Paramedic Killer

by Patterson, Pat

  “Hold on, we thought you two were ambushed.”

  “They lost. There’s three fools in pointed hoods out there needing burial.”

  “Sir—” Clean glanced at the second level of the clubhouse. Dust and smoke drifted from the splintered openings that had once been windows. “Where’s Mullins and Rat?”

  “Up there.” Rico shook his head and keyed his Motorola. “CSD, come on in. Tell that ambulance crew to stand by.”

  “Roger.”

  “Hose,” Rico continued. “You and Clean get back upstairs soon as they arrive. Find Keith and Rat. They may still be alive.”

  “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

  Rico was certain he was seeing things when Mullins and Rogers limped around the corner of the building. Covered with dust and debris, they looked as if they had just crawled from beneath a pile of busted sheetrock. “We’re okay,” Mullins chimed, teeth black with soot. “Can’t kill a couple of old Knights like us, boss.”

  “Rat,” Rico shouted running over. “You all right?”

  “Just a little busted up, sir.” Rat drew a shallow breath. “God gave Keith some mighty skilled hands.”

  “And you, Keith?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. Hose,” Rico ordered. “You and Clean get these two out to that EMS unit soon as CSD arrives.”

  “No, sir,” Mullins sounded. “I’m not leaving till we bag every one of those red devils!”

  “All right then.” Rico sighed and walked back over to the two men lying on the gravel. With a dusty boot he kicked the bigger of the two Devils in the belly. “Get up, fatso.”

  The brute grunted, struggled to his knees, and stood up, flexing his fists.

  “Oh, tough guy, huh? Suppose I grab that shovel and smash your face in?” The Klansman puffed up his cheeks and spit a wad of yellow sticky sputum into Rico’s face. “Oh, son,” Rico chuckled, wiping the slime from his face. “Shouldn’t a done that.” Rico grabbed the hulking Devil by the throat, shoved him against the sheet metal wall, and lifted him off the ground, nearly crushing his tree-sized neck. “Where’s Bobby Canaday?”

  “Lieutenant,” Rat cried. “You’re killing him!”

  The biker’s eyes bulged. He beat and pulled Rico’s wrists, but Rico refused to let go.

  “Lieutenant—” Rat pushed away from Clean and limped over wheezing. “The Lord has brought us this far, sir. You’ve got to trust him now. Let him go.”

  Rico glanced at Rat and saw the compassion in his wounded man’s eyes.

  “Let him go,” Rat repeated, his voice gentle and healing. “Let him go.”

  Rico hesitated and released his grip. The Devil fell to the gravel coughing and gasping for air, and for a moment Rico was certain he had killed him. The sound of roaring engines caught his attention. He glanced up to see a half-dozen sheriff’s cars race from the woods and stop at the front gate. One of the deputies jumped out and cut the heavy chain, and then all six cars entered the compound. Hicks wrapped an arm around Rat and assisted him toward the cars.

  “Clean, you, Keith, and Hose lead these deputies upstairs and sweep the building again. There’s two or three other Devils somewhere inside the complex. Round ’em up and bring ’em down here. Now,” Rico said turning back to the humbled Devil. “Bobby Canaday … where is he?”

  “Gone,” the man responded in a croaking high-pitched voice.

  “Where?”

  “Durham—” Cough, cough. “Going tonight. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Said he has a job to finish first.”

  “What job?”

  The Devil shook his head. Rico picked up the shovel.

  “No, wait! Don’t! There’s one more paramedic…”

  Rico raised the shovel. “And…”

  “Bobby went to…”

  “What!”

  “Kill him!”

  Rico turned to Ham. “Call Little and make sure he has Jim Stockbridge. Lock him down! Tie him down if necessary. This whole thing’s about him now.”

  “But, L-T,” Ham responded. “I just got a call from dispatch. We’ve got another problem. We need to get Keith out to Core Creek Island ASAP. It seems Eric Strong got himself tangled up with another bomb.”

  CHAPTER

  27

  SATURDAY—22:49—SHOAL SURVIVOR (BEAUFORT Inlet) Shoal Survivor’s bow plowed through the calm sea like a spoon through creamy foam. The mighty little red towboat, operated by his longtime friend Henry Cabot, pulled the six-ton vessel with the utmost of ease. Jim hated being towed. It offended his manhood. But he felt relieved to have made the six-mile ocean passage on the outside of Shackelford Banks without incident, and even more so that the oft-impassable Beaufort Channel was flat. But they still had another five miles to go, and he wouldn’t relax until the girls were safe at home. He stood in the cockpit and looked at the shattered fiberglass. The pellets from Canaday’s gun had done serious damage. “Idiot,” he murmured. “You never should’ve put them in harm’s way.”

  “Jim,” Valerie said. “Quit mumbling and come sit down.”

  Jim walked forward and sat down on the foredeck between the two girls. Valerie wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “It’s just been a really hard night.”

  “Me too.” Jim kissed her on the cheek. “I feel horrible about putting you two through that.” He glanced at Melanie. She looked confused, scared, and reluctant to make eye contact. He nudged her with his elbow. “Are you okay?”

  Melanie shook her head. “That was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me. I thought we were going to die.”

  “Everyone’s fine now,” Valerie said. “We’re all fine.”

  “But, Val, I just shot a man.”

  “No,” Jim said. “You shot at a man.”

  “And chased him away,” Valerie added. “You probably saved our lives.”

  “But I’m supposed to be a leader. I preach non-violence every day.”

  “Melanie—” Jim took her hand. “Listen to me, girl. Would you trust a preacher that had never committed a sin? No one knows better than you do, now, the absolute power of guns. You might say this makes you an expert.”

  Melanie sniffled and wiped her nose. “Well, at least no one can say I’ve never fired one.”

  “Right. Hey,” Jim said. “See that place? That’s the Coast Guard station where I got started.”

  “Cool. Look at that ship. All the lights on deck must mean they’re going somewhere.”

  “Well, that one’s used primarily for managing buoys and channel markers, like the big red and green ones you see floating out there in the channel. CG has other boats for rescue and intervention.”

  “Like that big silver one there? The one with the red stripe down the bow?”

  “Yep. Now that one’s always going somewhere. Ready to go, anyway. Search and rescue missions, law enforcement, stuff like that. See how it’s pointed toward the channel? If they get a distress call, all they’ve got to do is take off. Diesels never stop running. They can be underway in minutes.”

  “What about those little boats?”

  “Those are used mostly for inland waterway work.”

  “Weren’t you a rescue swimmer? Like the ones I saw on that movie?”

  “For a while.”

  “Is it true what I see on those TV shows about the Coast Guard? Do they really go out in hurricanes?”

  “That’s up to the captain. The safety of the crew is his first priority. But it’s not all bad, Mel. We flew a few missions in the Caribbean.

  “Did you save many people?”

  Jim chuckled. “A few.”

  “Is that when you decided you wanted to be a paramedic?”

  “I think so.”

  Valerie leaned against him and took his arm. Jim suddenly didn’t mind so much being towed. He relished her attention, the warmth of her body, and the smell of her fading sunscreen. He sat patiently as the boat
slipped quietly past Taylor’s Creek, under the Beaufort high-rise, and finally into the home stretch. Ahead, he could just make out the fine details of Pair-A-Docks Marina, less than a mile away as the seagull flies, but more than two through the twisted, crooked channels of the shallow Newport Sound.

  “Jim,” Melanie said a touch of concern in her voice. “Do you think Jimmy got that bad guy?”

  “I’m sure he did, Mel. He had a fast boat, and I get the feeling he knows the waters back there pretty well.”

  “Do you think he will call me?”

  “I’m certain he will. He asked me for your number.”

  “Hey look,” Melanie said pointing back toward Beaufort. “Is that the ferry?”

  “Yep.” He glanced at his watch … 20:59—right on time.

  The ship overtook them, passed to starboard, and slowed for its final approach to Core Creek Island. After the diesel fumes cleared, Jim got his first whiff of Core Creek Island—the warm dirt, flora, and age-old oyster shell muck that always welcomed him after a long day on the water. It was good to be home. It was also time to get moving. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll be there in five minutes. Let’s put out the dock fenders and get the lines ready.” The three weary sailors went to work fetching dock lines and hanging rubber dock fenders over the side of the boat. Jim heard the radio squelch about the time the last line was set. “Shoal Survivor, Tow Boat.” Jim stepped into the cockpit and keyed the mic. “Go ahead, Henry.”

  “Where do you want me to leave you? Fuel dock?”

  “West dock if possible. I’m in slip number twenty-five, at the end.”

  Henry guided the boats past the outer channel marker and turned into Core Creek harbor. The water calmed to a glasslike surface behind the breakwater. The marina seemed brighter than usual. He decided it was just his mood. He noticed the Winchester leaning against the bulkhead and decided he had better go stow it. “Be right back,” he said grabbing the gun and going below. He returned it to the foul weather gear closet, and then stepped into the galley to tidy up a bit.

  “Jim,” Valerie called. “Can you come up here?”

  Jim peeked up through the companionway. “What’s up?”

  “Something’s happening at the marina.”

  Jim climbed topsides. A small crowd stood gathered on the marina lawn gazing at Jim’s Place. Two police boats were tied up to his dock.

  “What in the world?”

  The towboat slowed and came to a gradual stop. Henry untied the towline and tossed it to Jim. Jim in turn tossed it to Sonny who stood at the end of the dock. A minute later they had Shoal Survivor tied between the pilings of her slip.

  “Sonny—” Jim set the spring line and turned to his friend. “What’s happening at my house? Why all the cops?”

  A bushy eyebrow rose over Sonny’s left eye. “You may not believe this, son, but someone planted a bomb in Jim’s Place.”

  “A bomb? There’s a bomb in my house?” The total exhaustion that had settled over Jim vanished with a sudden burst of renewed energy. He jumped in the Zodiac, pulled the outboard to life, and motored across the creek. “Stay back,” a cop demanded. Jim ignored him and slid into a pylon between the police boats. “Sir,” the cop repeated. “You can’t be here. Do not get out of your boat!”

  “That’s my house!”

  “Get back now!”

  “But there’s a bomb.”

  Jim reached for the dock. The cop pulled his handcuffs.

  “All right,” Jim said raising his hands. “I’m leaving.” He turned the dinghy around and returned to West Dock. He felt angry, confused, and embarrassed, but more than that he felt profound fear. The killers knew where he lived.

  “Jim,” Valerie shouted. “Are you crazy?”

  The dinghy bumped against the dock and swung sideways with the current. “It’s my house, Val. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Jim, this is getting scary now.”

  Jim glanced at Melanie. She seemed to be shaking with panic. He walked over and feigned nonchalance. “It’s okay, honey. Everyone’s safe.”

  “Jim?” Valerie said wiping her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

  “First, we’re going to calm down.”

  “Was it the burned man?” Mel cried. “The man in the mask?”

  “Sonny?” Jim asked. “Did you see anything?”

  “No, but your neighbor did.”

  “Sadie?” Jim glanced about at the crowd. “Is she all right?”

  “Jim,” a quiet female voice cut in. “I’m right here.”

  Sadie stepped off Novel Idea and walked slowly toward him. “Jim, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

  “Your fault?”

  Sadie glanced over his shoulder and then flinched and backed away. Valerie sidled up next to him and grabbed his hand. “Um, Jim?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Val, this is my friend, Sadie Miller. Sadie this is Valerie.”

  “Sadie Miller? The author?” Valerie gave Jim a playful shove. “Jim, you didn’t tell me you had a famous author living at Pair-A-Docks. And right beside you, too. Imagine. Hello—” Valerie extended her right hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Sadie.”

  “Hi, Valerie. Jim has told me all about you.”

  “Oh?”

  “He tells me you’re a doctor.”

  “He does?”

  “He also tells me you run the emergency department at the local hospital.”

  “You two must spend a lot of time talking. Tell me, Sadie. Did he happen to mention that we’re engaged to be married?”

  “Um—” Sadie glanced at Jim. “I believe he did.”

  “You know, you’re really much prettier in person. Your pictures do you no justice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve read both of your books.”

  “I hope you liked them.”

  “I love your main character, Abby. She’s so adventurous. Cunning, too. She always seems to get her man.”

  “Well, I do try to add a bit of believable tension to my stories.”

  “I’ve read your bio, too, about how you move from place-to-place while writing your novels. How you meet the locals, build your main characters around them, and how you always fall in love. That is so romantic. Is that why you’re here, Sadie? Have you found your man yet?”

  Sadie glanced at Jim as if to say, “Get me out of this.” He felt his face redden.

  “You know,” Valerie said, tone sharpening. “I believe Jim would make an excellent character for your next book. He and Abby should get along very well.

  Neither one of them can be trusted.”

  “Val?”

  “Jim, honey, it’s been a terribly long day, and I have to work tomorrow morning. I think Mel and I will catch the last ferry back to Beaufort.”

  “Val, don’t go.”

  “I have a feeling,” Valerie said, a sardonic tone to her voice, “we’ll all be a whole lot safer if I just leave. Good night all. Thanks for a wonderful day, darlin’. Hope they find that bomb.”

  “Valerie, stop!”

  Valerie flashed Jim a disgusted glance and walked away. Jim turned to Sadie then to Melanie and then to Sadie again. “What just happened?”

  “It’s okay,” Melanie said. “She’s just tired.”

  “What did I say, Mel?”

  “It’s what you didn’t say. I’ll talk with her on the way home. She’ll be all right. By the way, I’m heading back to Wilmington first thing in the morning.” Melanie released him and tiptoed backwards a few steps. Jim saw tears in her eyes. “Maybe after things calm down we can all go sailing again? And next time, if it’s okay, I’d like to invite Jimmy.”

  “Mel—”

  “I love you, Jim. I can’t wait to be your little sister.” Melanie turned and ran up the dock after her sister. “Val, wait!”

  “Umm…” Sadie grimaced. “That was awkward.”

  “Sadie, what did I not say?”

  “You didn’t introduce her as your fiancée.”
<
br />   “Yes, I did.”

  “No, you didn’t. Boy, she sure doesn’t like me.”

  Jim felt a fist-sized pit in his stomach. “What have I done?” He glanced at the parking lot and watched Valerie’s BMW pull away as a black Dodge Charger pulled in. The door opened even before the car had come to a stop, and Rico climbed out. He glanced about the crowd, and then spotted Jim and started across the lawn. Dressed in a black jumpsuit and Kevlar vest, he looked like a DEA agent returning from a meth-lab raid. His eyes looked focused and sharp. His step was all business.

  “Who’s that?” Sadie frowned as if taking mental notes. “What is he, SWAT?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Wasn’t that Valerie?” Rico said as he approached. “Looked incensed.”

  Jim cringed. Rico’s nose looked purple and swollen. His left hand was wrapped in a clean white bandage. “Rico, what happened to you?”

  “Later. Where was Valerie going?”

  “I tried to get her to stay. Rico, they say there’s a bomb in my house.”

  “Ma’am,” Rico said nodding at Sadie. “Would you excuse us for a moment, please?”

  Jim followed Rico to the end of the dock. “Rico, this whole night has been nuts.”

  “I heard you had a visitor out at the Cape.”

  “Bobby Canaday attacked us. He was wearing the Michael Myers’ mask.”

  “Yeah, Little told me. Anybody hit?”

  “Incredibly, no. Mel got off a shot with the Winchester.”

  “Well, I’m worried about Jimmy. No one’s heard from him since. What can you tell me about the other boat?”

  “Grady-White. Looked like a Marlin 300. Twin Yamaha 225’s—”

  “Forget the details. What color?”

  “Red, with the strangest looking logo I’ve ever seen.”

  “Laughing Satan’s face?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  Rico glanced at Jim’s Place. “They found a bomb under your bar. I sent one of our cops to wait for you. Apparently he stepped on a trip wire. Our explosives expert is in there right now.” Just then one of the sliding glass doors at Jim’s Place opened. Two men walked out onto the deck, both wearing the same black tactical suit as Rico. Both men’s shoulders dropped as if to demonstrate relief. One walked to the railing and gave a thumbs-up signal. Jim saw him reach for his mic. Rico’s radio crackled.