GT spun around, shoving the woman toward Conner. There in the doorway stood the old taxi driver, an aluminum bat in his hands. The man took a powerful swing, which GT quickly ducked under, drawing his gun at the same time. The report of the shot was deafening. The taxi driver continued his spin, the momentum of the swing, along with the big forty-five caliber slug that entered his right shoulder from behind, carrying him completely around. He collapsed onto the floor. The woman screamed, running toward the fallen man.
Conner managed to grab her around the waist and she fought him with a ferocity he hadn’t expected in such a small woman. She somehow twisted around in his embrace, her fingernails raking the skin off his face, searching for his eyes. Stepping forward, GT hit her in the back of the head with the butt of the gun and her struggles quickly ceased.
Looking around, GT saw a door in the corner and opened it, revealing a large closet lined with shelves. In the corner was an old upright vacuum cleaner. He grabbed it and yanked the cord loose, tossing it to Conner. “Find something to cut that with, then tie them both up in the closet.”
Conner scurried out of the room, headed to the back of the house, where he assumed there’d be a kitchen with knives. When he returned, GT was kneeling over Malik, the man just beginning to groan as GT helped him to his feet.
Conner went to the taxi driver first. The bullet had gone through his upper shoulder cleanly, the wound already starting to congeal. Tying the man’s hands behind his back, he went quickly over to the woman. Checking the back of her head, there was a large knot where GT had hit her, but he found only a little blood.
Conner quickly tied her hands behind her, then rolled her over. Pulling her into a sitting position, he was surprised at how little she weighed when he lifted her up onto his shoulder and easily carried her to the closet.
The much larger taxi driver was a different story. Finally, Conner hooked his hands under the man’s shoulders and dragged him backward to the closet. Stepping back out, he asked, “What do we do now?”
“Check her purse for a phone,” GT said. “Maybe that Buchannan’s number is there. We’ll text him and say there’s trouble and he needs to get here quick.”
Conner looked around and spotted a purse on a table by the parlor entry. Looking through it, he pulled her phone out, found her contact list and scrolled through it, but didn’t find a Buchannan, nor a Stretch. “Nothing,” he said and went back to the purse, looking through the billfold for a business card or something with the man’s number on it. Finally, he looked at GT and shrugged. “A bag of weed, lipsticks, and a grocery receipt.”
A loud knock came from the front door and GT raised a finger to his lips. Tiptoeing to the window, he took a quick glance outside. It looked like the same police cruiser was again parked outside. This time, the cop didn’t go around looking through windows. He just walked back to the police car, got in and drove away.
“We’ll wait till the bitch wakes up, then make her text the guy,” GT said, plopping down in an overstuffed velvet chair.
Malik gently rubbed a big swollen spot on the side of his head, but the guy had only got him with a glancing blow and he counted himself lucky. Ten minutes later, sitting in a chair across from his boss, who now had his eyes closed, Malik heard a car pull up out front.
“GT, someone’s here,” Malik whispered.
Getting quickly to his feet, GT went to the door and looked out. He couldn’t believe his eyes. They wouldn’t have to wait for the woman to wake up after all. He reached down and quietly unlocked the door, then retreated to the parlor, picking up the bat and hiding behind the wall. He motioned Malik and Conner to the other side of the opening and waited.
Just as we were approaching the airport, my phone rang. It was George Hamilton. I pushed the button to accept the call and said, “What’d you find out?”
“She’s not in the house. The back door was unlocked and I waited until the local cop arrived and we went in. No sign of her and no sign of a struggle. I sent the cop back over to her shop to check again. He’s pulling up now, hold on.”
I heard a muffled conversation and then Hamilton came back on. “Not at her shop either. She’s just disappeared.”
“Is it possible she went for a walk and you missed her?” I asked.
“Possible, like I said, the back door was unlocked and it’s only a few feet from the path. But I should have seen her there.”
“I just spoke to the taxi driver, Lawrence. He said he usually stops by her shop for coffee about this time and would be there in just a few minutes. Head to the airport and pick us up.”
“Roger that,” Hamilton replied.
Minutes later, Hamilton came to a stop in front of the general aviation building and the three of us climbed in. Shaking his hand, I said, “Go to her shop. You can drop me and Scott off there, then you and Donnie can go back to her house. Every cop in town is looking for them and for her. It’s just a matter of time.”
Minutes later, I was relieved to see Lawrence’s cab parked at the curb in front of her place of business. Scott and I climbed out into the blazing heat and I suddenly felt extremely tired. I’d been up most of the night, running on caffeine and adrenaline mostly. The oppressive heat and high humidity just added to my weary feeling.
I opened the door and let Scott go ahead of me. “Dawn?” I shouted. “It’s Jesse.” Hearing nothing, I motioned Scott to check the back of the house and I stepped sideways into the parlor.
Out of nowhere, an aluminum bat hit me square on my upper left arm. The pain shot up through my shoulder and neck then exploded in my head. I instinctively spun away, only to be caught flush on the jaw by a crashing fist. As I continued to spin in slow motion toward the deck, my eyes caught sight of Chase Conner in the corner of the room.
I landed hard on my injured arm, and a new wave of pain shot through me, spots and swirls fading in and out of my sight as I heard a loud boom. I tried to raise my head up, but the pain was too intense and my head fell back and rolled to the side. Trying to focus, I saw Scott standing in the doorway, a red stain spreading across the left side of his chest.
“Not yet, motherfucker!” I heard a voice yell.
Rough hands grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me up. A hand grabbed my jaw and turned my head, so that I was looking into GT Bradley’s hate-filled eyes.
Seeing his right hand cock back, my mind told my body to move, but nothing happened. Bradley’s fist caught me squarely on my left eye. The pain didn’t even register as my head bounced off the deck and my vision started to fade to black.
“I’m just gonna cut you up slowly,” the man hissed. I felt something cold against the side of my face. It suddenly turned white hot, and a new pain registered in my brain as warm blood trickled down my cheek and neck.
I tried to struggle away, but Bradley pushed me hard to the deck again, crashing the back of my skull on the century-old hardwood. I slowly opened my eyes and saw Bradley, Conner, and the other black man standing over me.
“Not so tough now,” Conner said as he viciously kicked me in the ribs, the pain erupting behind my eyes, painting everything a bright red, with white strobe spotlights pinging on and off all around me.
Just as everything began drifting into darkness, my last thought was that I shouldn’t be on island time. I should have stopped to look around. I shouldn’t be losing my edge. As blackness closed in over me, I heard a crashing noise, as if it came from the far end of a long tunnel. The crash was followed by three deafening explosions. It didn’t sound like what I imagined the Pearly Gates opening would be like.
Laying in a hammock, the air felt dry and cool on my bare skin. The wind rustled the palms over my head and I knew I was dreaming. I’d had this dream before. Alex came to me in these dreams, telling me it wasn’t time to join her. I didn’t want to open my eyes and see her again. Or maybe this was my time to join her. Maybe this time, I really was dead. I was ready.
The gentle swaying of the hammock felt good, the soft
cool breeze raising goose bumps on my arms. It just felt right. I’d only turned forty-six a couple of months earlier and had spent nearly thirty of those years fighting or preparing to fight against people who threatened our way of life. I’d done enough. I’d given the best years of my life to what I thought was right. To what was just and honorable.
“Are you waking up?” I heard her say. But it wasn’t Alex’s voice at all. This voice was a little higher-pitched, with just a hint of a Puerto Rican accent. An accent she tried hard to hide, but always came out whenever she was excited or agitated.
I slowly opened my eyes, the rhythmic sound of small waves lapping on a nearby shore giving over to the beeping of a heart monitor. The first thing I saw was Linda’s face, hovering over mine.
She smiled. “Enjoy your nap?”
I tried to sit up, but she put her hand on my chest. “Easy, Jesse. The doctor said you’d need to hold still for a couple of hours until the cast sets good and hard.”
I looked down at my left arm. There was a dull throbbing sensation there and I had a cast from my wrist to my shoulder.
I flopped my head back. “A broken arm? I’ve never had a broken bone in my life.” Then I remembered what’d happened and tried to rise again. “What about Scott?”
“Right here, Gunny,” I heard him say and looked to my right. The heart monitor was hooked to him and he was propped up with a large bandage high on his left shoulder.
“The others?” I asked, not really wanting to know.
“Your taxi-driving friend is in the next room,” Eve said, standing on the opposite side of the bed. Nick was with her, a hand resting gently on her shoulder and Alfie snoozing in his hammock.
“Lawrence and Dawn are both fine,” Nick said. “Travis and I spoke with them just a few minutes ago. Interesting man.”
Looking around the room, I saw Travis and Rusty standing by the door. Rusty stepped up next to Nick. “Kim’ll probably be here before they even let you out of here, brother.”
“Bradley, his man Malik, and Conner are all three dead,” Travis said, with a crooked grin. “Remember Miss McKenna saying her daddy’s Mossberg was in the closet? Well, guess where Bradley stashed her?”
I grinned slowly. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” he replied, stepping closer. “She would have got Donnie, too, except he had his badge up when he came through the door. He said the barrel was still smoking and she was standing over you and Lawrence looking like, and I quote, ‘a vicious mother from Hell, defending her baby against rabid dingoes.’”
“Will she be okay?” I asked Travis.
“I think so. Seems like a really tough little lady. Donnie got her and Lawrence out and waited for the police. He kept her from giving any statement to the cops until Nick and I got there. The local cops all know her and saw no reason to take her in, anyway.”
Looking back up at Linda, I grinned. “Can we unwind now?”
She punched me on the good right arm and smiled.
Two days later, Linda and I, along with Eve and Nick, Kim, and her boyfriend Marty Phillips, a Monroe deputy, Coral and Michal, Travis and nearly all of the men and women under his command attended Greg Murray’s funeral service in Valdosta, Georgia, where he was from. Michal was duly impressed with the G5 we flew up in.
It hasn’t been determined yet who had actually killed Murray. We assumed it was either Bradley or Malik, but it was still under investigation. An honor guard from his former Army unit was flown down from Fort Bragg to fold the flag and render honors. A large number of Rangers came down together in a bus as well.
After the service concluded, I got Travis alone for a minute. “I don’t know if you’re aware,” I began, “but I set up a trust fund some time ago to help the families of local fallen military. In a few days, will you let the widow know that the boy’s college tuition is covered? No need for her to know where it came from, though.”
“I’ll do that, Jesse,” he replied. “What are your plans?”
Just then, Linda and my family came and gathered around me, along with Coral and Michal, who was now using the name Bob full-time. Linda took my hand in hers and leaned her head on my good arm.
“I think I’m gonna take some time to myself and just look around a little, Colonel.”
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Books by the author:
Fallen Out
Fallen Palm
Fallen Hunter
Fallen Pride
Fallen Mangrove
Fallen King
Fallen Honor
Merciless Charity (due out fall 2015)
When I first set out to write my first novel, I had but one goal in mind: to make enough extra money to buy tools to outfit a woodworking shop where I could build canoes, kayaks, small sailboats, and powerboats, the plan being that I could get out of the truck and off the road, to be home with my family. The first two books were published in 2013 and I began to notice that I could actually do more than that. In 2014, I published a third novel and then a shorter prequel to the series and things began to explode.
I’m no longer on the road and I’m able to be home with my family full-time now, thanks to you, my readers. The plan of outfitting the woodworking shop is on hold for a while, though. We’re moving to Beaufort, South Carolina, and will be building a whole house around the woodworking shop.
I’d dreamed most of my life about being a novelist. Growing up on the east coast of Florida, I cut my teeth on the works of Ernest Hemingway and John D. MacDonald, then, as a young man, James W. Hall, Carl Hiaasen, and Randy Wayne White, among others. My writing style and characters are a direct reflection of the musings of these and many more great authors.
Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) Page 26
