On The Devil's Side of Heaven

by Roger Peppercorn

“Seriously, you’ve got issues, you know that?”

  “It’s going to be a long night and an even longer day tomorrow. Fritz is holed up in his room for now, but you and I have to get ready for our guests. When they get here, both of them and anyone else they decide to bring along, dies.”

  “He green-lit that? I mean he actually told you to kill these two, Jacobs and the cop?”

  “Ex-cop and basically, yeah he did.”

  “So you’re improvising now, that it?”

  She took a bite and looked at him in a way she had never done before. Sam watched her chew slowly, her eyes burning with hatred. “It’s now my show, Sam. You have a problem with taking orders from a woman?”

  Sam felt the weight of the gun in his hand as he weighed his options. “I’m good with you calling the shots but you’ve got to pull the emotion out of it, otherwise, this will end with us in cuffs or taking up residence in our own plot of land.”

  She took another bite and nodded her head. “Trust me on this Sam. Also, if there was any emotion involved those two wouldn’t be the only two corpses on the ground.”

  He bounced the gun against his leg. Their eyes locked on each other. Jenny said tersely. “Only problem I’ve got now is which one of those two I want to kill more: the ex-cop because I missed or Ronald Jacobs because of what he did to Pete.”

  He grunted and scoffed. “When the time comes, it’s not like you will have a choice.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. When they get here, Jacobs will be the one who comes for Fritz. So your job is to let him come ahead and take care of the cop.”

  “Ex-cop.”

  “Whatever Sam! The point is, when they come, if I get a chance to put them both down, I’m gonna do the killing. Otherwise, I’ll tell you which one is yours to take down. We clear on this?”

  “Yeah Jenny, we’re clear.”

  “Good. Now get those two out onto the back deck while I finish eating. When you’re done, you’ve got first watch. Wake me at dawn,” she ordered as she turned and headed back towards the living room.

  Sam watched her go. When he was satisfied she was gone, he sat down and rubbed his hands over his face. He had killed before, but it had always been done without any personal feelings involved. Now everything seemed to be sliding out of control. Pete, Scott and Tony were dead, Jenny was on a campaign of revenge and as far as Fritz was concerned, he had no idea if the man was even alive or not. And if he was alive, how much did he know about what had just happened?

  He looked over at the two dead men on the floor. He had been lucky that Tony had been clumsy when he went for his piece. Scott, on the other hand, had been pretty good with how he had pushed off. Half a second faster and he would have killed Jenny and him, back-to-back.

  Getting up, he patted down the bodies. He pulled their wallets and cell phones and tossed them on the counter. Next, he rounded up their guns and ammo. There was no telling how this was going to play out but one thing was for sure, you could never have too much firepower. After he had relieved them of their guns, wallets and cell phones, he grabbed them one at a time and pulled them out onto the back deck. Then he kicked snow over the tops of them.

  Next, he grabbed a bottle of bleach from under the sink and wiped the blood up using an old mop and some rags he had found. The whole thing took about an hour to complete. When he was through, he looked at the clock and saw it was just after two in the morning. Daylight this time of year wouldn’t happen until almost seven. He went looking for Jenny when he was through. He found her sitting on the floor upstairs, tucked in behind an alcove in the wall. She had an MP-5 submachine gun on the ground next to her and an automatic pistol in her lap.

  “Everything is cleaned up. Just letting you know so, you know…” he let the thought trail off.

  “Fine, now go back downstairs and watch the monitors like I asked you to do.”

  “Where’s Fritz?”

  She tilted her head back to the right, “Down the hall, sleeping like a baby.”

  “Come get you around seven?”

  “Fine, now run along. And Sam, you had better not fall asleep.”

  He nodded and turned to go. Sam didn’t make it very far before he stopped and turned to look at her.

  “What?” she spat out.

  Sam went to tell her that the ride they were on wasn’t worth the price of admission. That maybe it was time to pack it in and seek their future on a beach, or somewhere else where killing wasn’t part of their job description.

  “Just that maybe it’s…” he began, but then saw her eyes flare in anger. The muscles in her arms flexed as her hand tightened on the gun. In that moment, he knew if he gave a voice to his thoughts she’d kill him on the spot. “Nothing, see you at seven.” He turned and headed back down the stairs, making a promise to himself that when this was over and if he was still alive, he’d cut ties with big oil and head somewhere where the weather was warm all year round. Maybe even settle down. Get out of the leg-breaking business.

  He didn’t consider himself a coward, but for all the time he had been doing this, nobody had ever stalked him. Up until now, he hadn’t ever considered Ronald Jacobs to be anything other than another job. However, he and that cop had managed to put him and Jenny on the run and the most powerful man he had ever met was in a bedroom, hiding from the demons he had unleashed on all of them.

  Chapter 36

  After Walt went to bed, Ronald stalked the house. He checked the windows and doors. Later, he sat down in front of the TV and watched the news, then checked online for any hint of public notification that they were being hunted by the government.

  There was no indication that they were being sought. The shootout in the Valley Market parking lot hadn’t made any of the local media, which he took as a sign that they were either keeping it under wraps for now or the store security hadn’t reported it.

  Ronald leaned back against the couch and thought about what the morning would bring. Walt didn’t have the clothes for a mountain raid and he didn’t keep anything on hand that would fit him. There was an Army and Navy store in town, not to mention a sporting goods store that would have everything Walt would need. That had its own issues though. He made a mental note to head out early and buy Walt some new clothes. He grinned to himself at the sight of the ill-fitting clothes he had lent him.

  The amusing thoughts didn’t last long. Jessica had almost been killed because of him, and Lori and Earl had. Over the years, people he had worked with had been killed and he had never given much thought to their passing but this was different. The people that were carrying the burden of his life’s mistakes were taking it in the teeth. That was something he couldn’t let slide.

  The promise he had made to Jessica had about run its course. Tomorrow or the next day he was going to break it, which made him sad. Letting her down was something he took seriously. Ronald dug out his phone and after he had powered it down and swapped out the SIM card, he then powered it back on and dialed a number from memory. They were going to need a little intervention if they were still alive when this thing was over.

  He listened as the phone rang on the other end. He was about to hang up when the call was answered.

  “Almost let it go to voicemail until I realized who it was that was calling me at this hour. So you had better make it good,” the man on the other end said.

  “I’m cashing in.”

  “Remind me again what exactly the currency is you're using,” the man asked flatly.

  “The ‘no questions asked’ one time favor you owe me.”

  “I know it’s been a while since you’ve been employed and I can only assume you don’t own a TV or any other device that would keep you up-to-date, but let me take this opportunity to enlighten you. I too, am not in that business anymore, so unless this is to cancel your newspaper subscription, I can’t help you,” the voice deadpanned.

  “Sorry I didn’t send a card or keep in touch, but I still need that favor. And the subscription that is g
oing to get canceled isn’t mine but someone else’s. Since this is an open line, I’m going to refrain from telling you who it is but when it happens, you’re going to need a bulldozer to bury the lead.”

  “Shit, you’ve got balls, big ones for calling me.”

  “You want to hear about it now or later, when I offer up what I have to trade?” Ronald asked.

  “No, I don’t want to hear about it right now. You still have the number to HR?”

  “Sure.”

  “Call it now and go through the proper channels.”

  “This can’t wait. I’m on a deadline.”

  “Three minutes, we’ll talk then. This is your one and only chit you get to call in.”

  Ronald smiled to himself as he ended the call.

  ***

  Over the next two days, Ronald and I prepared for what Ronald had deemed his “Alamo”. When I had asked what he meant, all he would do was shrug and ask if I had ever read about Sam Houston and Davy Crocket. I shook my head and finally gave up on getting something other than his nonsensical answers and sly mischievous grins.

  Ronald had purchased winter survival gear for both of us. Thankfully, he had picked clothes in my size. We drove up to the Alexander Lodge and stayed in a cabin not far from where our adversaries were holed up. During the day we took turns watching from the tree line and scouting the perimeter. Both of us were surprised by the lack of security. Ronald had located surveillance cameras and motion detectors that were going to prove to be difficult to get around. But other than the ‘No Trespassing’ signs we had found nailed to trees two-hundred yards out, there were no other signs of a physical presence.

  I had identified the couple who had tried to kill me in the parking lot of Valley Market and had pointed them out to Ronald. Fritz Washington had still eluded our surveillance. The winter estate was located on a high ridge about a mile from the main lodge. It easily dwarfed the other cabins and winter retreats that had been built. I admired the steeple roof over the main body. The wood had a glossy dark oak look with cedar overlays. The large beams of timber that framed the outside gave it a homey, log cabin feel. A large veranda had been built on the second floor that would allow the owner a commanding view of not only the retreat below but the surrounding valley. It was beautiful, to say the least. The bottom floor stretched out on both sides. If I had to guess, I would have put the square footage at somewhere between obscene and gross overcompensation. It wasn’t so much a home, but rather a statement of the owner’s wealth and privilege. It wasn’t just the log cabin that spoke of both wealth and opulence either. The landscaping that had taken place made it seem as if it were a castle of impenetrable solitude. Everything about it gave others the direct order to stay back. The high, swayed back evergreens that surrounded it were like Herculean gods. Large boulders had been pulled in front, giving anyone inside natural cover from an attack below and providing a natural layer of seclusion from the prying eyes of the outside world. It was a throwback to the historical oligarchy of the 1930s. About the only thing missing were the gargoyles that stood guard from atop the ramparts of Elizabethan castles.

  On the evening of the first day, we ate dinner in the main lodge. Ronald and I discreetly inquired about the cabin up above and its occupants. The waiter, maître, bartender all had the same casual shrug and noncommittal answers. After dinner we adjourned to the bar, where we both had coffee and watched the news on the large flat screen TV that was there. I admired the barkeep’s attempt at originality. The bar itself was oak and had been stained the same cherry red as the outside of the lodge. The high gloss sheen reflected the overhead dim lights, giving it a mercurial look, but the real eye-catching details were located behind the bar. Unlike the large stained glass mirror that portrayed the Duke at the Shaft, here they went with a more nautical theme.

  Inlaid were laser images of a lighthouse with the splash of the ocean breaking against the rocks below. The faint etchings of a ship could be seen moving, if the angle of your eyes were to vary from side to side. Over the top of the mirror, another large piece of oak had been cut into spindles draped with evergreens, strung out in a reef-like fashion.

  Normally in drinking establishments, glasses were suspended in some way, either over the bar itself or under it. In this case, the fine crystal glasses appeared in frosted glass cabinets. It was both elegant and tasteful. A little highbrow for the barroom haunts of my alcoholic pursuits, but any port in a storm will do. I thought that maybe before this was over, I would give him Jackie the German’s number and some pictures of the Shaft; show him what real bar splendor looked like.

  The body we had left at Pea Green wasn’t featured nor were there any pictures or stories that related to us. I wondered quietly under my breath to Ronald if the lack of news about our activities was due to a lack of discovery or if the Feds were putting a blackout over the whole thing. He shrugged but didn’t answer.

  I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander over the golden brown bottles of booze behind the bar. I watched longingly as the barkeep poured three fingers of scotch and whiskey over the perfectly round ice cubes for other customers. My need for a drink was palpable, but if Ronald noticed he didn’t comment. In fact, his demeanor had quieted down from his usual high-octane output. Instead of his normally nervous energy, he seemed to be unnaturally calm and centered.

  My thoughts and body language, however, were all over the map. I felt the sweat popping out on my forehead. My knees began to bounce rhythmically to the beating drums in my ears. I blamed it on my need for booze, but in reality, my alcoholic thirst was a distant second to the gut-wrenching knowledge that I had crossed a precipice that no cop crosses if he wanted to remain loyal to the badge.

  I was no longer under any illusions about what we were doing. Also, the realization that I had easily wiped out the line between good and evil didn’t escape me. The irony of becoming the very thing I had hated the most in what Ronald stood for had deadened my very core. I was actively participating in the stalking of human beings. My moral center had become opaque. I was no better now than the gargoyles that as a cop I had worked my whole life to keep locked away. ‘What was prison like?’ I wondered to myself.

  If I turned back now, there was a small chance I would be allowed to live out my days as a father to my kids. I glanced over at Ronald and wondered if I could do it. Did I owe it to him to stick it out? Days ago, sending him to prison would have been easy. But now, as I looked at him in profile, I wondered about who I was and where would this road lead me. When it was over, could I ensure nobody’s ticket got punched?

  The anger I began to feel climbing above my shirt collar did little to dissuade me from my own culpability in the naïve notion that this mission we had embarked upon was going to end in anything other than a landscape of littered dead bodies. When it was over, the blood spilled would be permanently interned on the wrong side of the grass and would be on my hands. I shook my head to clear out the demons who had taken refuge in my soul.

  Then, like in a dream, I felt my body lift up off the bar stool. My feet moved of their own volition, pushing me forward until my belly rested against the edge of the mahogany bar. I felt my hand shoot up, signaling the bartender for a drink. My ears heard a voice call out, “Three fingers neat and keep ‘em coming.”

  Ronald appeared at my side like an apparition. My eyes could see right through him. His mouth was moving but my ears were filled with the sounds of a freight train, or maybe it was rushing water. I strained to hear the words I knew he had to be saying. From the corner of my eyes, I saw the bartender moving toward me. His hands reached for a bottle of black label whiskey and turned toward me, pulling out a fine crystal high ball glass. Then in one deft motion, he upended the bottle and the cool liquid gold my body craved splashed three fingers deep into the glass. I watched the whiskey swirl around until it came to rest. He pushed it in front of me.

  My head turned from Ronald to the barkeep. I watched as a hand that was not my own reached out and took th
e glass. I followed its trajectory from the bar to Ronald’s face. He upended it in one smooth motion, his hand slamming the glass down hard on the bar, his mouth contorted as the whiskey moved smoothly down his gullet. My jaw fell slack. The burning need for its warm embrace was firing through the middle of my soul.

  He cupped my arm and spun me around until I was facing the door. Then I felt my back being assaulted by powerful hands. Ronald shoved me hard in the middle of the back, my feet moving clumsily forward. My arms pin-wheeled as if I had been tossed on the back of a mechanical bull. I reached out and grabbed the edge of a table to keep from toppling over. The freight train rushing through my ears and head started to subside. The normal sounds of a bar tinkled around me, my eyes catching the open-faced stares of the other bar patrons.

  By the time we were outside in the cool night air, the burning need of alcohol had begun to subside. I sucked in a large lung full of air, holding it deep. With my eyes closed and my head turned toward the night sky, I blew out my breath. Opening my eyes, I watched the misty folds of my breath dissipate into the night. The fresh smell of pine flooded my senses and the tension I had been holding in my shoulders fell away. For the first time in days, I was unexpectedly calm and relaxed.

  Ronald stepped up beside me and looked casually over at me. I met his gaze and was surprised to see the boyish eyes of my childhood friend for the first time. Shaking his head, Ronald began to sing the 1980s song Smooth Operator by Sade. “No need to ask, he’s a smooth operator, smooth operator. . .” His voice trailed off as he began walking back to the cabin.

  ***

  Late March in the mountains at times might as well be the middle of winter. During the spring months, clouds formed off the continental divide and would march across the Rockies, dumping feet of wet heavy snow. But across the Mesa, those storms moved up from the south filled with the warm air from the San Juans until it met the cool air that encases mountain tops at twelve thousand feet. Oceans of snow could blanket the table top of the Mesa in minutes. But when the weather came from the west, off the La Salle Mountains in Utah, the unburdened clouds would reform as they floated across the Mesa Valley. In its wake, Grand Junction would feel its first taste of springtime rain until it met the foreboding layer of cooler air across the Grand Mesa.