The Ackerman Thrillers Boxset: 1-6

by Ethan Cross

  He circled the man like a shark before the first bite. He didn’t waste any time. “We know the Sheriff has something big planned. You’re going to tell us what that is.”

  The deputy remained silent with a defiant look contorting his countenance.

  Marcus repeated the question but received no response.

  He nodded. “I thought you might play it this way.” Reaching behind his back, he retrieved a 9mm pistol, checked the clip, and chambered a round. He looked deep into the man’s eyes with an icy determination. “I’m going to count down from ten. If you haven’t told me what I want to know by the time I reach zero … I’m going to blow your head off.”

  The deputy tried to act tough but was visibly shaken. “You expect me to fall for this? You wouldn’t just shoot me.”

  He leaned in close and spoke through clenched teeth. “Why not? That’s what you and your friends did to the Brubakers.”

  The man’s eyes went wide. The deputy looked toward the two-way mirror of the interrogation room, as if beseeching someone for help.

  Standing up to full height again, he simply said, “Ten.”

  “Come on, man. You can’t do this.”

  “Nine.”

  “Listen, I just work here.”

  “Eight.”

  “He’s the boss. He’s the one you want.”

  “Seven.”

  “He doesn’t tell me everything. I—”

  “Six.”

  “I don’t have any information for you. I don’t know anything.”

  “Five.”

  “You wouldn’t just kill an unarmed man.”

  The image of Senator Mavros standing before him with that smug smile flashed before his eyes. He shivered, but he didn’t think that the deputy noticed.

  “Four.”

  “He’ll kill me if I tell you.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t. Three.”

  “Please, don’t do this.”

  “Two.”

  He fired the gun point-blank. The bullet whizzed by no more than two inches from the man’s left temple.

  “NO! Okay, okay, you win. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Marcus looked toward the observation room behind the two-way mirror. He gave Andrew and Maggie a wink. “I’m listening,” he said, getting back into character.

  “The target is Paul Phillips.”

  “The presidential candidate?” He wasn’t expecting an assassination, but less and less surprised him nowadays.

  “Phillips is an evil man. He’s trying to get rid of the competition. That’s the way he operates. He uncovered some evidence about what the Sheriff has been doing. It links the Sheriff and his activities to … some powerful people. He—”

  “I know about President Jameson,” Marcus said, fishing.

  The deputy’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. The man continued without responding to the statement, which was a definitive response in itself. “Phillips thinks he’s going to profit from the information politically. What he doesn’t understand is that no one is going to let him live that long. End of story.”

  Marcus nodded. Often the most powerful men were the most desperate. They had the farthest to fall. They would do anything or kill anyone to keep the power they had attained and gain more. “Where’s it going down?”

  “San Antonio. During the speech. They want it to be public and shocking. High-powered rifle to the head.”

  “Where’s the shooter going to be?”

  “I have no idea.”

  He fired another round past the man’s head.

  “I swear. I don’t know. But I do know who’s taking the shot.”

  He already knew that answer. “The Sheriff,” he said, finishing the man’s thought.

  “Yeah. He’d never trust anyone else with something that important. Phillips might be acting like he’s the angel trying to bring the evil-doers to justice, but the truth is that he’s worse than all of them. He’s lied, cheated, and stolen his way to where he is today, and a lot of people have gotten hurt in the process. The Sheriff believes that Phillips is a murderer.”

  With raised eyebrows, he said, “What do you mean?”

  “The Sheriff uncovered evidence that Phillips likes to frequent prostitutes. A couple of years ago when his career began heating up, one of them saw a golden opportunity. She tried to blackmail Phillips. Next time anybody saw her, she was a bloated corpse washed up along the banks of the Mississippi. It doesn’t take a mathematician to put two and two together on that one. And the Sheriff has also linked him to some other deaths that occurred under mysterious circumstances. That could be the next President of the United States. The Sheriff won’t let that happen. He sees this as an opportunity to rid the world of corruption at the highest levels. When Phillips’s past comes into the light, it’s going to make a lot of people look a lot closer at the kind of men that are running this country.”

  He nodded, amazed again at how nothing shocked him anymore. “What about our current President? What are people going to find if they start looking into his closet? The Sheriff can’t assassinate the whole country.”

  The deputy’s eyes filled with a passionate indignation. “President Jameson is a great American and a great man. Everything he’s done has been on the side of justice and righteousness. He’s trying to take this country back from those who would twist and corrupt the vision of our founding fathers. With our help, he’s going to make this country great again.”

  He resisted the urge to spout off a smart-ass comment. There was no point in arguing with a zealot. “I’m sure. Anything else I should know?”

  The deputy’s face contorted into a vengeful grin. “Yeah,” the man said. “They’re going to pin the whole thing on you.”

  *

  That’s why the Sheriff wanted me alive … I’m the fall guy. The new development didn’t surprise him. He no longer wondered why this was happening to him or felt sorry for himself. He was simply rolling with the punches, until he had the chance to punch back.

  “The original plan,” the deputy said, “was to pin it on Ackerman. That’s why they were holding him. He happened to be in the area at the right time. Sheriff caught him. It would’ve worked out perfectly. The beauty of that plan was that it wouldn’t take any explanation and no one would question it. After all, everyone knows how much of a psycho that guy is. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to think that he would kill a presidential candidate after all the other people he’s butchered. But when you let Ackerman escape, plans changed. The Sheriff made some calls and did some digging. He learned about what you did in New York. Even though it’s been all covered up, it doesn’t take much to dig up old skeletons. Some of his associates in that area have been gatherin’ enough evidence to bring that sordid ordeal into the light and paint you as the avenging angel. A deluded young man bent on ridding the world of every dirty politician. Just like what you did to the senator in New York. The beauty is that he can bring out the evidence of illegal activities against Phillips and make it look like you just stumbled across it and decided to take justice into your own hands once again. Nice and tidy, just the way he likes it. You’re the perfect fall guy—even better than Ackerman.”

  Marcus felt the righteous rage filling him again. He wasn’t angry that the Sheriff planned to pin the crimes on him. He was furious, however, that people like the Sheriff always seemed to get away with it. Not this time. Not on my watch. He felt himself losing control.

  He leaned in close to the half-smiling deputy and said, “And if I happen to be eating in a diner full of people that can verify that I was nowhere near the scene of the crime? Or if I go to the press? Well, I suppose those people just have to disappear too.”

  “That’s the nature of the game.”

  He placed the barrel of the gun against the man’s forehead.

  The deputy’s eyes widened with terror.

  He cocked his head to one side, cracking his neck. “I don’t play games.”

&nbs
p; The deputy screamed.

  This one’s for you, Allen. He pulled the trigger.

  The screaming abruptly stopped.

  Andrew burst into the door and stared in disbelief.

  Marcus secured the gun in his waistband.

  The hammer had fallen, but there was no shot. He had only loaded two bullets in the weapon’s fifteen-shot magazine. He noticed that the deputy had pissed his pants.

  “Have a nice nap.” He produced the blackjack, brought the weapon down against the back of the man’s head, and returned the deputy to the world of dreams.

  57

  The dingy motel room made Maggie’s skin crawl. It was the kind of place normally rented by the hour, not by the day. Ugly green wallpaper, greenish flower motif on the bed spread, television controlled by turning a knob, not with a remote or by pushing a button. The place hadn’t been updated since the seventies. She wondered if it had been that long since the sheets had been washed as well. She could almost sense the thousands of tiny insects and vermin teeming through the bedclothes, under the mattress, and in every shadow and crevice of the room. She intended to sleep in her clothes and shoes, if she could bring herself to lie in the bed at all.

  Marcus rested on the bed with his arm over his face, breathing deeply and rhythmically. Apparently, the thought of bed bugs, fleas, and lice didn’t bother him. Maybe under the present circumstances, it shouldn’t have bothered her either, but it did.

  She sat and stared at him. She wondered what would happen between them once the current situation played out to its conclusion. She wondered if Marcus would ever be able to forgive himself. In her mind, he had done the right thing back in New York, but she knew that he wasn’t convinced. He seemed to have a terrible compulsion to carry the troubles of the whole world on his back. Despite his calm, smart-ass exterior, she knew that he carried a deep well of pain inside.

  Without lowering the arm from his eyes, Marcus said, “I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that.”

  How did he … “Why don’t we just go to the press?” she said.

  “Number one, it’s not like you can just walk in off the street and go on national television claiming that the President is going to have his competition assassinated. Number two, even if we did get on TV or to the right person, we don’t have proof. Who’d believe us? They could discredit, debunk, and sweep us under the rug before the newspapers hit the stands in the morning. Number three … I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

  “What about the Internet? We could at least get the word out.”

  He snickered. “Another conspiracy theory? Internet’s full of stuff like that.”

  She hesitated. “We could run.”

  He sat up and looked at her.

  She walked over and sat next to him on the bed. “We could get as far away from here as possible. We could jump the border and never look back. We could be in a non-extradition country within a couple of days. You don’t have to do this.”

  He averted his eyes and stared at the wall. A moment passed in silence. “If I don’t do this, who will? Before Allen Brubaker died, he told me, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’” He hesitated and then met her eyes. “I’m going to do something. Sometimes, it’s not about succeeding or not. It’s about standing up and being counted. It’s about doing what’s right. I’d rather die standing up for what I believe in than live by looking the other way.”

  Once again, silence descended upon them. Neither averted his or her gaze.

  “You know, this could be considered our third date,” she said. “You obviously kiss on the second date, so what do you do on the third?”

  A smile spread across his face.

  She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close.

  The kiss was like an explosion.

  His hands caressed her shoulders and moved down her skin. His touch felt electrically charged.

  She thrust closer to him. She could feel the firmness of his body.

  Her heart pounded. She felt warm all over.

  She slipped her hand inside his shirt. She—

  In a flash of movement, he was gone.

  She heard a noise from the other side of the motel room door. Someone had inserted a key in the lock.

  She registered that Marcus was lying on the floor in front of the door. He was on his back, gun drawn. His calm and cool demeanor in a dangerous situation amazed her. She wondered what he was doing but then realized that a hostile visitor wouldn’t be aiming at the floor when entering the room.

  Marcus still had his gun at the ready when Andrew entered.

  Andrew staggered back in surprise. Marcus jumped to his feet, moved to the door, and glanced up and down the row of rooms before shutting it. He concealed the gun in the back of his pants.

  “Tell me that you have good news,” Marcus said as he engaged the door’s locks.

  She watched in shock and horror as the blackjack appeared in Andrew’s hand. Andrew thrust the weapon out and struck Marcus across the back of the head.

  Marcus fell limply to the floor.

  She jumped up and said, “What the hell are you doing?!”

  Andrew turned a cold gaze upon her. “The game’s over, Maggie. It’s time to end this.”

  58

  Marcus awoke in a dark, confined place. He felt disoriented and only half coherent. His thoughts turned to coffins and horror stories of exhumations where medical examiners found scratches on the insides of caskets. He thought about being buried alive. His breathing grew labored. A wave of claustrophobia swept over him.

  Then, he realized that he was not alone in the coffin. Another body shared the space with him. His head throbbed, and he felt nauseous. This can’t be real.

  “Marcus, it’s okay. It’s me. Maggie.”

  “Where are we?” His voice came in a ragged whisper.

  “In the trunk of Alexei’s car.”

  He shook off the disorientation and brought his mind into focus. Now, he could smell rubber and feel the vibration of the road. He tried to move, but he felt the bite of handcuffs around his wrists.

  “What? What happened? I remember being at the hotel and … then, I woke up here. Wait … I remember opening the door for Andrew … and then the lights went out.”

  “Andrew betrayed us.”

  The revelation didn’t surprise him. He had sensed that something was off with Andrew from the beginning. “Has he been playing us all along?”

  “I don’t think so. After he knocked you out, he told me that he had called my father and made a deal. Apparently, when we confirmed the President’s involvement, he decided that we didn’t stand a chance. So, he sold us out.”

  Now that his eyes had time to adjust, he could make out dim shapes within the trunk and discern the faint outline of Maggie’s features.

  “What are we going to do, Marcus? My father will kill you when he’s done with you, and I don’t know what he’ll do to me.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. Are your hands cuffed too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Feel around as best you can and see if there’s anything we could use.”

  “I already did. There’s nothing on my side.”

  He groped blindly with his hands and feet, but he felt nothing. Andrew must have cleaned everything out before he put us in. Smart.

  “There’s nothing over here either. Give me a minute to think.”

  He closed his eyes. Ideas and scenarios flew through his mind. He played out several of the possible conclusions to their current predicament. All of them ended badly. The constraints of the trunk prevented him from bringing his hands around front. With his hands bound behind his back, he could do little to subdue an armed assailant.

  He needed to determine what tools he had at his disposal. There was always something—some minuscule factor that turned the tide, some variable that the opposition had overlooked. The hard part was finding it
.

  Within the trunk, they only possessed the clothes on their backs. He decided to start there. Using his eidetic memory, he pictured every piece of clothing worn by himself and Maggie. He started with their feet. Within his mind, he broke the items down to their base components. He analyzed them. He combined them. How could they be used against their opponents?

  His mind traveled up Maggie’s legs to her waist. He opened his eyes. “I’m going to roll over to my back, so I can get my hands to your waist.”

  He struggled to turn within the cramped space but was finally able to move into position. His hands quested over Maggie’s firm midsection to the top of her jeans. He began to undo her belt.

  She cleared her throat and said, “Umm … I don’t think now’s the time.”

  “Trust me.”

  59

  Light flooded the trunk, and Marcus felt himself torn violently from the small space. His captors tossed him to the ground. His face smashed into the dirt. A puff of dry earth billowed into the air as he exhaled. Then, he felt hands slide under his arms as his adversaries jerked him to his feet.

  “Sorry, Marcus,” Andrew said. “Nothin’ personal.”

  “You pretended to be my friend and then stabbed me in the back. Don’t think it gets any more personal than that. If it helps to ease your conscience, I never trusted you anyway. I just didn’t know for sure. Didn’t have any other choice but to go along for the ride.”

  “I never meant for things to turn out like this, but you and I both know that there are just some battles you can’t win. And if you can’t beat them …”

  “Yeah, I get the concept. You’re a traitor. Can we just get this over with?”

  “Fine by me.”

  Andrew and another man led them at gunpoint across a flat, desolate piece of land dotted sporadically with short, gnarled bushes. The Sheriff stood a couple hundred yards from the vehicles. His back turned to them, he stared out across the plain. He held a silenced 9mm in his right hand. A bird with dark brown plumage and auburn shoulders circled in the distance. An open grave sat to the Sheriff’s right.