by L C Hayden
He settled in for the short drive through the flat land that spread before him and seemed to lead to total emptiness. The road snaked like a twisted gray ribbon with distant crossroads, one of which would be his.
He slowed down when the odometer informed him he had traveled a bit over nine miles. He found a crossroad and took it. Once he was sure that no one driving down the highway could see him, he stopped and turned off the engine. He worked his way through the flatland and toward the headquarters. He walked quickly and quietly until he reached his destination.
Off in the near distance, the plain, brown structure zoomed before him. Three empty cars were parked in front of the building, two Jeep Chryslers, one gray and one brown, and a black SUV.
Bronson stopped, retrieved his cell, and punched in the appropriate numbers.
Once connected, he asked to speak to Chief Davis.
“Davis, here.”
“Bronson.”
“Good to hear from you. I got a lineup of six cars. We’re ready to head to the Earthly Wheat Farms Headquarters. Where are you? Don’t get ahead of us. Give us time to set up.”
“I think you’re going to be disappointed in me. I’m not anywhere near the Earthly Wheat Farms Headquarters.”
“What do you mean?” Davis tone sounded harsh.
“At the last moment, I changed my mind. I figured getting’ Daniel and Sandy out of harm’s way was a lot more important. I’ll worry about catchin’ Bobbi some other time.”
“So where are you?”
“On the road. Headin’ away from Kansas.”
“Damn it, Bronson. Why did you do that?”
Bronson could hear the anger in Davis’ voice. “You can still proceed as planned. The only different thing is that I won’t be there when she’s arrested. You’ll take all of the glory. I’ll contact you once I know my family is safe.”
“Tell me where you are, and I’ll send a couple of cars to follow you to make sure you stay safe.”
“I really appreciate that. But—oops! Battery is almost dead.” Bronson disconnected, put the cell away, and squatted down. He focused on the activity around the Earthly Wheat Farms Headquarters. He wished he had binoculars and ears, but since he didn’t, he’d have to rely on his instincts.
He hoped they worked as well as they had before.
Chapter 70
Bronson lay on his stomach, intently watching the office. A small orchard provided a bit of shade so that the right-hand side of the building thrived in the shadows. Two roads led to its main doors, one on the front and one in the back. Someone must have enjoyed gardening, because the sides of both roads were flanked by bushes that swayed in the small breeze.
Three minutes had passed since his call to Davis, and so far, nothing. Bronson was beginning to think he had made a mistake. Perhaps Davis—
With a loud bang, the front door swung open and Pablo stepped out, his hands clutching a high-power rifle. Seconds later, two men joined him. They had apparently been hiding somewhere along the road, waiting for Bronson to arrive. All three ran to the gray Jeep and jumped in.
Behind them, two men, probably the same two who watched the back road, came around the brown building and dove into the brown Jeep. All sped away. Bronson watched them until they became small dots on the horizon.
Bronson switched his attention to the building. He couldn’t detect any movement and wondered if somehow Bobbi had snuck out. Only one way to find out, and he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. He belly-crawled, slowly advancing toward the building.
He covered several yards and stopped. He had to catch his breath and his back was beginning to hurt. He was getting too old for this. He took several deep breaths and continued. He froze when he heard voices coming from the inside of the building.
Shiiit! Bobbi was not alone. He wiggled his way behind a tree. Luckily, no one had yet noticed him. The back door opened and a large man with skin thickened and textured by the wind and exposure to the sun stepped out and stared at the road as though daring Bronson to show up. His hand clasped a semi-automatic with a magazine capacity of fourteen to fifteen rounds. It looked very comfortable in his hands, definitely a weapon he was very familiar with.
Bronson hadn’t yet finished sizing the thug when the front door opened and another bear of a man stepped out. This giant was beefy and wore a scraggly barbed-wired beard. He carried a Derringer, which Bronson assumed was probably loaded with .45’s, making it a more dangerous weapon. If fired at close range, this “hand cannon” would leave a hole in his chest large enough to stick his fingers in.
What Bronson needed was some kind of distraction. He could create a noise that would draw both bodyguards away from the building. A weak premise, for sure, but what else did he have? Thankful Davis had been forced to give him one, he adjusted his bullet proof vest.
He gathered all of the hand-size rocks within his vicinity. When he had accumulated a small pile, he took a deep breath and said a quick prayer. He threw the first one, aiming for the bushes behind the cabin. He hit the target.
The bodyguard alerted to the bush.
Bronson threw a second rock.
The bodyguard took a step forward, gun in hand, ready to shoot.
Bronson wondered if he should chance throwing another one. He had no choice. He threw one, then another one immediately after that.
“Hey, Billy, get over here.”
The guard from the front ran to the back of the structure. “What’s up?”
“Over there, by the bushes. Something’s there.”
“What? Like a raccoon, maybe? Or a fox?” He trudged toward it. “I don’t see a thing.”
“I swear, there was something there.”
“Sure you saw something?”
While the two discussed the possibilities of the moving bush, Bronson scooted toward the front of the building, threw the door open, and stepped in.
Bobbi stood in the middle of the room, pointing a Ruger LC9 at him. “Welcome, Bronson. I’ve been expecting you.”
Shiiit!
Chapter 71
Bronson had an advantage. He too held his gun in front of him, ready to use. “Put the gun down, Bobbi. It’s over.”
“If indeed it’s over, then I’d rather shoot you than give up.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
“Oh yeah? Just—”
Bronson’s eyes opened wide as he gasped and stared behind her. He shook his head once as though realizing he had made a huge mistake. Regret filled his eyes as he returned his gaze to Bobbi’s face.
Bobbi smiled but did not turn around. “Billy and Rudy are here, aren’t they? So, what are you going to do now?”
Bronson remained quiet and slightly lowered his head. From behind Bobbi, neither of the two bodyguards answered.
For a fraction of a second, Bobbi removed her eyes from Bronson and turned her head slightly to look at Billy and Rudy.
That was all Bronson was waiting for. He rushed her and threw his weight against her. Both tumbled halfway across the room, both hitting the wall. Somewhere during their ordeal, Bronson’s and Bobbi’s guns flew out of their hands.
Bronson barely registered the loud blast when one of the guns fired when it hit the floor.
As Bronson straightened up, he searched for the gun. It had landed a few feet from where he stood. He dove for it.
The mighty shove that had sent Bobbi smashing backward caused her head to bang against the wall. With her knees clamped together, she dropped slowly to the floor making the sound of air escaping a balloon.
Bronson, with gun in hand, squirmed his way to her and checked for a pulse. She was alive but would be out for a long time.
One down and two to go.
The room exploded with the blast of a bullet, its target landing on the opposite end of the room. Keeping low, Bronson worked his way to a window and with the grip of the gun knocked out the glass. He returned fire.
“Bobbi, it’s us. Why are you doing this?” Billy yelled
so he could clearly be heard.
Bronson remained quiet and hidden so as not to reveal himself. He popped his head up high enough so he could see out of the window. He immediately spotted Billy hiding behind a barrel. Bronson fired again, not aiming for the barrel but close enough to frighten him.
“Rudy, let’s get the hell out of here.” Billy’s high-pitch tone told Bronson all he needed to know. “That woman has gone crazy.”
Bronson watched them creep out of their hiding places and run toward the front of the building. He fired at their feet, and they ran faster as they headed directly for the SUV, swung the doors open, and sped away.
Bronson remained by the window until the vehicle disappeared.
Bronson flopped down on the chair, adrenaline pumping through every vein in his body. Everything had worked out to his advantage, but only by luck. All police procedure and logic had walked out when he neared the warehouse. Maybe the effects of the amnesia still lingered. Maybe he should see a doctor. He promised himself he would as soon as this mess was over. In the meantime, he was thankful he had whispered a prayer.
Not having the luxury of time, Bronson bolted to his feet. He certainly didn’t want Bobbi to regain consciousness before he was ready, and he feared Pablo or any of the other thugs might change their minds and return to the warehouse.
Moving as quickly as possible, first he checked the discarded gun and pocketed it. Then he released the handcuffs from his belt loop, dragged Bobbi toward the backdoor and cuffed her to the doorknob. The car was on the other side of the field, and somehow, he’d have to get Bobbi in. Since she was unconscious, she’d be dead weight and Bronson wasn’t sure he could carry her all the way to the car.
He’d have to bring the car here, which meant leaving her alone. She was handcuffed, but what if someone returned while he was gone?
Okay, Bronson, you can do this. He took a deep breath, uncuffed her and picked her up, all one hundred and thirty pounds of her. He was barely out of the door, and he was already huffing and puffing. This wasn’t going to work.
It took most of Bronson’s energy to carry her to the orchard. He located a tree that was skinny enough to wrap her arms around it, yet firm enough to make sure she wouldn’t escape if she woke up.
He then removed the yellow scarf she was wearing and used it to gag her. “I’ll be back for you.” He trotted toward the car, and as he did, he speed-dialed Daniel’s number.
Daniel answered on the first ring. “Uncle Harry?”
“Are you and Sandy okay?” Bronson held his breath.
“Totally. No one’s come, except the maid. We sent her away. I feel kind of silly being barricaded here. How about you? Are you okay?”
“All’s fine. I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes to an hour. Be ready to head out of town.”
“I talked to Detective Hoover.”
“You called him?”
“Yes, he’s going to help.”
Good ol’ Hoover. Always coming to his rescue. He was definitely the best partner anyone has ever had. “Fill me in when I get there.” From where he was, he could see the car. He sped up. “Stay safe.” He disconnected.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Bronson parked the car as close to the orchard as possible. He stepped out and unlocked the trunk. He found Bobbi exactly where he had left her and in the same position. Again, luck stood by him. No one had returned to rescue her.
He placed her body in the trunk, slammed it shut, and headed to McPherson.
Chapter 72
Bronson didn’t particularly like to talk on the phone while driving, but sometimes he had to do what he had to do. He reached for the cell and speed dialed Hoover’s number.
The phone hadn’t even rung once before Hoover answered. “Bronson.”
“Hoover.”
“You okay, buddy?”
“Yep.”
“Of course, you are. I should have known better. I don’t know why I worry about you. What’s going on?”
“I’m headin’ back to McPherson. I have Bobbi in the trunk.”
“Bobby? I assume that’s the bad guy.”
“You assume right, but it’s not a he. It’s a she.”
“Oh really? So how can I help you?”
“I need to drop her off at the police station, but in McPherson, I don’t know whom I can trust. I think some of the officers are in her payroll. Can’t prove it, though.”
“Gut feeling?”
“Yep.” Bronson saw a car approaching. He slowed down. If it was a police car, he didn’t want to attract any undue attention.
“You can always count on your gut feelings.”
“Not sure anymore.” He glanced down at his speedometer. It registered at 53, a nice safe number.
“Oh? What happened?”
The car filled with kids on the back seat passed him. Bronson breathed easier and resumed his speed. “We’ll talk later. In the meantime, I don’t know what to do with the body in the trunk.”
A moment of hesitation followed. “Body?”
“Nah. She’s still alive. I was going for dramatic.”
“I see. It doesn’t become you. So how far are you from Wichita?”
“Maybe an hour. Why?”
“I’m friends with several police officers over there. If you drop her off at the police station, I can guarantee that she will be properly booked.”
Bronson gave Hoover the thumbs-up symbol even though he knew Hoover couldn’t see him. “Sounds like a plan.”
“What about a police escort? You can all rendezvous somewhere on I-35. Think you can do that?”
Another thumbs-up. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Good. How long before you get on I-35?”
“I’ve got to stop to pick up Daniel and Sandy. They should be ready to go, but to be on the safe side, I’ll call you when we leave the motel.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Hoover said, repeating the same phrase Bronson had just used.
Bronson smiled. It felt good to smile. “I’ll call you then, and we’ll set up the details.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Bronson shook his head. Sometimes Hoover didn’t know when to let go of things. Bronson cleared his throat and put on his dramatic voice. “I have to tell you somethin’ because I want you to hear it from me. You’ll be the first to know.”
“Oh, oh. Sounds serious. What gives?”
Bronson paused for a full effect. “I got a new Honey.”
“What?” Hoover’s voice was higher pitched than usual.
Bronson could easily picture Hoover’s shocked face—his eyes widening, his jaw slowly dropping, his look of disbelief. Oh, this was good. Very good. “Before you start lecturin’, promise me you’ll give my new Honey a chance. She really is sweet, loveable, and kind. And smart, too. Very smart. I’m sure she’ll grow on you.”
“Bronson, stop to think what you’re doing. What about Carol?”
“She doesn’t know about Honey, but I’m takin’ her home to meet Carol.”
“Have you completely flipped?”
In the far horizon, McPherson began to make its presence known. “I’m close to the motel now. We’ll talk later. Just think about what I said.” Before Hoover could respond, Bronson disconnected. He slowed down as he entered the town and spotted the motel.
He knew something was wrong when he saw the door to his room, Room 21, wide open.
Chapter 73
Bronson parked at the opposite end of the parking lot, opened the glove compartment, took out the handgun, and checked it. Satisfied, he stuffed it in his pocket. He gave a once over look around him. No one seemed to be particularly interested in him.
He worked his way to his room, walking as close to the wall as possible. When he neared the room, he plastered his back against the wall, and slowly peeked in. A very pale Daniel sat ramrod straight on the bed, constantly rubbing his hands. Honey sat beside him.
When Bronson partially stuck his head in,
she alerted by raising her head and staring at him.
Bronson whispered the command, “Stay.” He put his lips together and let out some air, making a sound similar to pheet.
Daniel looked up, spotted Bronson, and barely shook his head. His hand formed a pistol and he thrust his head back a bit, indicating the bathroom.
Sandy, nowhere in sight. Someone—or someones—were in the bathroom holding a gun to Sandy’s head. Bronson nodded and signaled for him to wait.
Daniel nodded.
Bronson scooted back against the wall so that whoever was holding Sandy hostage couldn’t see him. He bolted to the car, threw the door open, and slid in. He drove to his side of the motel and parked the car two doors down from his room.
He opened the trunk and was relieved to see that Bobbi had regained consciousness. She watched him through animal-like eyes, filled with hatred.
“Come on,” Bronson said. “You’re needed a lot sooner than I had hoped for.” He helped her out but didn’t undo the handcuffs. He led her to Room 21. When they stepped in, Bronson signaled Daniel with a nod of his head, telling him to get out.
Daniel shook his head. Instead, he stood and walked to the other side of the bed, the one closest to the bathroom.
Bronson glared at him but said nothing.
Daniel shrugged.
Bronson stepped all the way in, dragging Bobbi along. He closed the door behind him. He retrieved the semi-automatic and shoved it against Bobbi’s back.
“He’s here.” Daniel directed his voice toward the bathroom.
The door slowly opened.
“Come out,” Bronson said. “I know you’re there.”
The door to the bathroom squeaked as Pablo thrust it open. The first one out was Sandy. Close behind her, Pablo stood with a gun pointed at her head.
“You got what I want, and I got what you want,” Bronson said.
“You’re like blocking the exit.” Pablo held onto Sandy tighter, forcing her to squeak.
