by Tony Masero
“Don´t miss.”
Stoeffel tossed his pair of Glock's through the door where Bubba could see them land on the hall floor.
“Comin´ in, Bubba. Spare me a minute?”
“You come on in, Chief. I might even spare both you and your girlfriend.”
Stoeffel stepped into the opening and Bubba pulled out his long Bowie knife with his left hand and placed the keen edge alongside Jenny´s throat.
“There now,” he smiled grimly. “Now we both know where we stand.”
“Tell me, Bubba. What was it with that place out there in the woods?”
For a moment looked dumbfounded by the question.
“Oh that,” he said. “Yeah, that was a mess, weren´t it? Dumb sucker said he could cook me rock up there. Boy straight outa the Pen with all the right credentials. Damned fool, he never said he used the stuff too. Got so high he blew the place and about twenty thousand dollar’s worth of equipment with it sky high. Clarence Ray got him out. Too late to do him much good though. Mind you, if the klutz had lived I´d have cut his head off anyway.” He looked down at Jenny, holding her head tight still in his huge hand, then up at Stoeffel as he drew a thin line of blood on her jaw with the razor edged tip of the blade. “Just like that, Stoeffel. So don´ you get smart with me.”
Stoeffel raised his hands.
“Hey, it ain´t being smart, Bubba. I just like to know. Now you gonna let the lady go, you can have me instead.”
“You?” snorted Bubba. “You ain´t worth diddly. This one though,” he said it as he stroked Jenny´s hair. “She´s much prettier. I think I´ll keep her.”
“Come on, Bubba. Get real. Every agency in the country will be after you when this gets out.”
Bubba looked at him innocently. “What makes you think I intend to stay Stateside that long, Chief?”
The pager buzzed on Bubba´s belt and he looked down at the small LCD screen.
“Look´s like...”
As he glanced down Stoeffel moved. He dived forward, covering Jenny´s body with his own and shouting, “Now, Alex! Now!”
Summersby swung around the edge of the doorway, the semi-automatic held high in both hands.
Bubba stared up at him in angry surprise. Then surprise changed to shock as Summersby fired and the bullet struck him. Bubba bent over backwards with the force of the close range shell and fell heavily. Stoeffel gathered up Jenny and lifted her bodily from the chair carrying her clear as Summersby moved forward in a shooter’s stance, pistol held high and ready in a two-handed grip.
Bubba didn´t wait. He fired the SIG-Sauer blind from behind the office chair and right through the back. The red leather billowed out and a ripped cavity appeared in the chair back. The heavy .357 slug blew Summersby up off his feet as it caught him high in the chest.
Desperately, Stoeffel dragged Jenny outside into the street as he saw Summersby tumble in a heap. He pulled Jenny along the ground to the corner, expecting a crazed Bubba Rose to come looming after him. But nobody came and Stoeffel realized that wounded or not the man was probably on his way to the roof to make good his escape. He unlatched his pocketknife and quickly sliced through Jenny´s bindings.
“Get out of here, Jenny. Quickly, just go. I have to see to Alex.”
Without a word she staggered numbly to her feet and moved off dazedly up the street. Reverend Clitus and Reason Links ran towards her from the cover of the church doorway. Stoeffel heard the whine of the copter growing in intensity as he picked up the M16 and dashed back inside. One look told him Summersby wasn´t going anywhere. He checked the young man´s pulse and knew it was too late, he was gone. Heartshot. Probably dead before he hit the ground.
Stoeffel ran for the stairs, determination and anger burning in his breast. He bounded up the stairwell, heart pounding in his chest. Three flights seemed like a run to the moon. He felt like his lungs were bleeding by the time he reached the fourth and promised if he got through this intact he would jog every day from now on.
Stoeffel burst out onto the roof just as the figure of Clarence Ray hauled himself up into the cargo bay. Behind him Stoeffel could see two cargo crewmembers strapping down the last of the stacked array of wooden crates inside. There must be nigh on five tons of the stuff packed in there, Stoeffel assessed briefly as he raised the rifle.
He sighted the M16, praying Summersby had reloaded with a full thirty round magazine. The helicopter powered up and began a forward tilt as it started to climb. Stoeffel fired carefully, he knew on semi-automatic he could get through forty five rounds a minute and a burst was out of the question as that would blast all of ninety rounds he did not have. So he eased out his magazine, firing not at the pilot who sat behind protective bulletproof glass or at Clarence Ray who stared at him angrily from the cargo bay, but aimed for the baffles around the rotors. He knew the reinforced defenses were mostly found below the copter where ground fire was to be expected. So he aimed at the rear rotor housing instead.
The sound of the engine was loud and the backwash whipped at him, lashing his face and streaming water from his eyes. But through the tears he could see metal kicking away as he fired. He turned to the front rotor and loosed off another burst. Clarence Ray was pulling up his sniper rifle but the helicopter turned away, rising fast and Clarence Ray was lost to sight. Stoeffel kept on shooting until the magazine was empty. He waited as the machine banked and began its run over the town.
A bloom of smoke burst from the rear rotor and the blades started to wind down, idling uselessly in the air. Flame catapulted from the front rotor engine as it screamed in complaint. Stoeffel smiled grimly as the helicopter began a slow spin on its axis. Cartwheeling, out of control across the sky. There was no stopping it now; it spun down low towards the rail yards, trailing smoke. Stoeffel ran to the roof edge to watch as the copter dived painfully straight into a row of parked railroad cargo trucks. There was a cataclysmic explosion and the machine disappeared in a boiling ball of fire. Parts of the blades spinning high in the air as the copter shredded into black specks of torn metal amongst the roiling flames.
It was over.
Stoeffel felt the exhaustion fall over him like a blanket. His shoulders sagged and he let the M16 slip from his fingers. Turning slowly as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders, he made his way down from the rooftop.
Pausing at the body of Summersby, he offered a silent prayer of thanks to the courageous young man and the fortuitous accident that had brought him to Lodrun. He stepped over Summersby´s body and walked out into the smoke tainted air in the alley outside.
The high-pitched whine of an over-revved engine saved him. His keyed nerves responding automatically to the sound. Stoeffel turned sideways as a white van sped past, coming so close that the wing mirror clipped Stoeffel´s shoulder, throwing him back into the warehouse doorway. Cursing, Stoeffel ran to the corner wondering what crazy sonofabitch was driving at that speed down the narrow alley. The van swerved, its tires squealing as it lumbered back on course leaving a black snake of rubber burn down the center of Main Street.
Then Stoeffel saw it.
The red rose decal stuck across the rear doors. Bubba Rose hadn´t climbed to the roof, he had made it to the vehicle lot out back and had just tried unsuccessfully to finish off Stoeffel for good. Now he was bound for a quick escape into the vastness of the open countryside. Stoeffel looked around desperately. He was exhausted and did not feel as if he had it in him to make the run to his vehicle. There was so much to do.
See if Jenny, Jimmy Luke and Legrand were alright. Make contact with the outside and get fire trucks to the rail yard. Reconnect communications and power. It was a nightmare of logistics and all he wanted to do right now was lay down and sleep.
A fox red, Chevy pickup pulled up beside him with a throb of power thrumming under its hood, its passenger door hanging open.
“Get in, Chief. It ain´t over yet,” ordered Reason Links, leaning one armed over the driver’s window. Stoeffel looked back at him holl
owly.
“C´mon, man. You still got it in you, we need to finish this,” called Reason.
Taking a deep breath, Stoeffel lumbered around the vehicle and before he was properly seated, Reason slipped the truck into gear and took off.
“Where´s he headed anyways?” asked Reason, as he drove at full speed down Main Street towards the rail yard.
As they swung right at the crossroads, Stoeffel looked over at the blazing wreck of the helicopter, its tangled mass a column of twisted metal amongst the remains of flaming freight cars.
“It´ll be Dead Fall Back, is my guess,” he said.
“Don´t you worry, Chief. We´ll get him. Everyone back there is okay, the doctor’s with them now. Reverend Mummers and that Iris girl are helping.”
“Legrand?” asked Stoeffel.
“He´s beat up some, but he´ll be okay.”
Stoeffel looked down at his hands and realized they were shaking. He clenched his fists and then went to check his holster only to remember belatedly that he had left the Glock's lying on the floor of the warehouse entrance hall. He was unarmed.
“You got a weapon in here, Mr. Links?” he asked.
Reason Links stared straight at the road ahead, his eyes fixed and determined.
“Don´t carry no firearms, Chief.”
“I meant for me, I left mine back there.”
“Sorry, Chief. We´ll just have to do the best we can without.”
“Shit!” Stoeffel banged the dashboard with his fist. “That bastard Bubba Rose will still be loaded for bear.”
“Don´ worry none.” Reason seemed convinced that they would take down Bubba without a fight but Stoeffel knew better and fretted silently as the speedometer climbed up to eighty.
Countryside flashed by as they left the town outskirts, houses falling away and the tree line closing in on them in a racing pattern of flashing color. The fluttering autumn leaves forming a glorious abstract blur of red, gold and green as Reason accelerated the Silverado until it was running flat out.
They entered the shady gloom of Dead Fall Back and Reason slowed as the steep sides rose above them. His eyes searching the forest on each side.
“Where´d he go? Into the woods, you reckon?”
“No. He´ll have a plane coming in. It´ll be along the blacktop, they´ll use it as a landing strip.”
Stoeffel squinted ahead. “See, there. He´s laid flare markers.”
Five hundred yards on they could see the white van canted to one side at the edge of the road. Two red pillars of smoke rising skywards from tube flares laid in the road. Stoeffel saw the other thing too, but it was too late. It lay in the road waiting for them.
“Stop!” he shouted, grabbing the steering wheel and swinging it over. The pickup spun sideways, its rear wheels crossing over the waiting mine. The detonation threw the vehicle tail up and over on its side, lifting the body off the chassis and tossing the cab aside as if it were a tin box.
Stoeffel felt his teeth snap together at the impact, his head hit the cab roof and Reason tumbled across him. The two of them flying around inside as the cab rolled over and settled at the roadside. Stoeffel blacked out.
He came around as strong hands lifted him by bunches of his shirtfront through the open window of the lopsided cab. He shook his head clear and saw the round grinning face of Bubba Rose looking down at him.
“You don´ give up, do you?” said Bubba, a modicum of surprised respect in his tone. He held Stoeffel up easily, even though the left shoulder of his shirt was holed by Summersby´s bullet and the material soaked with leaking blood from the wound.
Stoeffel was no lightweight but his feet hung clear off the ground.
“Who´d a thought it, huh?” his face was close to Stoeffel´s and the Chief could smell his whisky breath. “In such a pissant little town. What is your problem, policeman? Couldn´t you just leave well alone? Now you´ve gone an´ fucked up everything.” He looked away, head cocked as the drone of a single engine aircraft sounded in the distance.
Stoeffel risked a glance over his shoulder at where Reason Links still lay in the smoldering Chevy; a stream of blood ran from his hairline. If he wasn´t dead already he was of no help to Stoeffel right now.
“Here´s my ride, Chief,” Bubba turned his attention back to Stoeffel. “Reckon it’s time to take my leave of you.”
Stoeffel brought his knee up sharply between Bubba’s legs. Bubba grimaced, his face crumpling, then he howled as the pain set in. He let go of Stoeffel and clutched his groin.
“Why you...”
Stoeffel rocked on his heels as he dropped but quickly swung a short right hand jab that sunk into Bubba´s ribs. The big man twisted at the blow, then moved back quickly. The long Bowie knife slipping into his hand with practiced ease.
“Let’s do it then,” he said grimly, flicking the shining steel in Stoeffel´s direction. “Cummon, Stoeffel. Let’s do it. I could shoot you down like a dog but I want to see you bleed first.”
They circled each other in the middle of the roadway, Bubba throwing teasing arcs with the knife blade. Stoeffel needed a weapon. With one eye on Bubba, he checked the roadside quickly. The woods might offer a branch he could use, something to keep the big man at bay. Stoeffel stooped and picked up the Chevy´s heavy fender that lay battered at his feet. He swung it at Bubba, who backed easily away with a laugh.
Bubba struck with a slash; with such a speed that Stoeffel was taken by surprise. He would not have believed such a heavy man could make that kind of move. Stoeffel felt the knife tear through his upper arm, parting the shirtsleeve and top skin as if it were paper. Blood flowed and he felt the pain set in as he dropped the cumbersome fender.
Bubba groped at his testicles with his free hand. Part in remedy, part as insult.
“That’s for the knee job,” he grinned thinly, his eyes staying cold.
Stoeffel turned and moved quickly into the trees along the roadside, scanning as he went. A glint of color caught his eye and he realized they were in the place where Epsie Links had met her end. The yellow police ribbon still dangled there sadly in the shadowed glade. He caught up a fallen branch as Bubba came up behind him. Swinging wildly, Stoeffel swung around but Bubba arced his body over letting the stick pass him by.
“She came easy enough, you know,” Bubba sneered, indicating the square of ribbon with his knifepoint. “Trusting little bitch. Knew I was her brother´s boss an´ I was such a nice ole guy, she weren´t no problem at all.” He leered at Stoeffel as he closed in and flicked a rapid cut across Stoeffel shirtfront, the blade so sharp that Stoeffel never felt the wound on his chest until later.
The roar of the plane sounded overhead as it made a turn in recognition of the flares. Bubba realized it was time to stop playing around. He lunged a left handed swinging punch that caught Stoeffel unprepared on the forehead. Stoeffel saw stars and felt his legs go from under him. He fell to a seated position on the leaf mulch below and Bubba lashed out with his boot taking Stoeffel in the jaw. As Stoeffel rolled away he briefly saw an ominous black shadow rise up suddenly behind Bubba. For a moment he thought that some vengeful inhabitant of this grim place had risen from the graves of the past and appeared ghostlike amongst the shadows of the Dead Fall Back.
He heard a long, high pitched squeal of anguish and watched groggily as Bubba stumbled a few paces forward then leaned over and fell face down onto the damp ground, tumbling like sawn timber cut by one of the old time foresters. As it dropped Bubba’s body tangled itself in the taught bands of yellow hazard tape, snapping them free so that the plastic spun back under tension and wrapped itself around his limbs.
A thick, two inch wide blade of cold metal with a steel reinforced wooden handle protruded from the back of his head where the skull meets the neck. Reason Links stood there. Wide legged over the body, hands hanging loose by his sides. A great looming silhouette against the fluttering color of the leaves behind him.
He stared down at Bubba with red-rimmed eyes that glowed i
ntensely in the darkness of his face, almost as if the fires of hell burned inside them. Stoeffel hoped he would never see eyes like that turned on him, ever.
“My best chisel,” explained Reason Links. “I save it for cutting the hardest wood.”
He moved over to Stoeffel and lifted him up carefully under the arms.
“Come on. We’re all done here now, Chief.”
EPILOGUE
It took them two years to make sense of it all.
By that time an exhausted and shattered Paul Stoeffel had resigned as Police Chief. But neither the townsfolk nor the nation would let it rest there. Their appetite for news of the affair became insatiable and Stoeffel was forced to vanish from the public eye until other news would inevitably take its place. He and Jenny took a long break and with the help of the State Senate, managed to travel incognito on a long vacation in Europe. During that time Stoeffel regained his equilibrium as he took time to build his relationship with Jenny. Their affair developed and grew into a love match and they eventually returned to West Virginia as a married couple.
There, Stoeffel was elected town mayor and offered a position as tactical adviser for the West Virginia State Police in recognition of his efforts during the siege. This last he respectfully declined. Jenny returned to running her store. The couple divides their time now between duties in Lodrun and visits to Jenny’s two married girls where Stoeffel has been surprised to discover a new ability as both a family man and grandfather.
Ruth Links did not see the first year out. The strain and sadness took its toll and she passed away within twelve months. Reason remained at his workbench throughout, despite the sad loss of his beloved Ruthy and their daughter Epsie. And now, even though he received Congressional commendations for defending Stoeffel and bringing down Bubba Rose, Reason remains the same small business owner he always was, and still manages to complete humble carpentry work for the people of Lodrun. He makes his deliveries in a brand-new, bright red Chevy Silverado purchased for him by the grateful citizens of the town.
