by A.R. Wise
Chapter Ten
“Grant!” Bentley followed the dealer out into the parking lot. “I’m going to shoot.”
Lincoln grabbed the digital recorder and then chased after them both, bewildered by what’d caused Grant’s dramatic reaction. He got a better look at what Bentley was holding, and saw the yellow stripes on its side that revealed it to be a stun gun.
Grant was headed to his car, fumbling with his keys as he continued to repeat, “I didn’t say nothing.”
“Last warning,” said Bentley. He waited for a second, giving Grant a chance to stop trying to escape, and then he fired.
Three wires shot forth from the tip of the gun. The wires were attached to prongs, two of which stuck in Grant’s coat and the third in his right cheek. Spasms caused him to jerk about in place, He still held onto the handle of his car as he shook, as if it was impossible to release. He sputtered before collapsing into a puddle in the parking lot.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Lincoln, confusion and shock outweighing his anger.
The restaurant’s hostess came out after them, her heels clicking on the pavement. “What happened? What’s wrong with Grant? I’m calling the police.”
Lincoln turned to deal with her, “No, don’t do that.”
“I think I should,” she said. “I think I should call…”
“There’s no need to call the police. We’re… uh…” He struggled to come up with an excuse. “I’m a P.I.”
“You’re a cop?”
“No,” said Lincoln, making sure not to mislead her. “I’m a private investigator.”
“Does that mean you can shoot people?”
“It means that… Yeah, I guess so. Sure.” He looked over at Bentley. The young man had run over to Grant’s side and had his knee placed on the dealer’s back. “We can make arrests.”
“Is he being arrested?”
“What do you think?” asked Lincoln, trying desperately not to outright lie. It was true that Private Investigators could make arrests, because any citizen could legally make an arrest if they thought a crime had occurred. In Colorado, private investigators had no more rights than a regular citizen, but this hostess certainly didn’t know that.
“I think I should still call the police.”
Lincoln took out his money clip. “There’s no need for that. Here, let me pay for the sconce that broke.” He handed the hostess a hundred dollar bill, and she scowled at him as if furious that he would try to bribe her.
“You can call the cops,” said Lincoln, realizing that she wasn’t going to simply take his bribe. “But then you’re going to have to explain why a known drug dealer has been operating on your premises.” He raised his brow as he continued to offer her the money. “Or you could just let us take him in and never have to worry about it.”
She looked over at Grant, and then back at Lincoln with pursed lips and an icy stare. She snatched the money from him and said, “Get out of here.”
Lincoln waited until she went inside, and then ran over to Bentley. “What the hell are you doing?”
Bentley was still kneeling on the dealer and was now zip-tying Grant’s hands behind his back. “It’s all right. I’ve got him.”
Grant’s face was in a puddle, and he was sputtering as the muddy water kept invading his mouth. “Ass… hole… Get me up… I’m drowning.”
“You’re not drowning,” said Bentley. “How can you be drowning if you’re whining like a bitch?”
“You’re drowning me in a… in a fucking puddle!”
Bentley got off the dealer and then pulled at the tie on his wrists. The taser’s prong was still stuck in Grant’s cheek, and Lincoln winced at how painful it looked as it pulled at the skin.
The left side of Grant’s face was soaked and dripping, and he clenched his left eye shut as he was forced to let Bentley lead him across the parking lot. He stumbled, but Bentley kept him moving with authority, like a cop walking a perp to a squad car.
“Where you taking me? I didn’t say shit! I didn’t say a fucking thing, man.”
“Keep your voice down,” said Bentley. “Settle down. Stop fighting me. Would you stop fighting me?”
“Nah, man. You fried me. Tried to drown me. Now you’re kidnapping me. Motherfucker!”
“You’re not in any danger,” said Lincoln. “No one’s going to hurt you.” He clicked the alarm on his key fob and pointed to the Mercedes. “Put him in the back seat.”
Bentley did as he was told, and then got in the back of the car to sit beside Grant. Lincoln groaned in frustration before getting in the driver’s seat.
“Where you taking me?” asked Grant. “People know I came here. They’re gonna know if I go missing. You know that, right? You can’t disappear me. You’ll get caught.”
“No one’s disappearing anybody,” said Lincoln. “Just shut up for a second.” He adjusted the rearview so that he could look at his cohort without having to turn around. “Bentley, mind telling me what the hell just happened?”
“It’s a misunderstanding.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Lincoln with sarcastic flair. “Is that it? Just a little misunderstanding?”
“Grant and I know each other,” said Bentley. “Sort of.”
“Yeah, we fucking know each other,” said Grant. “I know you and the twins beat the shit out of me. I know you’re a piece of shit. I know you’re working for the PettiCrew. I know that…”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” said Lincoln. “Who’s he working for?”
“The PettiCrew man,” said Grant. “Come on, don’t fake like you don’t know, you suit-wearing, goomba, cunt-fuck.”
“Chalk that one up for the boards,” said Lincoln. “No one’s ever called me a cunt-fuck before.”
“I’m not part of any crew,” said Bentley. “We’re not with them.”
“Who’s the PettiCrew?” asked Lincoln.
“They’re some old friends of mine,” said Bentley. “They’re related to Clyde Pettigrew, the guy you met at the office.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
“I didn’t think it would come up. Honest,” said Bentley. “I used to pal around with those guys in high school, and I knew they were into some shady stuff, but I never got involved with that. One time I was with them when they met up with Grant. They went after him for something or other, I’m not even sure what it was. Something about owing them money. I didn’t know who Grant was. It wasn’t until I saw him at the restaurant that I realized we knew each other.”
“Wait, wait,” said Grant. “So you guys are for real? You’re not here to, you know, shut me up?”
“No,” said Lincoln as he adjusted the rear view again so that he could see between the two men in the back seat. The hostess was standing with her arms crossed at the restaurant’s entrance, a phone in her hand as she glared at the car. “The last thing we want is for you to be quiet.”
“Then why the fuck’d you taze me?”
Lincoln started the car.
“Where we going?” asked Grant, panicked. “Where you taking me?”
“We’ve got to get out of here before they call the cops,” said Lincoln. “If you’ve got a car here, you can pick it up later.” Lincoln backed up, and drove away from the restaurant, uncertain where they were headed next.
“If you’re not kidnapping me, then cut these fucking ties, man. They’re tight as hell.”
“Do you have a knife in here?” asked Bentley of Lincoln.
“No.”
“Then you’re going to have to wait,” said Bentley. “Sorry.”
“You asshole. You tied me up with no way of letting me go? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Why’d you run?”
“Because the last time I saw you, you were breaking my face! What the hell was I supposed to do?”
“All right, quit it,” said Lincoln. “Both of you. Grant, we don’t mean you any harm. Bentley, I’m not sure what you were thinking. You should’ve
just let him run.”
“I didn’t want word getting back to my uncle or anyone else involved that we were talking to Grant. This whole thing’s got the potential to blow up in our faces.”
“What whole thing?” asked Grant. “What the hell did you get me mixed up in here? Is this some cartel bullshit?”
“No. We told you the truth, for the most part,” said Lincoln. “We’re looking into the disappearances of Betty and Devin, and that led us to the parking lot at the Boulder Valley Mall. Which led us to you. The way we figured, either you helped Trent kill those kids or you lied about not selling him drugs.”
“I thought you said there was a dude in jail who confessed.”
“That was a lie,” admitted Lincoln. “But that was the only lie I told you. We wanted to get you to agree to a meeting, and I was worried that if you helped Trent kill those kids you wouldn’t talk to us unless you thought we were looking in the wrong direction.”
“Playing me for a fool, huh? Asshole. I didn’t kill those kids. You think the cops would’ve let me walk if I did? You think Trent wouldn’t rat me out if I helped him kill someone? Come on, man.”
Lincoln pulled over at a store that sold hiking equipment. “I’ll run in and buy a pair of scissors or a knife to cut the zip tie. You two play nice back there.”
He went in the store and perused their selection of pocket knives. He settled on a Kershaw Skyline, a thin collapsible blade that was less than five inches closed and easily slid into his pocket without weighing his pants down.
When he got back out to the car, Grant and Bentley were arguing. He told them both to shut up as he went around to Grant’s side and cut the tie on his wrists.
“Am I free to go, or are you going to taze me again?”
“Why don’t you let me drive you wherever it is you’re headed?”
“Fuck that,” said Grant. “I’ve had enough of you two to last me my whole damn life.” He got out of the car and then flipped them off with both hands. “You can go to hell, bro. But give me my money first.”
“I gave your money to the hostess,” said Lincoln. “You can get it from her.”
“Man, fuck ya’ll. I’m out.”
“I thought you wanted to help clear Trent’s name,” said Lincoln.
“Yeah, sure, but I’m not willing to get myself killed doing it. You heard my piece. I don’t know if I sold to Trent that day or not, that’s the truth. But I don’t think Trent killed those kids neither. My money’s on Devin’s dad. Scope that fucker out. Peace.”
“Can we reach you on your cell?”
“Fuck no,” said Grant as he started to walk away.
Bentley got out of the car and came around to stand beside Lincoln. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”
“You think?” asked Lincoln, smirking as he pointed at the passenger side door. “Get in. You’ve got some explaining to do, kid.” He walked around to the other side and got in, grumbling as he did. Before starting the car, he glared at Bentley and asked, “Is there something you need to tell me? Because, I know you’re a hothead and all, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a surprise when you whipped out a stun gun the minute Grant took off. What was that all about?”
“I told you, I recognized him from back in the day and I figured he would try and run once he saw me. That’s why I hung back by the bathroom while the two of you talked.”
“Would Pettigrew kill Grant for talking?”
“No, I don’t think so. I hope not. Trust me, I don’t know a hell of a lot more about him than you do.”
“And it’s just a coincidence that you and some of Pettigrew’s thugs roughed up Grant back in the day? I’m supposed to believe that?”
“It’s the truth,” said Bentley. “I guess it’s just a small world.”
“Uh huh,” said Lincoln, staring suspiciously at Bentley. “It’s just a big coincidence?”
“It is, I swear. Although, it’s not really that surprising. Part of my family is in that world. There’s nothing I can do about that. I grew up surrounded by those people, and I never knew what they were into; not until I was older. I knew some of Mr. Pettigrew’s nephews. A couple of twins. They were a few years older than me, and back in high school I felt like it was cool to hang out with them. They’d take me around to do pick-ups, and I got mixed up in a few things here and there, but I was never in on it. I was a big guy for my age, and they’d take me around with them and pretend I was part of their crew. They’d throw me a few bucks, and nothing bad ever came of it, until they roughed up Grant that one time. After that, I quit hanging out with them. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Have you been telling your uncle about our investigation behind my back? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you do.”
“I haven’t told him anything,” said Bentley in earnest.
Lincoln kept his gaze steady, pretending to be judging Bentley’s honesty. He remembered doing this with Darcy when she was a teenager, and how he did everything he could to convince her that he had the ability to see through any web of lies she tried to create. He never could, of course, and he always ended up believing his daughter. Who knows what sort of things she got away with?
“All right, I believe you,” said Lincoln. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got work to do.”
Arthur
“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Pierce.”
Arthur was at home, researching the Indiestarters campaign that’d been set up to investigate the disappearances of Betty Kline and Devin Harcourt. He was collecting information about the man who was looking into the closed case.
Lincoln had put a number on the site for tips that utilized an internet based phone system that would forward calls to him. He’d planned on remaining anonymous by doing this, but Arthur’s call was forwarded directly to the owner’s cell, which had this message, ‘This is Lincoln. Leave me a name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
Arthur assumed the owner of the site was local, and began to search for people in the area with that first name. There weren’t many, and a simple white-pages search yielded an interesting discovery. There was a Lincoln Pierce associated with a young woman named Darcy Pierce, both of whom lived in Boulder. Arthur knew Darcy Pierce.
Darcy and Betty Kline had known each other.
Darcy Pierce and some of her friends started a band in Betty’s honor. They went on to have minor, local success, even participating in a concert in Denver that was meant to help fund an investigation into the case. That investigation, like all the others before it, had turned up nothing, and Arthur decided not to retaliate at the time. That’d been a mistake.
Darcy apparently refused to give up. She must’ve convinced her father to start the site. She wouldn’t let this go, and now she would pay the price for her tenacity.
After he was certain that Lincoln and Darcy were the culprits, Arthur used his account with a research site for lawyers to learn as much as he could about the Pierce family. Within minutes he was reading about Lincoln’s divorce, Darcy’s health issues, tax records, and all of their credit information. Neither of them were careful about their online footprints, leaving them susceptible to this sort of research. It was astounding how naked the average person was without even realizing it.
Arthur had all the information about Darcy and Lincoln Pierce that he needed. He was determined to prevent them from interrupting him. After all, he was just getting started. The predator hadn’t even gotten a chance to hunt yet.
And he planned to hunt.
There were ways to deal with this without resorting to violence, but he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them both. According to their IndieStarters site, they were going to post updates about their investigation frequently. That was good, but Arthur wanted more. He wanted to know as much as possible about what they were doing.
He went to the website of Darcy’s band, The Murder Betties, and reviewed their upcoming schedule. They had a show at a bar in Loveland that night, and Arthur de
cided to make an appearance.
Arthur went up the basement’s wooden stairs and unlatched the bar securing the door. He pushed the heavy door open, and then closed it behind him as he headed into the modest kitchen.
His house was impeccably clean. There wasn’t a dish out of place, or a scrap of garbage left out. Every time he used a dish, he washed it. Every time he took off his clothes, they went in the hamper to be washed the following day. It was important that this part of his life, what he thought of as his exterior, was kept immaculate.
Arthur went to the bathroom, took off his shirt, folded it, and placed it aside. He admired his physique, flexing for his own benefit, proud of his muscle definition. Next he leaned in close to the mirror to inspect his salt-and-pepper beard, pushing aside a bottle of hydrogen peroxide as he did. He ran his fingers through his bushy facial hair. No one who’d met him ten years ago would recognize him today. He was certain of it.
He wanted to go see Darcy’s band play, which was risky. It would be a disaster if she happened to recognize him, but a crowded, dimly lit bar was a better place to spy on Darcy than anywhere else. He was confident she wouldn’t know who he was.
She’d never know he was watching.
