the road as she tapped the steering wheel.

  “What
about… my device.”

  “Don’t talk, just listen,” Rex said.

  Ramage stared forward, silence filling the car, and Joli glanced in his direction, her instincts kicking in. He smiled. Some people are just made to be the law.

  “There’s some strange shit going down,” Rex said. “People getting fired. My boss’s boss is on leave, and that’s just the tip of it. Something big is happening, but right now I’m on the outside.”

  “Might be a good thing?”

  “It usually isn’t,” Rex said.

  “The blood thing? That what all this fuss is about?”

  Rex sighed. “As far as I know, it’s the only data that was wiped from my account, but there could’ve been more. The IT guy is always yelling at me.”

  “Know the feeling.”

  “Keep things quiet,” Rex said. “Don’t even tell Anna.”

  Ramage said nothing.

  “Keep that laptop safe and don’t turn it on.”

  “That’s a 10-4, hoss.” Ramage had called Rayne, the waitress over at the truck stop diner, and she had his backpack. As soon as he was free of Agent Joli, he could pick it up and eat.

  “Talk soon,” Rex said. “Be good.”

  Ramage clicked off without responding.

  “Everything alright?” Joli asked, the rental’s key fob dangling from a ring around her index finger.

  “Yup,” he said as he snatched the fob and got out of the Impala.

  “Good luck, Ramage,” Joli said, and drove off. Ramage never saw her again.

  The snap of the Escape’s door lock opening echoed over the driving wind. He got in the car, closed the door, and sat still and silent, the peck and tinkle of sand pelting the Ford the only sounds. It was time to call Anna. He pulled his phone, swiped to her name, but didn’t press call.

  What should he tell her? All of it? She’d be frightened, worried, angry, and he wouldn’t be there to comfort her. He could wait until he got home, but with Shelly on the loose and the feds watching Prairie Home, he didn’t think he had any choice but to tell her the entire tale, even the parts he’d already left out. She’d be mad, but she’d understand. Maybe.