Savage Rising

by C. Hoyt Caldwell

  Cleve approached before Dee Dee could respond. “What about our business?”

  “What fucking business?”

  Cleve motioned toward the three hackers who stood with petrified expressions on their faces.

  Harley laughed. “I forgot about those little shits.”

  “I’m telling you this is the way to go. They got this formula or some shit worked out where they can find us special-ops fellas on Facebook who’re as anti-government as us. Fellas that wanna go to war with the shit-stains that run this country.”

  Harley considered his nephew’s point. He looked at the hackers. “That right, boys? You can find us trained soldiers?”

  They all nodded, unable to bring themselves to speak.

  “In time for the gun show next week?”

  Cleve looked at them. “Well?”

  “We could, but—” The young man with the father from Guam started before Harley cut him off.

  “But what? You’re joined up, ain’t ’cha?”

  “Joined up?”

  “You are members of the Gray Rise. You’re our…Intelligence and Communications Corps.”

  “But…I mean, we haven’t even talked money.”

  Harley smiled. “Cleve, find out their normal rate and double it. Tie a bonus in there if they get us some real badass motherfuckers.” With that, he turned and guided Dee Dee toward the Mustang.

  The trio stood silently. The fear that had gripped them slowly dissipated as their minds turned to dollar signs.

  Chapter 14

  Dani sat at her desk and ran her fingers along the seam of the leather ID holder and split her gaze between the holder and the phone. She couldn’t understand why the ATF wasn’t more concerned about a missing badge. One would think a thing like that in the wrong hands could cause some serious trouble.

  She removed the ID from the case and studied it up close. The bank of fluorescent lights above her head reflected off the lamination and washed out the agent’s face. Dani tilted it away from the light to get a better angle and noticed a prism of colors stretched across the ID that she had not seen before. She tilted the ID back and forth. It was some sort of holographic font that was only visible in the right light. It took her a few passes in and out of the direct light before she could see the entire image. It was three letters: O-R-O. She wrote the letters down on her desk calendar.

  Turning to her computer, she put in her password and quickly typed “ORO, ATF” into the search engine. The results were useless. Most had to do with automatic transmissions.

  She leaned back in her chair and looked at the ATF ID on her desk, biting her lower lip, prodding herself to concentrate harder. She could figure this out.

  After a few seconds, the thought occurred to her that she knew somebody who might have the answer. She quickly picked up the phone and dialed Maggie Armstrong’s number.

  After two rings, Corporal Armstrong with the Tennessee State Police picked up and said, “Is this my favorite female backwoods cop?”

  Dani grinned. “I’m the only female backwoods cop you know.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’re not my favorite. What’s up, Deputy?”

  “Got a question about federal agencies.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Why the hell won’t they return phone calls?”

  Armstrong laughed. “Darling, the only thing our government does competently is incompetence. Which federal agency you trying to reach?”

  “The ATF.”

  “ATF? Something serious brewing in Baptist Flats that your state police should be aware of?”

  “It’s not serious. At least, I don’t think. I found this ATF ID, and I’ve been trying like hell to get someone to call me back on it, but I’m getting nothing.”

  “Did you try the field office in Nashville?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s the agent’s name? I’ve met a few on this and that.”

  “Patricia McElhenney.”

  Armstrong breathed into the phone as she pondered the name. “Doesn’t ring a bell. I can put in a call and see if I get better results. Might be your hickbilly accent that’s throwing them off,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Nice,” Dani said sarcastically. “Let me ask you something about these IDs.”

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s got this weird type.”

  “Weird how?”

  “You can only see it in the right light. It comes out in prism colors.”

  “All right, what about it?”

  “There are three letters, O-R-O. You got any idea what that means?”

  Again Armstrong breathed into the phone as she thought. “Means nothing to me. If I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with the agent’s security clearance.”

  Dani wrote down what the corporal said followed by a question mark next to the letters on her desk calendar. She thanked Armstrong and was about to hang up when the corporal told her to hold on.

  Talking softly she said, “Listen, you know about Rucker?”

  “Yeah, Kenny stopped by…”

  “He’s put his house on the market in Rock Hollow.”

  “Good,” Dani said. “He’s moving on.”

  “Not good,” Armstrong responded. “He’s freeing himself up to make a move on your department.”

  Dani didn’t reply. It was just one more thing to blame herself for. She was the one who made an enemy out of Rucker.

  “All I’m saying is watch your back, Deputy. It ain’t if Rucker’s gonna make a move. It’s when. What that move will be, I don’t know. My guess is he’s got someone in Baptist Flats scouting you out as we speak. Keeping tabs on your department. Just be on the lookout for strangers.”

  Dani hesitated. Her conversation with Nola jumped to the front of the line of things that concerned her. She said her goodbyes to Armstrong, getting a promise from the corporal that she’d put a call in to the ATF.

  Putting the phone back in the cradle, Dani shifted her attention to her discussion with Nola. Of all the seats in the diner, the stranger from New Orleans chose the one right next to Deputy Savage.

  Chapter 15

  Nolen had a whore, but she called herself a companion. It was a term that helped her dodge a six by eight cell. She gave men her time for large sums of money, and that time included a significant amount of horizontal entertainment. Her name was Faye Starr Fontaine. It was a professional name. No self-respecting parent would ever name their child Faye Starr Fontaine. It had high-class call girl written all over it; that’s precisely why she chose it. Her real name was an unknown, along with the old life it had been attached to.

  Faye took pride in her work. She studied her trade obsessively. Not so much to satisfy an earnestness to be good at what she did as out of a sense of practicality. Her clients were uncommonly wealthy, and they employed companions from coast to coast. If she stood out, she made more money. It was simple economics.

  Beyond her skills and know-how in the bedroom, she was an excellent listener. The men who availed themselves of her services did so with a wad of cash and loose lips. They told her things that they wouldn’t tell their therapists. She was the closest confidante to half a dozen rich and powerful men, including Nolen, and she provided them counsel on a regular basis. She also kept a detailed journal of every secret she promised to keep.

  So when Nolen called Spivey ordering him to stop by Faye’s condo to help her with a problem before he left town, Spivey was happy to oblige. If Nolen wouldn’t give him details on Luna Conway, maybe Faye would.

  The problem Faye was having was with a client—a congressman from South Carolina’s First district. Politicians were by far the most unstable of the men she entertained. This particular prick had fallen in love with the call girl. He wanted to marry her and run off to Argentina. They’d raise alpacas and drink fernet and Coca-Cola every night. They’d be just like Butch and Sundance, only without the bloody ending and with one less set of cock and balls. When the idiot handcuffed him
self naked to Faye’s bed and swallowed the key, Spivey’s special brand of conflict resolution was required.

  The congressman had a wife and two kids. He was a deacon at his church. He’d championed family values and the sanctity of marriage. He publicly ridiculed any member of the opposing party caught in a compromising situation. Essentially, he was a piece of shit that was about to stink up his life and shine a light on Faye Starr Fontaine’s business by declaring his love for her to the entire world. That was a light very few people wanted switched on. Spivey was tasked with keeping things dark.

  Unfortunately, you can’t beat some sense into a congressman without causing a stir. The situation called for less brutality and a little more finesse. Spivey stood in the doorway of Faye’s bedroom and leaned against the doorjamb. He didn’t speak until the congressman spoke first, a man shackled to the bed with his tiny cock out and socks on.

  “I know you,” the congressman said, his voice hoarse from pleading with Faye to run away with him, and his eyes puffy from spilling his dignity all over the six-hundred-thread-count sheets.

  “No,” Spivey said. “You don’t.”

  “Yeah, I do. You’re that…that bodyguard…Nolen’s man.”

  “I am.”

  “Told you I know you.”

  “And I told you you don’t. You’ve seen me. You don’t know me. Knowing me isn’t a good thing.”

  “Are you Faye’s next client? Is that why you’re here? To fuck the woman I love?”

  Spivey sensed Faye standing a few feet behind him, but he didn’t turn to her. “Whores aren’t my type, Congressman.” The chill from the hooker’s icy stare hit Spivey in the back of the head.

  “So, what? Nolen loves her? Is that it? I’m to lose the woman of my dreams to a billionaire? You think I can’t compete. We love each other. She won’t admit it, but I know how she really feels.”

  “You know how she’s paid to feel. And Mr. Nolen and Miss Fontaine are acquaintances with mutual interests. I’m here to ensure those interests aren’t violated.”

  “Violated?” The congressman laughed sadly. “Why did you use that word? Violated. Is that because you think I’m going to fuck things up for your boss?”

  “My boss. A few of your biggest donors. A number of your colleagues. Miss Fontaine gets around. She even entertains a few high-profile evangelicals here and there. A lot of people who want to keep their bullshit secret.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about any of that. They can keep their secrets. This is about Faye and me. That’s it. We love each other. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “That would be fine if she was on board with your plan, but she’s not. As much as you want to delude yourself into thinking otherwise, she couldn’t give a fuck about you, Congressman.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Tell him,” Spivey said to Faye.

  “I did,” she snapped. “The idiot won’t listen.”

  “She’s just trying to protect me! She thinks I’m throwing my life away! She loves me too much to let me destroy my career! But I don’t give a fuck about being a congressman. I love her! She is the rest of my life.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’ve gone off the deep end.” Spivey walked to the nightstand and picked up the congressman’s phone. He scrolled through the contacts and found the listing for the man’s daughter. Spivey turned the display to the congressman. “If by some miracle you can talk Faye into going, while you’re in Argentina with super-hooker over there, this is who will be left behind to deal with the coming shit storm.”

  The congressman swallowed the lump in his throat. “Carrie’s a strong girl. She…she’ll be just fine. Better even. Her father’s been living a lie in a loveless marriage. She’ll come to understand. Everyone will be happier.”

  Spivey sat on the bed. “You really are stupid. Your daughter won’t come to understand. She won’t be just fine. You wanna know how I can be so sure? Because it will be my job to make sure she crashes and burns.”

  The congressman’s face drained of color.

  “There you go. Now you’re getting it.”

  “You wouldn’t. You can’t. She’s just a teenager. You wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “Hurt her? Me? C’mon, give me a little more credit than that. I’m going to ruin her. Well, she’ll ruin herself. Slowly. Over time. I’m just going to get the ball rolling and make sure it keeps rolling along at a steady pace.”

  Faye tried to convince herself she didn’t want to hear what Spivey was saying, but she couldn’t help but listen. A coldness ran through her veins as he explained what was going to happen to the congressman’s daughter. It was a sadistic biography of destruction yet to be.

  “She’ll be offered a summer internship at NGI, a program usually reserved for college students, but Carrie being such an exceptional student, she’ll win a coveted spot in our R&D department. It will be an opportunity she can’t pass up. She’ll excel and show promise. She’ll make friends. A boy will show interest, a fellow intern, a special young man. He’ll be older, but he’ll be respected by everyone at NGI. They won’t know about his dark past. I will because I’m the reason he’s there, but I’ll pretend to be as ignorant as everyone else.

  “In reality, he’s a seedy shit. He really is. Movie star good looks. Charming as fuck. I’ve used him before. And, I’ll be paying him two grand a day to introduce your baby girl to alcohol, drugs, gang bangs. He’s very good at what he does, Congressman. And I’m guessing by her father’s lack of self-control, your daughter isn’t far from showing the same shitty judgment. When it’s all said and done, she’ll more than likely enter into Faye’s line of work, only she won’t be pulling in six figures shaking her ass for the rich and powerful. She’ll be doling out blow jobs for a needle full of tar before she drops out of high school. All because you fell apart over a whore who doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  Red-faced, the congressman barked, “So this is the real D. B. Nolen. This is the lowlife scum he really is. He’d do that to an innocent girl?”

  “He wouldn’t be doing it. I wouldn’t be doing it. You need to start taking responsibility for your actions, Congressman. It’s you. It’s your choice. You either pull yourself together, pack that baby dick of yours in your cheap suit, walk out the front door, and never look back, or you turn your daughter’s life into a big steaming pile of shit. Because make no mistake about it, what I described will happen. This isn’t our first rodeo. We’ve got this thing down to a science.”

  Spivey was almost impressed when the congressman opted to put his daughter’s happiness before his own. He was freed from his handcuffs with a universal key. The politician wept like a whipped puppy as he dressed haphazardly and exited the hooker’s apartment. He could be heard mumbling as he shuffled down the hallway to the elevator.

  The congressman gone, Spivey turned his attention to Faye. Her auburn hair was knotted up in a sloppy bun, and the yoga pants and an Azalea Harbor University T-shirt were a huge step down from her working-girl attire.

  “So,” she said nervously, “what happens to me?”

  Spivey shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “You’re…” She started to ask if he was there to take care of her, but that sounded too fatalistic, so she reconsidered her question before finally asking, “I’m not in trouble?”

  “Not with me. I was sent here to deal with the congressman. I did that. What happens to you isn’t on my list of shit to deal with. I’m guessing you aren’t up for any awards, but as far as you being in trouble, that would probably be a no, you’re not.” He took in her apartment, spotting trinkets and keepsakes that told him everything he needed to know about the kind of person she really was.

  She sighed and brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Good because I got a good thing going here, and all my clients except that asshole, they keep everything strictly business.”

  Spivey didn’t answer. He just studied her eyes.

  She looked away, made
uncomfortable by his glaring.

  “You should put your glasses on.”

  She looked at him confused and absentmindedly touched the side of her face. “How did you know I wear glasses?”

  “You’re squinting. Not a good idea for a woman who makes her money with her looks. Squinting leads to crow’s-feet. Crow’s-feet lead to a less impressive price tag for your talents. You start making less money you might be tempted to turn to the dark art of blackmail to pay the bills. That’s when you show up on my list. Vanity is wasted on me. I have no interest in fucking you.”

  Angry, Faye responded, “You couldn’t afford me.”

  He slowly approached her, reaching into his front pocket. He pulled out his money clip, counted out two thousand dollars, and dropped it onto the wet bar.

  She picked up the money. “What’s this?”

  “That’s your going rate. Go fuck yourself. It’s on me.”

  She growled and threw the money into his face. “Fuck you!”

  He snarled, picked up the money, and placed it back on the bar.

  “I don’t want your goddamn money, asshole!”

  “Yes, you do. I’m not buying your services. I’m paying for information.”

  “I don’t sell information. I sell time. You wanna buy my time, buy it.”

  “I just did,” he said, pointing at the money.

  She snickered. “For you, that’ll buy the time it takes me to walk to the bedroom.”

  Frustrated, Spivey pulled out his money clip and plopped another grand on the table. “We talk here.”

  She grimaced. “Talking isn’t how I spend my time…”

  “Luna Conway,” he said, losing patience.

  She smiled. “Who’s that, an old girlfriend? Is that what you’re buying? The girlfriend experience? You want me be your old high school sweetheart?”

  “You’ve never heard the name?”

  “Luna Conway? Never.”

  “Has Nolen ever talked about sending money to a woman in a place called Titus Grove?”

  “It sounds like we’re talking. I told you that’s not how I spend my time.”