Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  "I hate your guts, but I'll have to hand it to you. You got away with it. Wasn't it uncharacteristic to pop her in the butt with a dart in open daylight?"

  "I didn't use the tranquilizer gun on the bitch. I followed her from her house that morning and was quite surprised to see her drive directly to the police station. I didn't know how much she knew and decided it was time to take her. She drove to the grocery store. I parked beside her and waited. Eventually she came out and began putting groceries into the trunk of her car. I came up behind her and pressed the point of my knife into her belly. Hell, I didn't even have to explain things. She just begged me not to harm the baby. I marched her to the passenger seat of my van and the cooperative flat-chested bitch held up her shirt for me while I taped the explosive to her swollen tummy.” He chuckled. “The note to Tim was her idea and she had her banker bowing and scraping when we went in and cashed a check for a hundred grand."

  "Why did you go back for her clothes? Wasn't that risky?"

  "Not really. Hell, she called Tim from her cell phone while we were parked just west of their house on Highway 8. The jerk took the bait and raced out of their driveway in his Mustang within seconds. I knew we had at least an hour. Why did I risk it? You women have to wear something. You have plenty of clothes at your house, but I needed to bring clothes for Sandy and Chris. It wasn't Sandy's clothes I was really after, however. I wanted her computer and the book she is currently writing."

  "I just don't understand."

  "Come on, Sweetheart. What kind of education did you get at Wake Forest? With movie contracts, Sandy earns a fortune from her novels."

  "And how do you plan to get your hands on that fortune?"

  "Simple. Sandy becomes my ghostwriter. My name goes on the manuscripts as the author."

  "You plan to abort the baby?"

  "No way, Sweetheart. Sandy says the fetus is male. I can get ten grand easy for a male baby."

  "Is Chris pregnant also?"

  "Don't know, but she will be soon. Sandy will make me a fortune as a writer, you and Chris will add to our income by looking after the pecans, and the three of you constitute my baby factory."

  Smith tossed the cigarette out and grumbled when he found the pack empty. He eased to the side of the road, slipped the gear into neutral and left the truck running. Dale heard the tailgate rising. Traffic was heavy. She needed to attract attention. She struggled to reach the truck horn with her forehead but the seatbelt held her in place.

  "Miss me?” he joked as he climbed back into the cab, a burning cigarette dangling from his lips. He snapped on his seatbelt, moved the gearshift and smiled. “Would you look at that,” he said, pointing.

  The roadside sign read, “Lenox, 10 miles."

  Chapter Eight

  Dale shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Her shoulders and arms ached and she feared the long period of bondage might have rendered them useless. That was unacceptable. Her body was her weapon of choice and all the parts must function normally. She flexed her shoulder muscles and twisted her neck back and forth.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "My shoulders and arms are nearly paralyzed. I'm trying to restore some circulation. I understand taping my wrists, but why did you tape my elbows together?"

  Smith lit another cigarette. “Makes your boobs jut out nice and proud.” He reached out and squeezed her left breast.

  Dale continued to flex her muscles.

  "Why don't you lean forward a little and swing your arms behind you? Maybe that'll help."

  You really are a sucker, she thought as she followed his advice. “What are you laughing at?"

  "You fell right into my trap. The strap pressing between your breasts creates quite a show."

  She shifted her hips and repeatedly clinched her fists. There could be many opportunities for her to overpower the monster but Dale knew that she must succeed with her first try. If she failed, he would take further precautions.

  "I can't feel my arms at all,” she lied. “I think I'm paralyzed."

  "Poor little thing."

  "I'm not joking man. At least free my elbows."

  He grinned as he maneuvered the truck onto Exit 13. “We'll be home in ten minutes, Sweetheart. Then we'll see."

  Dale continued to exercise as best she could. Smith slowed and turned onto the long dirt drive that led to her house.

  "Where did that come from?” she asked.

  He stopped the vehicle but left the motor running. “Don't worry. There's no charge for the gate. It's a little present I threw up on my last visit."

  Smith climbed out of the cab, walked to the hinged side of the gate, studied it for a moment and smiled. He moved to the opposite end, unlocked the padlock and pushed the gate to the side of the driveway. Climbing back into the truck, he said, “Good news. We've had no uninvited guests."

  "How can you be so sure? Those locks can easily be jimmied."

  "True,” he agreed, driving the truck past the gateposts and again stopping, “but I placed a little rock between the gate and post on the hinged side. If someone had opened the gate, the rock would have fallen."

  "Smart, aren't you?"

  He nodded. “That's why they'll never put me behind bars."

  He closed and locked the gate, returned to the truck and drove the remaining quarter-mile to the house. He shut off the engine, unsnapped his seatbelt and reached for hers. “How much do you weigh, Sweetheart?"

  "I don't know,” she said as he passed the cloth restraint over her head. “Ninety-five, ninety-eight, something like that. Why?"

  He chuckled. “A man's supposed to carry his wife over the threshold, isn't he? I'm just wondering if I can lift you. Oh, hell, it doesn't matter if I drop you."

  He cupped her neck with his left hand and drew her to him as his right hand found her breast. “Give your husband a big wet kiss,” he instructed.

  She felt his lips press against hers. She summoned all her willpower, forced her lips apart and lightly touched his lips with her tongue. His mouth opened and she darted her tongue inside while pressing her breast firmly against his clutching hand. She sucked greedily when his thick tongue pushed inside her tiny mouth and she forced a moan from her throat that she hoped sounded convincing.

  "Damn,” he said, breaking the kiss. “You may be a virgin but you have an educated mouth."

  "Free my arms and I'll give you a kiss you'll never forget."

  He pulled back and smiled. “Patience, Sweetheart, patience.” He climbed out of the cab, walked to her side of the truck and opened the door. “Lean forward,” he commanded. “Mash your tits against your thighs."

  She obeyed; knowing the moment she spent thirteen years preparing for had arrived.

  "You move one muscle before I tell you and I'll slit your pretty little throat."

  Free my right arm, Bastard, she thought. Just free my right arm. She sensed his knife sawing through the duct tape binding her elbows and sighed when they were free at last.

  He grabbed her bound wrists and yanked them towards him, twisting her upper body in the opposite direction. “Shit,” she said in disappointment and quickly covered by adding, “You don't have to be so rough."

  Smith cut through the tape on her wrists and stepped back quickly. Dale righted herself and rubbed her arms. “They're numb,” she lied.

  "Pick up the ball and hop down,” he commanded.

  She pretended to struggle as she inched the black ball from the floor of the truck to her lap. Forcing an expression on her face that she hoped looked as if she were near tears, she whimpered, “I can't do it. I don't have the strength."

  He closed his switchblade and stuck it in his pocket. “Just drop the ball on the ground and then jump down."

  "The chain isn't long enough,” she pleaded.

  "Shit."

  He stepped to the side of the truck and reached for the ball. He was in the wrong position for her right hand to find its mark. Dale was not ambidextrous, but she
trusted her left. With lightening speed, she rammed the palm of her hand into the base of his nose and pushed upwards.

  Smith screamed and fell onto his back with blood spurting from his nose. Dale grabbed the ball and jumped to the ground. Smith's hands covered his face as he twisted in agony. Dale lifted the ball as high as the chain would allow, her eyes blazing.

  "Stop! Don't kill him!"

  The voice startled her. She hesitated and looked up. Heavily armed camouflage-clad men seemed to emerge from behind every tree.

  "Don't do it, Dale!"

  She recognized Stan's voice. Men were approaching from all sides. She looked at Smith's face. It would be so easy.

  "No, Dale,” Stan pleaded as he rushed towards her.

  Her eyes trailed from Smith's head to his belt buckle. She released the ball and smiled when it landed on the pit of his stomach. “Oops,” she said as Stan closed her in his arms.

  "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you."

  "I need to work on my left hand. The bastard should be dead."

  "Dale, it's over. It's over, honey."

  "I'm married."

  "I know. Borders says having the forged papers revoked will take only a few days."

  "I peed on myself. He made me."

  "It doesn't matter, Sweetheart. It doesn't matter."

  She pushed away and glared at him as sirens sounded in the distance. “Don't ever call me Sweetheart."

  "Are you okay, Miss Ryder?"

  Dale looked at the tall woman holding an automatic rifle.

  "Teresa Towers—FBI."

  Dale looked around at men scurrying about. She saw Sandra Dollar being lifted from the bed of the truck and glanced down at the man unlocking her ankle cuff. “Is all this the work of the FBI?"

  Towers nodded.

  "I couldn't get you idiots to listen to a word I said."

  Towers ignored the insult, knowing it was the truth. “Are you okay?” she repeated.

  Dale looked at Stan and back at Towers. “I may never be okay,” she said and then grinned, “but I'm better than I have been at any time during the past thirteen years."

  Ambulances screamed up the dirt driveway. “How did you get here?” Dale asked. “I mean ... you didn't come up the drive and I know of no other way to gain access to the property."

  Without a trace of a smile, Towers answered, “The booby trap on the gate was the work of an amateur. We have a convoy of vehicles hidden in the grove. We simply picked the lock, came in, and put everything back like it was."

  "I saw no tracks on the driveway."

  "Don't you ever watch cowboy movies? We simply used branches to erase the tracks."

  Dale spotted Smith being carried to an ambulance on a stretcher and trotted to his side. “I want you to do me one favor,” she hissed at the unconscious man. “I want you to escape. The next time I catch you, I'll kill you."

  She saw Sandra Dollar and Chris Norway, walking hand in hand to a second emergency vehicle and jogged to them. Impulsively, she placed her hand on Sandra's protruding belly. “You okay?"

  "I don't know."

  "Smith was right. You do smell like an outhouse."

  Sandra blushed.

  "He made me pee on myself."

  "Did he rape you?"

  Dale gulped, remembering Smith's words about raping Sandra. “Sandy, I'm so sorry. I tried to warn you."

  "The next time I'll listen."

  "There won't be a next time.” The voice belonged to Borders. “By the time all the cases have been tried, Jerry Smith will either be executed or incarcerated with multiple life sentences."

  "I'll plead with every jury to spare his life,” Dale replied to the astonished detective as she winked at Stan.

  "I'll explain it to you later,” Stan whispered to Borders.

  "Why, Chris?” Dale asked.

  The young minister dropped her eyes. “As God is my witness, I do not know the answer to that question but I'll spend the rest of my life paying for my sins."

  * * * *

  It was after midnight when an orderly wheeled Sandra Dollar into the waiting room. “They say I'm all right,” she said as Tim hugged her.

  "I have a plane waiting at the airport,” he announced. “There's room for everyone."

  "Are we free to go?” Sandra asked Teresa Towers.

  "We have everyone's testimony on tape and, if more questions arise, we know where to find you."

  As the group walked towards waiting taxi's, Chris looked up into the weary eyes of her boss, Mack McGee, pastor of the Dot Baptist Church. “It was so nice of you to come, Mack."

  "I thought you could use a friendly face,” he said. “Besides, when Tim called me with the news, he was a basket case. He needed me too."

  "Give me a couple of days and I'll move on."

  "You going somewhere?"

  "You know as well as I do that my life as a minister is over."

  "Chris,” he said, taking her hand, “every Sunday in your bible class you talk about Christian love. Now you're about to experience it first hand. Everyone in Dot has at least one skeleton in his closet. We all know, but we go on loving each other anyway."

  "Not you, Mack."

  He smiled thinly. “Especially me."

  "I couldn't, Mack—not after all this. I'm so ashamed."

  "I understand. I think I need to tell you a story about a preacher and his beautiful young secretary."

  As they piled into the taxicabs, Dale shook hands or hugged each one. She smiled at Stan. “Better hurry, Stud, or they'll leave without you."

  He slapped the top of the cab. “You folks have a safe trip.” He peered inside the open back door at Borders. “Thanks for everything.” He closed the door and watched the yellow vehicles drive away.

  "Why did you turn down a free trip to Dot?” Dale asked. “Your clothes and car are there."

  He pulled her to him and stroked her hair. “Dale, will you marry me?"

  She pulled back, placed her hands on his ears, tugged his head down and kissed his forehead. “No,” she replied.

  Chapter Nine

  Dale stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “What is that delightful aroma?"

  Stan slid a spatula under a sizzling egg. “Breakfast,” he replied.

  "But how ... if there were eggs in the refrigerator, they're..."

  "Not to worry. When I woke up this morning you were still sound asleep. I borrowed your car and went into town for groceries."

  She poured a cup of coffee, sat at the table and allowed him to serve her. He leaned against the kitchen counter, sipped coffee and watched her eat.

  "Aren't you going to have anything?"

  He smiled. “I ate hours ago. It's almost noon."

  "You didn't have to sleep on the sofa, you know."

  "I thought it best."

  "Quit staring at me. You make me nervous."

  "Sorry. You're so beautiful."

  "Hell, man. I haven't even combed my hair."

  "Dale, are you going to stay here—go back into the pecan business?"

  "Probably. I haven't decided."

  "You'll need help. I work cheap."

  "You know nothing about pecans."

  "I know they taste good. Dale, I can learn. You can teach me."

  "All the equipment has been idle for thirteen years. I'm sure it's rusty and needs replacing."

  "If you're talking about the truck, pruning tools and whatever that huge thing on wheels is, I can fix them."

  She smiled. “The huge thing jostles the nuts, separating them from their outer husks. I didn't know you are a mechanic."

  "The Navy taught me more than just..."

  She laughed. “I know ... how to swab a deck. Stud, don't push me. I'm not certain I want to stay here. I don't need an income. Over the years, there have been many offers on the place. I may sell and try something different."

  "What?"

  "I don't know. This is going to sound ridiculous."

  "I won
't laugh at you."

  "It's just a little speck on the map, but I like Dot."

  "But what would you do, open a movie theater?"

  "That's the point. I don't have to do anything. I might just lie around the Dollars’ swimming pool all day. It's none of your business."

  "Like the way guys ogle you when you're half naked? It's going to get mighty cold beside the pool during the winter months."

  "Dream your own dreams and let me dream mine."

  "In other words, butt out. Will you drive me to the airport or should I call a cab?"

  She took her empty dishes to the sink. “You clean up while I find something to wear."

  Minutes later, Dale drove her Cavalier down the dirt driveway, pausing at the gate long enough for Stan to open it. At the road, she turned left.

  "Dale, the airport is in the other direction."

  "I know."

  "Where are you going?” he asked when she turned onto Interstate 75."

  "Dot. I want my computer and clothes and I'm afraid of flying."

  "I thought you were fearless."

  "I feel safer in a car."

  "They say that flying is..."

  "Drop it. I don't fly."

  "I could bring your things or ship them."

  "I want one more barbecue from Dad's Place."

  "The truth is, you're not ready to let me go."

  "Don't flatter yourself."

  "Dale, my timing was bad but I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you."

  "Stud, you loved your wife, too, and you've been divorced only six months. Do you fall in love with every skirt you meet?"

  "The marriage was annulled, Dale, and I've never seen you in a skirt."

  "You told me you still love her."

  "I do, but it's over. Whatever I may feel for Diane does not diminish my love for you."

  "I want a one woman man."

  "I am—one woman at a time."

  "Neither of us is ready for marriage, Stud."

  "Speak for yourself, Wonder Woman."

  "I have months, perhaps years ahead of me, travelling from state to state testifying against Jerry Smith."