by Scott Pratt
“Where is he then?” Billy said. “Do you know that, too? It’s been several days now without a word.”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure he wishes he had grabbed his backpack before he ran. That’s going to be a bigger problem for him.”
“It’s a problem for both of you. Why didn’t you tell me you were using again? I could have helped you. Now all of this mess is just thrown out for the whole world to see. It’s a killer for business.”
“Business?” John said. “Who gives a damn about business?”
Billy turned and walked toward the door. Disillusionment was turning to anger, and John knew that was something his older brother always tried hard to contain.
“I give a damn – it’s everything I’ve worked for,” Billy said. “I didn’t build this thing up to have it blown apart by my own brother. Just because you can’t get your pathetic life together doesn’t mean I have to put up with it. We’re finished.”
Billy may have regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, but he didn’t turn around. John sat quietly in the chair. He expected to be released soon and hoped they would talk again then.
Maybe cooler heads would prevail. Maybe not.
“I’m going to find Jarvis,” Billy said. “Until then, stay out of my way.”
Chapter fourty-One
The Vols were running through the T and the crowd was cheering, but it was a subdued Saturday at Neyland Stadium. The euphoria of the previous week was long gone.
Countless fans were wearing jerseys and holding signs with the number eleven in a show of support for the missing receiver. Brett Sterling and the other two co-captains walked out for the coin toss arm in arm. It had been a draining week for the team, and for Sterling in particular. He had been quoted in a newspaper story saying Jarvis’s disappearance was the “most gut-wrenching loss I’ve ever experienced. This is real life.”
The television announcers had already laid out the whole Jarvis Thompson saga in great detail and turned their attention to the matchup with Missouri. The show must go on, they said, and Tennessee needed to find a way to win without its All-American. Simple as that.
The scene was surreal as Jarvis stared at the screen in the small cabin. He was hungry and dirty and exhausted, but at least the shackles that were digging into his ankles had been removed. His wrists, bloody and raw, remained bound in front of him. His arm ached intensely.
Still, Jarvis had kept his wits about him. His street smarts had always served him well. Even in vulnerable positions, he was looking for a mental edge, whether it was on the football field or just going about his daily life.
Jarvis had gotten a good read on his captors after being holed up together for a week. Mean Gene was intense, fond of playing with his guns, and rarely had much to say that was coherent. The wiry man had a far-away look in his eyes. Tommy, on the other hand, looked like Danny DeVito and never got tired of hearing himself talk. He was a comedian one minute, and then dead serious the next.
Jarvis didn’t expect any mercy from either man if it came right down to it.
“Looks like they’re going to play without you, kid,” Tommy said, fixed for the moment on the television screen. “Which one is taking your place?”
Jarvis continued to stare straight ahead. “Seven,” he said.
“Well, Gene, we’re pulling for lucky number seven. He’ll be my favorite player today.”
“Who are we playing?” Gene said.
Tommy laughed and cocked his head in an odd sort of way. “Mississippi, man. Get with the program. We’re the guys with the orange T’s on their helmets.”
The teams kicked off and Jarvis watched intently as Tennessee surrendered a quick touchdown. Another three-and-out by the offense and Missouri had the ball again. The Tigers were favored by a field goal, and the early momentum was with them.
The game didn’t hold the attention of either of Jarvis’s captors for long. Pretty soon Gene was pacing again with his pistol in his hand and Tommy was chattering away.
“Tell me about your father, kid,” he said. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Been a while. He tries to call me every now and then, but there isn’t much to say.”
“Was there anything good about him? I mean, did he ever do anything to help you when you were growing up? Take you fishing or anything?”
Jarvis took his eyes off the television. Tommy’s sudden interest in a man he had never really known was puzzling.
“He wasn’t around much. I don’t miss him.”
“That’s good,” Tommy said.
Missouri had moved in front by two touchdowns now, and the Vols had yet to complete a pass to Jarvis’s replacement. Coach Stratton was grimacing on the sideline. The crowd was moaning and groaning.
Without the receiver that carried the offense a week earlier, quarterback Stan Holsten was misfiring and the whole team appeared listless and lost.
“You’d be out there if you were smarter,” Tommy said. “We wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should have gotten rid of that agent friend of yours. He’s been holding you back. Still holding you back. Signing with Sonny Bradley would have been the smart move.”
“I can’t sign with anybody yet, but why would I sign with him? I’ve never even talked to him.”
“Your mother has. I think she had about convinced him that you’d come along. She’s not a big fan of Billy either. Apparently there’s a lot of people in that boat.”
“You don’t even know Billy,” Jarvis said.
“I just know what I’ve heard. He’s more worried about that big house and his pretty girlfriend than he is about you.”
“You’re wrong. He’s the best friend I’ve got. I’d probably be dead or in jail if it wasn’t for him.”
“So look where you are now.”
Jarvis turned away.
“What about his brother?” Tommy said. “He’s part of the team ... can you trust him?”
“We get along all right. Why?”
“I just wondered why you guys were out there together that night. I don’t think he’s your friend, kid. The pretty girl isn’t either; I know that for a fact.”
“And you are?”
“I’m the best friend you got in this house. If it was up to Gene, he’d just shoot you in the back, tell the boss you had tried to escape, and we’d move on to the next thing.”
Back on the screen, the Vols fumbled and Missouri pounced on it. The Tigers were already in field-goal range as their offense took the field. This was not Tennessee’s day.
“Turn it off,” Jarvis said.
The TV went black and the men sat in silence, each apparently immersed in his own dark thoughts. For Jarvis, the chance of getting back on the field was fading fast, and he knew it. He also knew a lot of people had to be looking for him.
“How long are you going to hold me?” he asked Tommy.
“As long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?”
Tommy’s phone rang for the second time today, and a smile came over his face as he listened to instructions.
“All right, boss,” he said. “Whatever you say. We’ll be in touch soon.”
“What’s the deal?” Gene asked.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to pack up our football hero and take a drive. A long drive. Get the stuff together.”
Chapter fourty-two
Billy poured himself another whiskey, neat. He was leaning on the bar in his den, alone and deep into a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and his mind was wandering. He usually went easy on the brown liquor, but the job required more tonight. It was time to drift away as soon as possible.
The only interruptions were the calls, mostly from clients who were concerned. Some were surely wavering ab
out upcoming contracts and business commitments, looking for advice, wondering what to do. They needed their agent. Others were probably calling to say goodbye.
Billy didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say, and that might have been the strangest development of all.
Rachel still hadn’t gotten back to him, but her father sent an email saying he wanted to meet sometime next week. Billy was pretty sure what direction that was headed. Bradley King wasn’t the kind of man to sit back and let things happen.
He took another stiff drink and picked up his new Glock pistol from the bar. It was light and easy to use and, like the salesman said, just felt good in your hand.
After just one visit to the practice range, he already felt capable of dealing with most threats that might arise.
As he walked out onto the deck, a cold breeze was blowing and the solitude of the approaching winter pressed in. He still couldn’t get his brother out of his head. Where had he gone wrong with John? They used to be so tight. Seemed like yesterday they were immersed in the games – football, baseball, basketball. Anything with a ball. Even after the tragic loss of their mother, sports had been their strongest bond. The boys enjoyed each other’s company the way only brothers could.
John was almost three years younger, but it didn’t matter much. He was the gifted athlete with the old soul, and he could play with anybody.
They both had such ambition, such grand plans for their lives, when Billy headed off to college. It just didn’t work out for John. Somehow they lost touch quickly, and things had never been the same.
Now it all had come unraveled. There would be no easy way to reconcile. John was lying to the police and everyone else around him, but why?
Billy flipped the last of the joint into the shrubbery. Some special occasion. He felt worse.
The neighbor’s barking dogs shook Billy from his thoughts. Suddenly, motion in front of the house triggered the security floodlights. A sense of urgency came over him.
He walked quickly to the bar, grabbed his gun and headed toward the door. There was a knock. He wasn’t thinking clearly; he slid a bullet into the chamber and flipped on the porch light.
Through the beveled glass he could see the distorted silhouette of a large man wearing a dark jacket and cap.
“Who is it?” he demanded. “Jarvis?”
“It’s me,” came the reply. “John.”
Billy swung open the door and stared at his brother, who pulled off the knit cap. His head was still bandaged and swollen. He was wearing green hospital scrubs under the leather jacket.
“What are you doing here?” Billy said. “I know the doctors didn’t release you.”
“You didn’t have to bring a gun to the door. Can I come in?”
Billy thought about it for a few seconds and then opened the door wide. John was unsteady on his feet and wore a confused expression. Both of them were confused.
“I couldn’t let things stand where we left them,” John said. “We need to talk about that night. And more.”
“How did you get here?”
“Dad had left my car in the hospital parking lot. Didn’t you notice it missing?”
There was desperation in John’s voice, but Billy cut him off.
“I think you need to go,” he said. “There’s nothing to be gained here. Not now.”
“Please ...”
“Do you understand the damage you’ve done? And we still don’t know the full extent yet.”
“I want to help make things right.”
“How?” Billy said. “You told the cops that Jarvis assaulted you and ran. And the drugs and the cash ... how can you make anything right? This is a full-blown disaster.”
“Just hear me out.”
The story unfolded.
John hadn’t had time to react that night by the river. He and Jarvis were on the dock drinking and listening to music. A football game from the West Coast was on the television on the boat, and John had stopped to catch the score before ducking into the bathroom for another quick line. He heard a strange voice outside the window, where Jarvis was still standing on the dock. He walked out.
The next thing John knew, doctors were staring into his eyes. He was a lucky man, though he didn’t feel like it now.
“I think I know who took Jarvis,” he said.
Billy was taken aback. “Who?”
“It’s some guys from New Orleans, mafia guys. They were sent here to cause trouble for all of us. Especially you.”
Billy looked his brother straight in the eye.
“How do you know this, John? Tell me!”
John fell into a chair, ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the floor. His eyes filled with tears.
“They wanted me to help them,” he said.
“Help them how? Tell me, John!”
“The cocaine. They gave it to me, a small package of pure stuff, down in Florida. They told me to make sure Jarvis doesn’t sign with you; I wouldn’t owe them anything if he didn’t. I knew he wouldn’t let you down, no matter what I did, but I took it anyway. It was so much ... I couldn’t help myself.”
“And Charles was there, and you were with Rachel?”
“She didn’t know what it was about … she waited in the car.”
Billy closed his eyes for a few seconds and tried to make sense of this.
“Then you come back and plant some of that shit in Jarvis’s backpack that night.”
“No, I didn’t. I swear,” John said. “Those guys must have done it before they left and took Jarvis with them. The money, too.”
“So you took their drugs to betray me. And now Frank Romano’s hoodlums have Jarvis stashed away somewhere. You’ve brought all these people into our lives. It’s unbelievable. Are you trying to ruin me? Everything I’ve built ... I took you in and tried to help you. I’ve always tried to help you.”
Billy was becoming more enraged by the minute. He towered over his brother, who was slumped in the chair, and pulled him up by the jacket lapel until they were almost nose-to-nose.
“You have to tell the police,” he said. “Right now.”
“I can’t,” John sobbed. “They’ll kill me. And they’ll kill Jarvis, too. I don’t think there’s any doubt.”
Billy stepped back and took a deep breath. He headed over to the bar and picked up his Glock again.
“I may kill you right now,” he said. “You better leave while you have a chance.”
John stumbled to the porch and turned to say something else, but the door slammed in his face. Billy went back to the bar and poured another whiskey. His hands were trembling.
Forget calm, steady and focused. He was seething. There would be hell to pay for this.
Chapter fourty-three
Dawn was breaking and a gorgeous sunrise was about to light up the sky when Billy opened his eyes. A light fog had begun to lift from the valley, if not from his throbbing head.
He was still sitting in his favorite chair. The whiskey glass beside him on the table had one last swallow to offer, and he emptied it before getting up to find his cellphone. It had been left outside on the veranda.
Billy didn’t bother to scroll through a new batch of messages, instead tapping the number for Mark Fletcher. When he didn’t get an answer, he left a message of his own.
“I’m coming down,” he said, “as soon as I can get a flight out of here. I’ll let you know.”
Within a minute, the phone rang.
“Kind of early, isn’t it? It’s still dark here,” Fletcher said. “What’s up in Tennessee, besides you?”
“There’s plenty more that we need to talk about,” Billy said. “Things have changed.”
“So you know something new?”
“Yeah, and it looks like we were right about the New Orleans connection. I’ll tell you whe
n I get down there.”
“Did you get the message I left you last night?” Fletcher said.
“No, but I’ve got a bunch that I haven’t heard yet. What did you say?”
“I mentioned that I had learned a little bit more about Romano. You’ll find it interesting. Just let me know when you fly in and I’ll pick you up.”
Billy sat down at his computer and made a reservation for the ten o’clock Delta flight – Knoxville to Atlanta to New Orleans. He’d have to move fast to make it, but that would put him in the Big Easy about two o’clock Central time. He texted the info to Fletcher and prepared to pack a light travel bag.
After more than a week, Billy had to believe Jarvis wasn’t being held in the Knoxville area, if he ever was to begin with. He’d be hidden somewhere along the Gulf Coast. Somewhere near Romano and his men.
Billy had to find out for himself.
On his way out the driveway, he grabbed the newspaper from the box and took a quick glance at the front. A story written by Trey Birchfield was bannered across the top. It said investigators now thought Jarvis’s disappearance may be a kidnapping linked to mob activity, which would confirm John’s latest account. So that much must be true.
Birchfield’s story didn’t name sources, and there was no specific mention of Frank Romano and his organization. Reporters were obviously on the trail.
Billy was tempted to go to Detective Lewis and tell him everything he knew, but he was afraid that would blow up in his face. There were already too many leaks out there. Romano would see it coming, Billy thought, and Jarvis might never be heard from again. Too much at stake.
Billy maneuvered his silver Escalade along the winding neighborhood roads and toward Interstate 140. It was about a thirty-minute drive to the airport out in Alcoa during the morning rush hour, and he decided to make a couple of calls on the way.
“Good morning, Trey,” he said. “I read the story in the Journal this morning. Interesting. How did that come about?”
Birchfield seemed to be caught a bit by surprise.
“Just reporting the thinking behind the scenes,” he said. “The cops haven’t been able to piece together any kind of local angle that makes sense. Do you have something to add?”
