Both Ends Burning (Whistleblower Trilogy Book 3)

by Jim Heskett

  I got up to use the bathroom and passed a large wall calendar. Caught the date. Today was the anniversary of my mother’s passing, the day after her car accident. She’d died in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines that were forcing air in and out of her lungs, drawing her meals from IV bags dangling on poles next to her.

  I’d begged her to wake up one last time, so she could know that I was there next to her. But she didn’t wake. She passed quietly in her sleep, with just a twitch of her face as the machines started beeping and nurses came rushing into the room.

  I got her last letter in the mail, two days later. I was just a kid of twenty-two then, legally an adult, but there was so much I didn’t know. So many things I’d have to learn on my own.

  I settled back into my library chair and wiped a tear from my cheek. I didn’t want to think about Mom, but I couldn’t help it, every year around the anniversary.

  I seethed with anger at my dad. Heath Candle, a man whose entire life had been a lie. How many lives were destroyed by those weapons guidance systems they sold, and he’d kept it secret because he didn’t want to go to jail? How could he be so murderously selfish?

  At some point, I must have napped for several hours, because I closed my eyes, then opened them, and the sky had gone dark. A voice came from the overhead speakers, announcing that the library was closing in five minutes.

  I noticed a bit of blood soaking through the sleeve of my shirt. A young girl exiting the library with a pile of books saw it too, and she gave me a strange look. I smiled at her, and she hurried away from me.

  As I packed up my things and walked toward the front door, a television bolted to the wall above the checkout desk caught my eye. News channel.

  The headline:

  Middle East Peace Talks Fail - Shelling Resumes in Gaza

  Were those weapons guided by systems created and sold by IntelliCraft? Had Kareem and my dad helped give them the tools?

  I realized that, with everything going on in my life, I’d missed out on an entire month of news. Not that that I was that too aware of current events, but I’d been living in a vacuum of my own chaos. I hadn’t even gotten the scores for the Broncos games.

  The screen shifted from a reporter in the studio to a reporter standing on a street corner. The headline below that reporter:

  Arson in Southlake

  Southlake… Dallas?

  The volume was off, but I watched the screen anyway. The camera panned from the reporter to a burning building in the background, rotating sirens and firefighters spraying jets of water in an arc over the flames.

  Edgar Hartford’s house. I recognized the wrought iron gate.

  The scrawl along the bottom bled information a few letters at a time, and I tried to glean what I could.

  “Sir,” said the woman at the counter, “the library is closing now. If you need to check out, please come forward.”

  “Just a minute,” I said.

  Then the screen changed back to the reporter, standing at the edge of the Hartford’s property. The headline below him read:

  Three dead, including IntelliCraft CEO Edgar Hartford

  I nearly dropped my tablet. So this was Susan’s and my dad’s plan, it seemed. To kill Edgar Hartford and his family. Then maybe kill anyone else at IntelliCraft who proved to be a threat.

  As I walked out of the library, a terrible thought occurred to me. I’d told my dad I had information, so he knew I possessed evidence that could harm him. If he’d burn down Edgar’s house, what would he do to me?

  The documents stashed down the hill in my neighborhood.

  I raced home and didn’t see flames licking the sky above my house, but when I pulled in the cul de sac and tried my front door, I did find it unlocked.

  I raced inside, and Kitty was sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at me. Nothing seemed out of place, no overturned chairs or opened drawers. Two months ago, I would have asked Alan or maybe another neighbor if he’d seen anything strange. Now I was the neighborhood weirdo, even more of a pariah than the meth house guy at the end of the block.

  I snatched a flashlight from the junk drawer and sprinted down the street toward the hill, snow crunching under my shoes. I almost stumbled when I met the icy ground beyond the pavement.

  The flashlight beam bounced on the ground as I ran down the hill to the pile of rocks.

  The rock I’d hidden the backpack under was on the path in front of me. I could see into the crevice between the rocks.

  “No!” I shouted, falling to my knees. I crawled to the hole in the rocks and found the backpack. Yanked it out. Inside were a collection of singed and blackened papers.

  All the evidence I’d found at Edgar’s house, burned to a crisp. The only weapon I had left in my arsenal.

  Ruined.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I didn’t sleep much that night. Tossed and turned, and anytime I did fall asleep, I dreamed of wasps, only to wake up drenched in sweat, with Kitty at the edge of the bed. Staring at me. Judging me.

  I got up in the middle of the night to sip water from the bathroom faucet. Spent a couple minutes staring at my reflection in the mirror. I hadn’t realized how tired I looked; how the bags under my eyes had darkened and the skin of my face had become rough. Several days’ worth of scratchy stubble jutted from my face.

  Why hadn’t I taken better care of the documents? Put them in a safe deposit box or something? And how the hell did they know where they were? Was I being watched by satellite? Or maybe they’d paid off my neighbors to report back information.

  In the morning, when I put my feet on the floor, I kicked the box of my mother’s letters. Felt the sorrow of her passing all over again when my hazy morning eyes focused on the Polaroid picture taped to the top of the box.

  I picked it up, opened it, and slipped off the rubber band binding the letters. I flipped through a few, then settled on the last one. The one I’d received after she’d died.

  The letter mostly contained the usual things: how her job was going, juicy gossip from her book club, asking me about classes and if I was prepared for finals, if I had any prospects on the girlfriend front.

  Then I noticed something after her signature; a postscript.

  P.S. Someday, we’re going to have a long talk. I think it’s time.

  I can’t remember that sticking out to me before, but I’m sure I thought at the time she was going to tell me to settle down and find a nice girl and a good-paying career with long term job security. She liked to preach that sort of thing. But now, given that every event in my life over the last month seemed to have a hidden meaning, maybe she meant something else. Maybe she knew Dad’s real occupation and why he left her, twenty years ago.

  Or maybe not. Who knows?

  I stumbled downstairs as sunlight peeked through the curtains, prepared Kitty’s breakfast, and made myself some coffee. I was tempted to season it with some Kahlúa, but I needed a clear head.

  Then I stared out into the backyard for an hour or so, drinking coffee and sinking deeper into the realization that those burned documents symbolized the end of my last shred of hope to expose IntelliCraft. My last possibility of getting justice for the dead and securing safety for my family. Did people like Kareem even deserve justice anymore, now that I knew the truth about what he’d done? I was having a hard time finding the innocents in this equation anymore.

  Yet, something told me that Kareem was a decent person. He’d wanted the truth to come out.

  A knock came at the door. I closed my bathrobe and peeked through the curtain at the window. As I’d expected, my half-sister Susan Palenti stood on the other side. Of course, she was in Colorado. She’d probably burned the documents and was now here to burn me. Thought I might as well let her in, since nothing else was working for me.

  I cracked the door open. “What do you want?”

  She smiled. “You scared your dad with that phone call yesterday. He’s worried you’re going to do something careless.”

/>   “Like expose his lies? Careless like that?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “That depends,” I said. “Do you have a gun in your purse? Are you going to shoot me?”

  She held open her purse and tilted it so I could see the contents. No gun. I waved her inside, then sat on the chair. Kitty immediately jumped into my lap.

  Susan closed the door behind her and sat on the couch. I hadn’t offered.

  “Who are you?” I said.

  “I’m Susan.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You want my life story? I was born in Maine and raised by Sharon Palenti in Boston. I was an Army engineer, honorably discharged after six years. Spent some time in LA, working in the business. A little stunt work, but mostly pyrotechnics and set design, horror movie makeup, that kind of thing. A couple years ago, our dad came into my life, and I moved to Texas to help him take down the company.”

  I narrowed my eyes, sipping my coffee and not giving her the reaction she wanted.

  “I think you have the wrong impression of me,” she said. “Of your dad. We want to help you. I know it’s going to take some convincing to make you understand that we’re on your side.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I see your wife isn’t here,” she said. “I hope you’ve got her stashed somewhere very remote. And I hope you were smart about taking her there.”

  “Grace’s location is none of your business. But you want me to believe you don’t already know?”

  “We’re not like them. We’re trying to do the right thing.”

  A pulse of anger flared. “Then why did you burn those documents incriminating IntelliCraft? Why did you throw away my only chance to nail them?”

  She sighed. “Exposing the company publically is the wrong way to go about this.”

  “I assume killing Edgar Hartford and his family is the right way? You know he had an infant son. How could you be so cold?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “His family is fine.”

  “But the news said three dead.”

  “Those other two were employees of the company. His wife and child were out of town, far away and completely safe. Those men we killed were evil men. They contributed to the deaths of thousands.”

  “But in doing that, you’ve doomed me and my family. They’re not going to let up unless I can give them back the info that was on that memory stick.”

  “The memory stick is gone,” she said.

  “I know that. What was on it?”

  She sighed again. “You might as well know all of it. You probably know I used to work for IntelliCraft in Dallas. I was… I guess you could say, a spy. Recently, I’d compiled some information that we could have used to damage Wyatt Green.”

  “Dad already told me some of this.”

  “I had someone else sneak it out of the company, and you were supposed to deliver it to me via the will. We had no idea you’d be involved at that point, but then you killed Wyatt Green, and everything changed. The information on that memory stick would have only hurt us.”

  I felt my jaw tensing. “And Omar Qureshi died because of it.”

  She pointed a finger at me. “No, that was on you. He would have been fine in Austin, but you had to uproot him and try to get him out of the country. No one was after him. You got him involved, and you got him killed.”

  I wanted to open my mouth and refute her claims, but I couldn’t. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes. If IntelliCraft had wanted to kill Omar, they could have found him just as easily as I had. But I took him and made him a target. Glenning had even said as much, right before I killed him.

  I thought of Omar’s body floating down the Rio Grande. My fault.

  “How did you know where I hid the documents?”

  She sighed, casting a long look at me. “I’m sorry I had to do that. I was watching, down the street, when I saw the FedEx truck. I followed you.”

  No matter how careful I seemed to be, I couldn’t help but slip up.

  “Please,” she said, “I’m begging you. Stay out of this. Your dad and I have a plan to eliminate the problem and make it as if none of this ever happened. If you get involved, you’re only going to make things worse.”

  My head started throbbing as I stood and paced the living room. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know how far I could trust her. I didn’t need another enemy to contend with. And I also didn’t trust that she and my dad wouldn’t kill me to keep me quiet about what I’d discovered.

  But, I did believe that they were not on the same side as the company. Whatever side that left them on, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Okay,” I said, “I believe that you want to stop them. But I don’t know if I trust that you have my best interests at heart. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to change that.”

  She nodded.

  I drained my coffee and sank back into the chair. “Here’s the deal: you do what you’re going to do, and I’m going to look out for my family. That’s all I care about.”

  She stood. “You’re making a mistake. If you get involved, none of this is going to end well.”

  “What are you going to do to stop me?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. We’re not like them. Eventually, you’re going to see that.”

  “Thanks for stopping by,” I said, pointing at the door.

  She started to walk toward it, then something else occurred to me. “Wait. There is one thing you can possibly answer for me.”

  She hitched her purse over her shoulder. “Go ahead.”

  “Why haven’t they killed me? With everything I know, everything I’ve done… they’ve had several chances to put a bullet in me, but they haven’t done it yet. Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. Who knows why they do anything they do?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I needed a gun, but I didn’t know where to get one quickly and easily. The cops had taken the one I’d used to shoot Wyatt, so I had to acquire a new one. I contemplated going to a gun shop to buy something, but didn’t know if I could walk out with one right away. Didn’t they have waiting periods with background checks and all that?

  Also, I couldn’t go the traditional legal route because I had a feeling I was going to have to use it in some non-legal ways.

  My phone rang and I fumbled it out of my pocket. “Hello?”

  “Hey, buddy, it’s me,” Rodrick said. “Just wanted to check in and see how things were going.”

  Rodrick’s perfect timing gave me an idea. The gangster with the cornrows.

  “I’d say it’s bad, but that doesn’t cover it. I do have one avenue I haven’t pursued yet. Is Noah around?”

  “I’m afraid not. He’s staying with his grandmother up in Buena Vista for the next couple days. What do you want with him?”

  My heart sank. “I was hoping he could take me to the place we went the other day, but don’t worry about it. I’ll find another way.”

  “Oh. Okay, then. Um, maybe now’s not a good time.”

  “A good time for what, Rod?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about what I mentioned the other day, but we can discuss it later.”

  Twice now, he’d had this weird aborted conversation with me. “Sure, that’s fine.”

  “Okay, buddy. You let me know if you need anything.”

  I got off the phone with him and considered my options. Walking into that gangster apartment alone was not a good idea. But even without Noah as a bridge, I had to risk it. I didn’t have any other plans.

  I hopped in the rental car and drove to Colfax. Sat outside the bar with the tiny door leading up to the apartment and tried to settle my nerves.

  “Okay, Candle,” I said to the dashboard. “If you project confidence, you will be confident. If you crap your pants, act like you meant for it to happen. Be a confident pants-crapper.”

  I crossed the street and banged on the screen door. About a minute later, the same guy in the same wifebe
ater trundled down the stairs, with the same suspicious look on his face.

  He leered at me. “What do you want?”

  “Do you remember me, from the other day?”

  He made a clicking sound with his tongue as he looked me up and down. “Nope,” he said as he turned to walk away.

  “Wait,” I said, and held up all the cash I had left with me. Just a few hundred dollars, but I’d rolled it to seem bigger. Like a mobster would, I guess, if they actually do that the way it happens in movies.

  The money caught his attention and he came back to the door. “Alright, follow me. He ain’t gonna like you coming by without an appointment, though. So, don’t act like I didn’t warn you.”

  He creaked open the screen door and I followed him up the stairs. Just like the other day, a collection of people all hanging out, smoking weed, playing video games. Many of them were drinking, too, and it wasn’t even noon. Booming music thumped through the floor. Bass so forceful I felt my stomach churn.

  The man with the cornrows sat in his same spot on the couch, head tilted back, a bulbous joint hanging from his lips, dribbling wisps of smoke into the air. Same gun on the coffee table.

  He snapped his head forward and opened his eyes, then glared at me. “What the fuck?” He glared at the man in the wifebeater. “You let him in here?”

  “Man’s got green,” Wifebeater said. “Looking to do some business.”

  Cornrows shot up off the couch, snatched the gun, and got in my face. His breath stank of eggs. He raised the pistol to the side of my head, his finger hovering a half-inch above the trigger. “Who the fuck are you? Tell me why I shouldn’t dead you right now.”

  I held up my hands in surrender, tried not to whimper. Not the first time I’d had a gun pointed at me recently, but the first time today, at least. Plus, he had his finger on the trigger, and could easily shoot me, if even by accident.