Aftermath

by Michael Kerr

  “Yeah, Ritchie,” he said with no enthusiasm.

  “I traced that number you wanted, Sal,” Ritchie said. “He just made a call.”

  “I know, Ritchie, he called me. Said he thought it would be traced, so will obviously dump it or put it on a moving vehicle.”

  “Maybe you can still find him. I got a signal for thirty seconds, and then lost it. A couple of minutes later it came up again, from the same location. If he takes it somewhere and dumps it now, he may go back to where the signal originated.”

  “Have you got an address?”

  “No, Sal, just a map reference. I’ll send it to you with a red cross marking where the cell was.”

  “Thanks, Ritchie. You’re a prince.”

  Sal received a copy of a Google map a few seconds later and zoomed in to the red cross that Ritchie had somehow transposed onto it. His mood lightened. He knew exactly where Logan had made the call from, and it was only a half hour’s drive away.

  Logan pocketed the phone and picked up the car keys. “I’ll be back soon,” he said to Rita, and left. Drove the half mile into Old Creek and parked on Duke Street. Decided to use the phone one last time before ditching it, so phoned the number for Jerry Brandon, which he had memorized. Was surprised when a woman’s voice answered.

  “Yes,” Gloria Brandon said. “Who is this?”

  “My name is Logan. I’d like to speak with Jerry.”

  “My husband is not available. Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. I’m the guy that broke his arm. Maybe you know why, maybe you don’t. But what Jerry needs to know is that Mendez is still trying to kill Rita and Sharon. Jennings. He needs to talk with Mendez and make him an offer he can’t refuse. Because if he doesn’t call him off, I’ll pay Jerry a visit he won’t survive.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gloria said and disconnected.

  Thirty seconds later, Logan got a call.

  “I’m on a secure phone,” Gloria said. “So listen up, Logan, Jerry has done what you wanted. He told Mendez to stop. What more can he do?”

  “So you know all about it, Mrs. Brandon?”

  “I know that Richard Jennings was a blackmailing son of a bitch, and that Jerry would have gone to jail if he hadn’t done something drastic.”

  “So you condone what he did?”

  “I’d rather it hadn’t happened, but sometimes you have to take extreme measures to protect your interests.”

  “That’s true. I’ll bear in mind that you’re part of the problem. You need to fully appreciate that if anything should happen to Rita or Sharon, then whatever your worst nightmare is will look like a sweet dream compared to what I will do.”

  From the age of fifteen up until she was nineteen, Gloria had been a hooker, though had covered her tracks well and invented a past that even Jerry believed. Almost all men were as easy to read as a kid’s book. And the calm yet intense voice of Logan was also readable. She knew that this was no idle threat. The man meant every single word he said.

  “But what if Mendez won’t listen. Won’t stop?”

  “That’s your problem,” Logan said. “All you need to know is that I won’t be taking prisoners if he keeps coming.”

  “Doesn’t that make you just as bad as us?”

  “Maybe. But I won’t lose any sleep over it. You reap what you sow, Mrs. Brandon.”

  “I’ll try to contact Mendez.”

  “No need to try, I’ve got his number. Have you got a pen and paper?”

  Logan gave Gloria the hitman’s number and rang off.

  There were three Harley’s on their stands outside the Crippled Horse, gleaming like jewels in the sun. He ambled past them, bent down on the street side of the nearest bike and pretended to tie his boot lace as he slipped the phone into the pannier of a black and chrome Fat Boy. He then returned to the Discovery and waited. Ten minutes later three Easy Rider types wearing old leather and a lot of hair appeared, mounted up and cruised out of town.

  So far, so good. He’d bought some time, and now needed to plan on how best to use it.

  Gloria phoned Mendez.

  Sal answered, even though it was a restricted number. “Yeah?” he said.

  “This is Jerry Brandon’s wife. We need to talk,” Gloria said.

  “About Logan and the women?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothin’ to discuss, Mrs. B. I plan on killin’ them.”

  “And just how much would it take to change your plans, Mr Mendez?”

  “A million in cash,” Sal said. This was becoming interesting. He could make a lot of money, heal up properly, and then resume his hunt for his marks. It occurred to him that whacking the Brandon’s might also be worked into the mix. He didn’t want Jerry Brandon putting a contract out on him down the road, once he’d taken the cash but then reneged on the deal.

  “I’ll talk with my husband and get back to you, OK?” Gloria said.

  “Fine,” Sal said. “But make it real soon, because I’m less than an hour away from getting the job done.”

  “I hope you have enough patience to hold off for awhile, Mr Mendez. A million dollars is worth a short wait.”

  “Just don’t try to play me, bitch,” Sal said. “Not if you and your hubby want to keep enjoying the good life.”

  He pressed END and drove off toward the Golden Valley Trailer Park. Maybe Logan was no longer there, or perhaps he was trying to play a double bluff. Up until he heard back from the broad he would carry on with business as usual.

  Gloria thought it through. She wasn’t even going to discuss it with Jerry. They couldn’t afford to part with a million bucks. She had to somehow arrange for Mendez to show himself, and make sure that the psycho collected nothing more than a bullet.

  Using the same throwaway phone, Gloria called Ray Darrow.

  Ray was feeling nervous. He knew what had gone down: That Sammy was sweating it out in a cell, and that Roy Naylor had been capped. Thought that if he had any sense he would just pack what few possessions he had, climb in his truck and drive back to Ohio. His older brother, Jeff, ran a boatyard on the banks of Lake Erie, not too far east of Cleveland, and had always said that there was work for him if he wanted it.

  Ray’s problem with quitting Charleston was Gloria Brandon. He loved her, and they had enjoyed a steamy relationship for over two years. If Jerry went to prison, or better still got himself capped, then maybe it would open the door for him to see Gloria a lot more; even be with her on a permanent basis.

  “Where are you, Ray?” Gloria asked when he answered his cell.

  “At the yard,” Ray said, referring to the lot where the limo service operated out of.

  “Get over to the house, now. Something urgent has come up,” Gloria said.

  “On my way,” Ray said as the call was terminated. He sighed and took the keys for a late model BMW off a pegboard in the garage. It was a vehicle that Jerry kept at the yard for Sammy and Ray to use for business purposes. Jerry didn’t want clients to see the junkers that his employees owned.

  On the way out to the Brandon house, which was at most a par five’s length distance from the Berry Hills Country Club, Ray considered his position. Gloria was in trouble and needed his help, and he was sure that whatever she wanted him to do would be illegal. He was physically strong, but psychologically weak when it came to the fluttering eyelashes and pouting lips of the woman he loved.

  Ray stopped outside the wrought iron gates, lowered his window and stretched his arm out to press the button on an intercom that was bolted to the flat plane of a spiralled brass post. The gates began to swing open before he depressed the button, and he knew that Gloria had been watching one of several monitor screens that were linked to security cameras at strategic locations on the property.

  The driveway was long, curving between tall, dense evergreen shrubbery – that obscured a large, modern Colonial-style residence – before opening onto a courtyard that boasted a large fountain that would have not been
out of place in an Italian piazza.

  Ray parked in front of a four-car garage and walked back to the semi-circle of steps leading up to a massive, solid oak front door. It was opened to disclose Gloria standing in a short, salmon-pink toweling robe that was loosely tied around her waist and showed off her cleavage and long, shapely legs. Any concern that Ray had was totally smothered by his immediate lustful feelings.

  “Your mouth’s hanging open, Ray,” Gloria said, reaching out to fondle the bulge at the crotch of his jeans. “Shut it and come on in, it’s the maid’s day off, so we’ve got the house to ourselves.”

  Gloria went through to the kitchen with Ray following on behind and enjoying the view of her ass wiggling as she walked. She fixed herself a vodka tonic, and Ray took a can of chilled Coors from the fridge, ripped off the pull and poured the light beer into a tall glass.

  “Do you know what’s happening, Ray?” Gloria asked as they walked through an arch off the hall into an east-facing reception room.

  “Most of it, I reckon,” Ray replied.

  Gloria took a seat on a large oyster-colored, L-shaped sofa and patted the cushion next to her, inviting Ray to sit down. He did. She put her hand on his thigh and said, “Is there anything that you wouldn’t do for me, Ray?”

  All but one of Ray’s muscles seemed to melt. She was the only woman that had ever had such a powerful effect on him. He shook his head. He was putty in her hands, and they both knew it.

  “Do you know Sal Mendez?” Gloria said.

  “I know of him,” Ray replied. “I’ve only seen him once. He came to the yard to talk to Sammy. But I know what he does. Why?”

  “Because the scumbag has threatened me. He says if I don’t pay him a million dollars, then Jerry and I will be murdered.”

  “But I thought he was working for Jerry.”

  “He was, but Jerry told him to cancel the contract on the two women, and he refused, and then must have decided to try and cash in. He can put Jerry in prison for life if he talks.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I’d discuss it with Jerry, and that we’d pay him off. But I was lying. There’s no way that Jerry can come up with that much cash.”

  “What does Jerry have to say about it?”

  “I haven’t told him. There’s no point. I’ve decided that when this is sorted out I’m going to file for divorce.”

  Ray saw a future that he wanted begin to take shape. “Where will that leave us?” he said

  “Together, Ray. I love you, and I want to be with you. We’ll be able to leave Charleston and start over.”

  Ray said, “What is it that you want me to do?”

  “Meet with Mendez and kill him. It’s the only way we can be free of the problem.”

  Ray felt instantly bathed in fear. He knew that Mendez was a stone killer; a man that made his living by hurting and killing others. Ray was no coward, could hold his own in a bar fight, and was no pushover. He was six-one, worked out, and would stand up to anyone. But he had never killed another person, or used a gun for anything other than hunting squirrels and wild turkeys.

  “How would I manage to do that?” Ray asked, embarrassed to hear his voice crack as he spoke.

  “I would arrange for you to meet him with the money. All you’d have to do is shoot him on sight. I have a gun.”

  “He would expect trouble, he’s a pro.”

  “Are you saying that you won’t do it?”

  A voice in Ray’s head shouted ‘Damn right I won’t fucking do it’, but he opened his mouth and listened to himself say, “No, I’ll do it if it’s the only way.”

  “Good, now let’s go to bed, baby,” Gloria said. “And then you can drive me to the hospital to pick Jerry up.”

  As Ray made love to the woman of his dreams, Gloria thought of how much she could screw Jerry for in court. She had been truthful about seeking a divorce, but would also dump Ray when he ceased to be of any use to her. The future looked rosy. She decided to start a new life in Florida, maybe in West Palm Beach, and find some filthy rich old guy who could afford to provide her with the lifestyle she believed she deserved.

  As Gloria and Ray showered together in Jerry’s black-tiled bathroom, Sal slowly eased himself out of the Dodge and limped along a trail through the trees to the Golden Valley Trailer Park. He paused to fit the silencer on his pistol and tuck the weapon into his waistband.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Logan laid out the remaining two cell phones he had confiscated on the table. He had written down all the numbers that he may need from their contact lists. It was time to get rid of them. He removed the SIM cards and destroyed them with a steak hammer he found in a drawer in the kitchen. He took the ruined cards and the phones outside to the back of the trailer, tossed the cards into the undergrowth and placed the phones in a hollow and covered it with a large moss-covered rock.

  He reviewed the situation. They had two handguns, three untraceable phones, and were being hunted by a wounded killer who’d become fixated and intended to kill them. He could live with that. One guy was no big deal. And with any luck Mendez would be bought off by the Brandons’, but he wouldn’t count on it.

  Before they left, after Rita and Sharon had hugged Tom and said their goodbyes, Logan spoke to the old man

  “I don’t think that Mendez will come back here,” he said. “But if he does, just tell him that we turned up again and stayed the night, then left. We didn’t say where we were headed.”

  “I don’t know where you’re going, and don’t want to,” Tom said. “I’ll keep my twelve-gauge close by, and if he shows up you can be sure I’ll act dumb. If I think he’s bringing trouble to my door I’ll just blow his damn head off.”

  “Be careful,” Logan said. “The guy kills for a living.”

  “I hear you, Logan, loud and clear.”

  They shook hands, and a minute later Logan, Rita and Sharon were on the highway, heading in the direction of Morgantown with the plates off an old Buick that had been rusting up behind Tom’s trailer for over a decade on the Discovery.

  Logan knew that Morgantown wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough to hole up in while he decided how to bring an end to the danger that he knew they were still in.

  Sal drew his SIG and spun round at the sound of twigs snapping behind him. The dog leaped up in greeting, front paws extended and only eighteen inches from him. He shot it in the chest more as a reaction than by intent. The animal dropped down and tried to crawl away from him. It was whimpering, and blood foamed from its open jaws. Sal finished it off with another slug. Looked up and saw a couple standing less than thirty feet from him, temporarily rigid in shock at having just witnessed their beloved Labrador gunned down.

  Sal had no alternative but to kill them. He shot the man in the face, twice, and the woman just collapsed in a dead faint. He walked over and put a bullet in the back of her head.

  For the first time in his life, Sal let superstition enter his psyche. This job had been nothing but trouble since he’d capped the two girls in D.C. Maybe it just wasn’t worth the effort. He had nothing to prove. The marks were strangers to him, just doing whatever they could to stay alive. A rational part of his mind told him to walk away, take the money from Brandon and move on. Maybe go to San Francisco, which was his favourite city, and open a small bar and take it easy.

  He just stood over the corpse of the dead woman and let options percolate and settle out. Shook his head. Knew that he couldn’t let it go. If he let the women and Logan live it would haunt him for the rest of his days. He needed closure. They had outsmarted him, hurt him, and thought that they were safe. That was not acceptable. He would find them, kill them, and then go back to Charleston to take Jerry Brandon’s money from him.

  A minute later he was at the door of Tom Ellerson’s trailer.

  “Hi there,” Tom said, opening the door and smiling down at Sal. “I didn’t expect to see you back again. You decided to purchase one of my trailers and settle in
these parts?”

  “No, old timer, I’m a city boy at heart.”

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me where my friends are. Are they still here?”

  Tom saw a cold look like a winter cloud form in the man’s eyes. Knew that he was face to face with someone who had no respect for life.

  “If you mean the big guy and the two women, then no,” Tom said. “They turned up yesterday, late afternoon, and lit out this morning.”

  “Did they say where they were headed?” Sal asked.

  “No, and I didn’t enquire. People come and go, and I don’t give a rat’s ass where they’re from or where they’re going.”

  Sal believed the old man. He seemed straight, with no tension in his voice or body language. Liars always unconsciously let their eyes slide away, or fidgeted as they delivered an untruthful answer. It made no difference. He had no choice but to kill him, because of the dead dog and its owners in the woods.

  As Sal drew his SIG, Tom leaned to the left and snatched up his shotgun, to bring it up and round to aim at the man that he knew was about to kill him. He was a thousandth of a second from pulling the trigger when a bullet hit him in the mouth and drove him back into the trailer, where he fell on to his back before his finger jerked and discharged a load of buckshot into the ceiling above him.

  Sal waited till the cloud of plaster and debris from the hole in the ceiling had settled, then stepped up and put another slug into Tom’s left temple. He took no pleasure from the act. His thigh hurt, his side was sore, and he felt like shit. He was leaving a trail of collateral damage in his wake, and would rather not have had to. Maybe he really should just go back down to Charleston, take the pay-off from Gloria Brandon and walk away.

  Sal limped back to the Dodge and sat for five minutes to get his breath back. He swallowed another four pain killers and smoked a cigarette as he reviewed the situation. He had absolutely no idea where Logan and the women were headed. He needed to be rational. They were strangers to him. Unimportant. He was acting like an idiot by attempting to run them down. He flicked the cigarette butt out of the window, and as he was about to drive off his phone rang. It was Ritchie.