Chapter 50: Beverly and Liz
Beverly immediately replaces the Glock under the bed and puts in a call to Liz. Liz returns her call in about five minutes. “Any good news, Beverly?”
“No, not yet. By the way, who did you rent this bungalow from?”
“Well, if you must know, from the lady at Flamingo Bay, Lanne. Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”
“No, I just wanted to know who to call in case I have a problem. Can you check and see if you have anything on a local lady named Donna and her husband Sam?”
“And do you have any last names?” Liz asks.
“Sorry, that’s all I’ve got. I think they’re locals; however, their accent has a British twang to it. I caught them in the house and the woman, at first, said she was the owner of the house; however, later they confessed to being thieves after I found out the man had stolen my .9mm from under the bed. I’m trying to figure out if they’re just local thieves or what.” She gives Liz a detailed description of them and the van they were driving, along with the plate number.
Liz, in a teasing voice, replies, “I hope you didn’t torture them. Did you get the gun back?”
“No, and yes I did. Then I put them to work putting up flyers for me around the island.”
“Let me see what I can find out. It may take some time since all I have is first names and they may be fake.”
The following day, Beverly finds the staple gun on the porch. She drives around town and finds no flyers. She is not a happy camper. Just as she arrives back at her abode, her cell phone rings and Liz’s number pops up. “Did you find out anything?” she asks.
Liz replies, “Well, maybe, have you seen anything of Donna and Sam?”
“No I haven’t, but they did not do what I asked them to do.”
“Be careful, Beverly, I think they may be British Intelligence, and they’re looking for Stephanie as well.”
“I thought this was our case. Why are they involved?”
“Well, sometimes they like to posture themselves and see what they can find out from us. They were probably probing you to find out what you were doing.”
Beverly sighs. “Great, and I pretty much told them.”
Chapter 51: The Snare Works
It has now been an hour and a half since I arrived and a shaft of early morning sunlight is attempting to split some incoming mist and an emerging fogbank. Before long, the fog may enclose the entire top of the mountain. I may be blinded by the weather. I should have known better. I know to check on upcoming weather before any mission.
All of a sudden, the top of Mt. Pleasant disappears. I can’t see more than a foot in front of my face. The early morning has turned quiet. The same quiet happened when I first appeared on the summit. This is not good. Then a whisper of wind seems to blow the fog away. That’s when I see him. The outline of a dark figure poised near the railing with what looks like an automatic rifle.
You always think you’re ready for any occurrence; however, that is usually not true. Is the fog going to come back? Is he going to move to a point where I can’t see him? Make a decision, Mickke D, you will either be right or wrong.
I opt not to yell out and startle him. He may just turn and fire. So I say in my normal tone of voice, “That you, Stuart?” hoping he will answer so that I am sure of my target.
Well, so much for that great idea! As he turns, he brings his weapon up and points it in my direction. I instinctively roll to my left as a burst of automatic fire plunges into the tree I was resting against and my backpack dies instantly. I don’t believe he saw me or knew where I was located. I’m thinking he fired at the sound of my voice. Another burst of gunfire sprays the area and I’m glad I picked a big tree. He must have a silencer because the sound of the bullets striking the tree is louder than the popping sound of the weapon. I am tempted to put my .45 around the tree and fire off a couple of blind shots, but since the city of Lancaster is right behind him that is probably not a good idea. I need to see my target before discharging my weapon. The firing stops and I sneak a peek around the tree. The fog has come back and my assailant is gone. Where did he go, and why do I have a burning pain in my right side?
Damn, the bastard shot me! When adrenaline is flowing freely, sometimes it takes a while for pain to show up. Well, the pain has arrived, and I can see blood on my shirt. Time to move, I’m a sitting duck here. I retreat but keep the tree between me and the location where I last saw him. About fifty feet back, I blend myself into a large thicket and disappear. I quickly strip off my shirt and T-shirt. I shine my maglite on my side and see where the bullet entered and exited my side. An inch to the right and it would have missed me altogether. An inch to the left and I would be in a world of hurt. I grab my knife and cut the T-shit, ripping it apart with my hands. Next, I take my handkerchief from my back pocket and ball it up. I place the cloth ball on the wound and tie the T-shirt tightly around my waist to hold it in place, putting pressure on the wound. I put my shirt back on and now it’s time to move again.
Stuart is caught off guard. He once again has underestimated his foe. He is not sure if he wounded or killed Mickke D. He slithers away as the fog moves back in. He begins to sense that curious thrill that comes whenever he finds himself approaching the habitat of his prey. No shots were returned from his opponent, but that doesn’t mean he is hurt or dead. He needs to find somewhere to conceal himself and wait to see what happens next.
As he comes off the summit, he opts to head down toward the ledge where he watched Sissy’s limp body bounce off and tumble down the mountain. He will set up another ambush and this time do away with this annoying PI. He makes a call on his cell phone, gives some instructions, and hunkers down behind a large boulder, waiting for Mickke D to make the next move. However, he can’t wait too long because the sleepy town of Lancaster will awake soon and become a bustling beehive of activity. It’s possible a few bird watchers or photographers may even venture up the mountain. The only deterrent right now is the fog.
Chapter 52: Close Call
The fog is not only challenging my sight, but also seems to be deadening sounds around me. The dew on the ground is softening the sounds of my footsteps as well as that of my enemy. I consider calling big Steve, but if he comes up here and Stuart is gone, he will not be a happy camper, so I choose not to make that call right now.
Time is of the essence. My watch reads 6:30 although the fog is disallowing the sun to creep onto the hallowed ground of Mt. Pleasant. Leaving the concealed thicket, I venture slowly back toward the main path, which meanders up the mountain, stopping several times to look and listen, and trying not to get caught out in the open if the fog dissipates.
Upon reaching the path, I decide to venture up toward the summit. I figure he can’t see me if I can’t see him, but I do stick close to the edge and crouch occasionally to glance around and hopefully hear any non-critter noises. When I reach the point where the concrete steps go up, I decide to go straight, where I was the other day when I found the little-traveled path that dead-ended into the large, forked tree.
It’s too damn quiet! I just know Stuart is still here, lurking, waiting for me to make a mistake. Since I am more concerned about looking around instead of down, I accidently step on a branch and the sound of the branch breaking is earth-shattering. The sound no sooner disappears than several shots ricochet off the rocks next to me. It must be Stuart because there are no sounds of gunpowder exploding in the early morning fog.
I quickly move away because he is again firing at sounds. That first move sends a pang of pain through my side and into my brain. I grit my teeth and move on. I have no idea where he is so there’s no sense in returning fire. This way he is not sure if it is me or an early morning Mt. Pleasant creature.
I’m beginning to feel as if I’m the only one up here who can’t see, because within seconds another volley of shots rings out, except this time I hear the shots and feel the rock chards bang against my legs from the incoming bullets peppering the sa
ndstone ground near my feet. Either Stuart has changed weapons or he has a friend.
I know it is now time to call big Steve, but I also know I can’t do it from here. Move Mickke D, move, my mind is telling me. I’m just not sure which way to go.
I feel a calm breeze on my face and as quickly as the fog moved in, it just as quickly moves away. I can now see almost thirty yards in every direction. In the fog and fear of battle, decisions are instant and often unconscious. I see the opening to the path leading to the forked tree and I bolt in that direction. Again, pain attacks my brain. I flinch and grab my side as it feels like someone just stuck a knife in my wound. I see a figure to my left; point my weapon and double-tap the trigger, boom-boom. I lose sight of the figure as I jog quickly down the winding path. I can now see the forked tree approaching. I sling the rifle over my back and get ready for a leap of faith. I know this is going to hurt and I have no idea what’s on the other side.
Invisible projectiles snap and drop tree branches all around me as I near my last hope, the forked tree. I don’t slow down as I put one foot up on the tree and grab with both hands to boost myself up and through the small opening and crash down on the other side.
I was correct; it did hurt. As I survey my surroundings, I am shocked by what I find. My eyes encounter nothing but another big tree, maybe twenty yards away, blocking any chance of escape. The narrow, five-foot path falls off straight down the mountain, and a vine-covered rock cliff encloses the other side.
I hear muted voices coming in my direction. “Where the hell did he go? He couldn’t have just disappeared,” a voice says that I seem to recognize.
The next voice I hear I have not heard before. “Quiet, just be quiet for a minute. Stay here, I’m going to climb up and look on the other side of this tree. Cover the path; maybe he somehow got behind us, although I don’t know how.”
“Got you covered. Who is this guy anyway?”
“Keep your eyes open. I’ll tell you later,” Stuart replies.
My brain is working like a hamster on a wheel. If I see any part of a body appear between the forks of the tree, I will fire. However, if he puts a weapon through and begins firing, I’m in big trouble. There is nowhere to hide.
I lean back against some vines on the rock wall and the vines give with my weight. I reach back with my arm and find open space behind the vines. There must be some type of an opening here. I slowly and quietly remove my knife and quickly cut away enough vines to allow me to squeeze through. I click my maglite to peek around. It’s a cave full of skeletons and cobwebs, lending it a mysterious, almost hellish appearance. I can see that the cave disperses into multiple passages, extending like fingers of a hand into the darkness. I feel anxiety, fear, and impending danger here. I want to leave but I can’t go back out, at least not yet.
A burst of bullets slam the rock wall and the path, bringing me back to the current problem at hand. Again, the weapon produces no sound.
I hear voices again. “There’s nothing over here except another tree. Maybe he fell down the mountain. I’m going over to look around. Be sure to cover the rear.”
“Well, hurry, we need to get out of here before anyone shows up.”
With my hunting knife in hand, I watch from behind my barrier of vines as a body slowly and carefully clambers down from the fork in the tree. He looks toward the tree blocking the path and gazes over the edge. He turns to face the rock wall and me, concealed behind the vines.
I softly say with my best cloak and dagger voice, “Hey, Stuart, long time, no see.” He gazes at the draped curtain of vines with surprised recognition that quickly evolves into anger and fear. Then with surging adrenaline and controlled rage, I attack. I lunge my arm forward through the vines, the long hunting knife blade sliding cleanly into his belly. His eyes open wide as he realizes what is happening. He attempts to raise his weapon but I reach through with my other arm, grab his arm and slice upward while turning my knife, severing his aorta. I feel warm blood on my hand as I remove the knife. He tries to speak but the only thing to come out of his mouth is a trickle of blood. I see naked fear in his eyes, the knowledge that there is no escape, the awareness that he is about to die. Death has raised its ugly face and finally spit on his life. He crumples to the ground in a sea of darkness and rolls over near the edge of the path, gasping for air.
I come out from behind the vines and stare at his limp body trying to find one last gulp of life-giving oxygen. My mind goes instantly to Sissy and Jake. Without a second thought, I take my foot and push him over the edge. I watch as his body tumbles 200 feet below into the trees. I whisper, “That’s for Sissy.”
Back to reality. There’s another bad guy on the other side of the tree, not twenty feet away from me. He speaks, “What’s going on over there, Stuart, did you find him?”
Before I have a chance to think of a comeback, I hear another recognizable voice, “This is the police. Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head.”
“Don’t shoot officer, I’m a cop. I was just driving by when I heard shots. I came up here to investigate.”
“Do you always investigate with an assault rifle? Drop the weapon now,”
“That you big Steve?” I call out from the other side of the tree.
After a slight pause, Detective Reynolds replies, “Yeah Mickke D, where’s the other one?”
The suspect drops his weapon and blurts out, “Mickke D? You have to be shitting me. I should have shot you the other day when you called me Barney.”
“The other guy fell off the mountain. The person you have over there is his partner and I’m going to guess his client, Security Guard Fredrick from Pickerington. By the way, is there an EMS unit coming? One of those bastards shot me. I’m going to need some help getting over to your side of this big damn tree.”
“Turtle, handcuff this guy, search him for weapons, read him his rights, and then could you please go over and help Mr. MacCandlish? I’ll call 911.”
The adrenaline is receding and the pain is rising in me. I slide down the rocky cliff wall and sit on the path, close my eyes and contemplate my narrow escape. If I were a cat with nine lives, I wonder how many I have left. I am really getting too old for this. I should just retire, buy a big house on the beach and watch all the girls go by and maybe occasionally invite one up for a swim in my infinity pool.
At least the level of frustration and tension I was feeling has decreased and so has the general confusion about the case. It is finally making sense. Now, there is another problem. What form of tormented evil is behind those vines? Where does the cave go, if anywhere? Should I tell anyone about my discovery?
Chapter 53: Now What?
Dr. Jon Spineback tries all day Friday to reach Stuart to no avail. As he is reading the Columbus Saturday morning newspaper, an article on page one catches his attention. The headline reads, “Man Dies on Mt. Pleasant Friday morning in Lancaster.”
Dr. Jon smiles. Finally, our PI friend is no longer a threat, he is thinking. However, as he continues reading the article, his smile turns to a frown. The dead man was identified as Stuart Peterson of Columbus. “Son of a bitch,” he says to no one in particular.
He calls his wife’s name. She is in the laundry room just off the kitchen, “Mary Jo, I think we should take a small vacation. Pack some things and we’ll go down to Key West for a while.”
“Oh, how romantic Jon. But why not to the Caribbean, maybe Antigua?”
“Sounds great, I’ll call Don Scott Field and charter a flight to Key West and we can catch a flight from there to the Caribbean. We’ll leave this afternoon.”
“Great, I’ll call my office and make plans to have someone cover for me. How long do you think we’ll be gone?”
“Not sure, just pack light; we can always buy what we need.”
Dr. Jon goes to his wall safe, removes every bit of cash, and puts it into a gym bag along with his .38 from the bedroom. He calls his office and leaves a message for his receptionist. He and Mary Jo ar
e going to take a short vacation to Canada for a couple of weeks and could she please call and cancel all of his appointments when she gets in the office on Monday.
Von Spineback reads the same article. He also could not catch up with Stuart on Friday, and now he knows why. He immediately calls Robert Dane and gives him the news. “If anyone calls you about Stu, you tell them he did some work for us as a computer consultant.”
“Sure Von, I understand, but he has always been paid in cash, there is no money trail from us to him.”
Von thinks for a minute and then replies, “Good, but I want you to erase any and all calls from us to him or him to us, office phone and cell phones.”
“Consider it done and please keep me advised,” Robert says in a pleading tone of voice.
Von’s next call is to Ginny Ridlinger. “Hey, Stu is dead. Looks like that PI killed him. I hope that he died before anyone had a chance to question him. You need to erase any calls on your cell or office phone from him right away. Was he ever in your office?”
Ginny pauses before answering, trying to digest what Von has just bestowed upon her. “No, the only time I was ever with him was when we were all up at Buckeye Lake for lunch that day. What are we going to do?”
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