Shallow Creek

by Alistair McIntyre

  Brendan rolled his shoulders and popped his neck with a quick tilt of his head. “No, I can’t,” he said. “Can you get these damn cuffs off me now?”

  Chapter 41

  Brendan’s butt ached from sitting in the small wooden chair. Hailing from time when comfort wasn’t a primary consideration, this particular model featured a paper-thin cushion and sharp edges all round. He shifted his cuffed hands in his lap. At least they’d moved his hands to his front, and they’d definitely loosened the cuffs by a couple of clicks this time. Brendan sighed, leaned his weary head back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

  But sleep never came, no matter how much he provoked it. His head drooped heavily, and it was tough to focus enough to hold it in one spot. He quickly approached that boundary beyond which drunkenness and abject fatigue merged into one and the same. Finally his eyelids accepted gravity’s gentle tug and closed firmly as his chin sought a resting place against his chest.

  He jerked awake at the sound of Norman’s voice yelling at him from across the open space that served as both the sheriff’s office foyer and the DEA task force’s headquarters. The man’s words jumbled together and Brendan couldn’t make any sense of them. His eyes settled on the desk next to him where Agent Norman had earlier left a printout of a spreadsheet showing all the property owned by the Rhodes family. His mom and dad’s house was the only thing listed in their name, and only Grant’s mobile home showed up under his. Brendan’s name on the other hand came up with three hits. One he guessed was the farm he’d discovered a couple of nights ago. The other two were a mystery, but also looked like farm addresses.

  “Answer me, damn it.” Norman grabbed Brendan by the shirt and pulled him close. The agent’s awful breath assaulted Brendan’s senses one more time, dragging him fully out of his sleepy stupor.

  “Okay, okay,” Brendan insisted. “What is it?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you own a black Dodge truck?”

  “I don’t. My Ford is green.”

  Norman growled something unintelligible before shoving Brendan back into the wooden chair. Brendan watched as the lead agent snatched a piece of paper out of a nearby assistant’s hands.

  “On this list of ten vehicles that you own, you’ll see right here an entry for a black Dodge pickup.” Norman thrust the crinkled paper into Brendan’s face. “Why do I keep finding your name everywhere I look in this investigation?”

  “Because my brother’s an asshole.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  The piece of paper flew across the room after Norman crumpled it in a rage. Brendan refrained from needling the agent any further.

  “Why did I just find a partially burned-out black Dodge with Agent Tyson’s blood on the backseat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’d have thought a Marine would at least know how to torch a vehicle.”

  “I do know how, so it wasn’t me.”

  This admission gave Norman pause. “And why did I find a handgun with your name etched into the grip sitting on the floor?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Brendan said. “I haven’t seen that gun in—”

  “Save it,” Norman snapped. He pointed at Marcus, who’d been standing and watching the whole scene unravel. “You, take this man back to a cell and make sure he stays there.”

  “Sir, doesn’t this seem a bit too obvious?”

  Norman cut Marcus off with a violent shake of his arm. “You do as I say right now, Deputy. Got it?”

  Marcus nodded glumly and muttered in the affirmative before leading Brendan from his perch to the holding cells. They rounded the corner, finding themselves completely alone; the cells sat empty this fine morning. Maybe that meant Brendan could catch some sleep finally.

  “Man, this ain’t right,” Marcus whispered as they neared the cell doors. “I know you didn’t do any of this.”

  “Tell me about it,” Brendan mumbled before an epiphany smacked him right in the face. He twisted around and Marcus let go of his arm. “I need to get out of here.”

  His friend glanced over his shoulder briefly, obviously weighing his options. Surely their experience together at the warehouse proved Brendan wasn’t involved with Grant’s illegal activities. The decision was obvious before Marcus even opened his mouth.

  “Okay, you’re going to punch me in the face and escape through the back, past the guard station over there. Greg’s up front helping that Norman asshole, so the coast should be clear.” Marcus fished his keys out and unlocked Brendan’s cuffs. He sighed deeply. “This is such a bad idea, but I know you’re not in on this. Do you at least have a plan?’

  “I think I know where they are, but I don’t know the address yet,” Brendan said, getting giddy now.

  Marcus pulled a cell phone from his back pocket and handed it to Brendan. He recognized it as his own immediately.

  “This is it, man,” Marcus said as the cuffs fell away. “I can’t help you again.”

  Brendan embraced his friend tightly before pushing past him.

  “Hey, aren’t you forgetting something,” Marcus whispered harshly.

  The punch was pulled just enough, but Marcus still fell against the wall and slid down slowly as Brendan made a break for his freedom.

  Chapter 42

  Sirens erupted from behind as Brendan raced down the alley butting up against the back side of the sheriff’s office. He hit the first corner at full speed and ended up in the middle of a street with a FedEx truck barreling towards him. Off-balance and frantic, Brendan edged back onto the sidewalk and powered forward, ignoring the truck’s squealing tires and the driver’s furious honks.

  The sirens suddenly bloomed directly behind him, so Brendan chanced a glance backwards. The delivery truck slid sideways and blocked both sides of the road. A DEA cruiser dodged onto the sidewalk, but tagged a fire hydrant in the process. Water plumed up in a distressed fountain as the cops screamed and shouted. Brendan kept going, trying to think of where he could hide. He hadn’t thought they’d be onto him so quickly.

  Chaotic noises of the chase dwindled as Brendan put more and more distance between himself and the mess behind him. Legs pumping tirelessly, Brendan recognized the signs that his adrenaline rush would soon fade, unleashing the intense pain lurking in his battered ribs. He needed a plan, and fast.

  His flight from the law brought him into a suburban area in no time. A giant new grocery store loomed on his left, so he cut into the parking lot and made a beeline for the entrance. Once inside, he scanned the front area for payphones. He planned on calling from the payphone to maintain some kind of anonymity, increasing his chances that his contacts would answer.

  Not seeing his target anywhere, Brendan asked the girl behind the customer service desk if there was a phone. She looked at him like he’d asked her where they kept the adult movies.

  “Uh, sir, I don’t think there are payphones anywhere anymore.”

  He thanked her and wandered away from her desk. Left with no other choice, Brendan made for the exit. A security guard waddled up to take his station by the door, but paid Brendan no special attention as he glided past and casually made his way to the side of the long building.

  When finally hidden from view, he pulled out his phone and saw that the power bar was already in the red. Apparently only getting a short charge during the night hadn’t done much for the battery. He quickly selected the number he wanted and hit dial on the touchscreen.

  “Hey, this is Michelle.”

  “Michelle, this is Brendan.”

  “What—? Are you insane? Why are you calling me on the house phone?”

  “Just shut up for a second,” he snapped. “Where the hell is Grant?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything. In fact, I’m going to hang up.”

  “No, no. Don’t do that. Please tell me where he is.”

  The line stayed quiet for a few painful heartbeats. Brendan’s side started to throb where the SWAT bastard had tag
ged him.

  “He left this morning,” she said finally. “And what have you been doing at the sheriff’s so much these past couple of days?”

  “How the hell do you know about that?” Brendan glanced around the corner of the grocery store to check for cops. It was all clear.

  “Not much of an answer there, Tenny.”

  Was she messing with him? This was crazy. She was crazy. “You know that two DEA agents are missing, right, since you know everything?”

  “Spee?”

  “How do you know about Spee?”

  Michelle’s voice turned red hot. “That fucking idiot. That’s why he went to the cabin.”

  The line went dead, but Michelle had confirmed the suspicion that had popped into Brendan’s head while in custody. He highlighted the next call he needed to make and prayed the dying battery would hold out for a few more minutes.

  “Boy, what the hell kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?” his dad demanded in place of a salutation.

  “It’s Grant that’s in deep shit, Dad. He’s been dealing meth.”

  His dad hesitated. “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is,” Brendan insisted. “The same shit that Taryn’s hooked on.”

  “What? But, wait—”

  “I need to know where Grant’s timeshare is. The cabin you told me about.”

  His dad was still in shock from the sounds of his inarticulate mumblings.

  “Dad, snap out of it! We can do some real good here, but you’ve got to tell me where Grant’s place is.”

  For all his usual bluster, Darryl Rhodes finally had nothing to say.

  “Dad, please. I want to help Taryn, and to do that, I need to take down Grant. He’s kidnapped two federal agents.”

  That got the old man’s attention. “What? Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely. Where is the cabin?”

  “Uh, I don’t know exactly, but I’m pretty sure he said it’s just two streets past our old place, off some caliche road. You turn right at the fork. Yeah, that’s what he told me. You keep going past our cabin, make a right two driveways down, and then hang right at the fork.”

  “Holy shit. Thanks, Dad.”

  “Brendan, the police just arrived,” his dad said, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “You sure you’re not in trouble?”

  “Positive. Please trust me.”

  The silence on the open line provided Brendan with little solace.

  “Sure,” his dad finally said, defeated.

  Brendan choked back what he pretended wasn’t a tear and hung up. When his phone reverted back to the phonebook screen, he saw another useful entry, but knew he couldn’t just call. He’d have to do this one in person.

  Chapter 43

  Crouched between two parked cars, Brendan scanned the street one last time before making his move. The act of standing shot searing pain into his midsection, but he managed to reduce his reaction to a mere grimace. Screaming in pain wasn’t going to help him sneak around much, not in this quiet neighborhood. He crossed the street quickly and mounted the stairs to Kim’s apartment.

  No obvious cops had watched the place, or even swung by, in the fifteen minutes Brendan had spent observing from down the street. Confident that the police and DEA were focusing their efforts elsewhere, Brendan rapped on the door and stepped back. Only when he heard the shuffling of feet approaching the door from the other side did Brendan suddenly realize Kim’s mother was probably watching him right now. Did she have any good reason to call the cops on him? He didn’t think so, but it was hard to tell friend from foe at this point. A quick glance back to the kitchen window of the main house revealed no sign of Kim’s mom.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Kim looked like crap. She wore her bathrobe and some house slippers shaped like a cartoon character Brendan vaguely recognized. Her hair was a mess and she had a box of tissues in one hand.

  “You feeling okay?” he asked gingerly, testing the waters.

  “I’m sick,” she said, her congested sinus fully evident in her voice. “I’m the only person who can get a cold when it’s seventy degrees out.”

  She was probably sick because of the huge swings in temperature that this part of the country suffered from at this time of the year. Sure, it was seventy plus during the day, but at night the air could dip below fifty.

  “That sucks. Can I come in and talk for a second?”

  “No. You’re an asshole for even showing up here,” she said, but the door stayed open.

  “I’m sorry for not telling you, and I wish I had a better explanation other than, ‘I don’t remember any of it.’”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Brendan held his hands up in surrender. “Fine, don’t believe me. That’s not even why I’m here. I think my brother kidnapped two DEA agents and is holding them at his cabin.”

  “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

  She sneezed as she moved back from the door to make way for him, but Brendan ignored the invitation. Suddenly he didn’t want to tempt fate by entering a contaminated zone.

  “Yeah, the DEA have been on to him recently, and I think he kidnapped these cops,” Brendan said. “They’re in danger.”

  “So I was right about Grant?” she asked before blowing her nose prolifically.

  “Looks like it. I think he’s up near the top of this local operation.”

  “So why are you here? Go tell the cops about this place.”

  “The police aren’t exactly my best friends right now. They think I’m involved with my brother’s scheme.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Involved with Grant,” Kim said, as if talking to a stupid child.

  “No. Of course not.”

  She processed all of this for a few moments before speaking again. “Can I trust you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I trusted you before. I trusted you more than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry for that,” Brendan said. “I want to make that up to you somehow, but right now, I need a favor.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked away. “Here it comes.”

  “I need your car.”

  She sat down on a stool near the front door. “To go where? To your brother’s cabin?”

  Brendan nodded.

  “Is it anywhere near your family’s old cabin?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You’ll need more than my crappy little car out there, Brendan. Use your head.”

  Kim got up and brushed past him as she made her way down the stairs. He hurried along behind her, wondering what she was up to.

  “Wait here,” she said at the backdoor to the main house.

  Obeying her without protest, Brendan leaned against the back wall, right next to the door. Checking every direction for cops or other general onlookers, Brendan tried hard to not look too nervous as he waited for Kim to reappear from inside the house. When a black sedan slowly cruised by the long driveway, his heart crawled into his throat until the car moved on.

  After waiting a full minute, Brendan started to get antsy. What was she doing in there? People’s lives could hang in the balance, and she was off doing God only knew what.

  What if she called the cops? Was that why she’d lured him out here, so that she could get into the house, away from him, to make the call in privacy?

  As Brendan peeled himself cautiously off the wall, the door opened and Kim appeared, keys in hand.

  “Take my mom’s truck.”

  She handed the keys over and clicked the garage door open with the remote in her other hand. The wide aluminum door ascended to reveal a pristine, blue Ford F-150 with all-terrain tires and a short lift kit. A gleaming toolbox hung across the bed, right under the rear window.

  “I can’t promise it’ll look this good when I bring it back,” Brendan said, admiring the clean machine.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to tell her you stole
it.”

  “What? Why?”

  She smiled beautifully despite her cold. “Just kidding. Don’t be a dumbass.”

  Brendan recovered enough to get into the truck and start the engine. He rolled down the window as he backed it out, carefully avoiding Kim’s car in the process.

  “Have you got any money?” Kim called to him.

  Brendan stopped the truck. He patted his pockets. “I left everything at my parents’ house.”

  “Here, you stole this from my mom, too.” She passed him a few folded twenties through the open window. “And don’t think this means I’m not still pissed at you.”

  “Can we sort that out later?” She folded her arms and nodded. “Thanks a lot for your help. I really appreciate it.”

  She huffed a little and waved him on. “Go fix this, and then come back to me in one piece, okay?”

  Chapter 44

  Hope enveloped Brendan as he drove casually out of the neighborhood. Kim still had a thing for him, he was sure of it, but for now he needed to file that away and focus on escaping Shallow Creek. Surely the cops had blockaded most of the town by now, setting up a perimeter to hinder Brendan’s flight.

  When Brendan thought about it, though, that DEA jackass, Norman, would probably deploy most of his limited assets to search for his missing agents. Sacrificing the search and rescue teams in order to stop Brendan leaving town wouldn’t be as high a priority. With that in mind, Brendan made the decision to sneak out of town the way they used to in high school. The chances of anyone patrolling that area would be slim.

  This part of Shallow Creek had changed a lot since he’d last visited. Developers had converted a lot of the old houses into businesses of various sorts. Some had kept the homes up and even restored some of them, which Brendan appreciated since these houses were the oldest buildings left in town. Others had pulled down the historic structures and replaced them with cheap pre-fab shacks promising quick oil changes or greasy donuts.

  Seeing the old town of his parents’ childhoods disappearing like this distracted Brendan enough that he would’ve missed his turn if not for the streaks of mud staining the main road in a V-shape emanating from the tiny, unmarked lane. Once on the dirt-covered lane, Brendan smiled. A lot had changed in Shallow Creek, but teenagers would always want to get away from their folks to do stupid crap. He followed the straight road as the buildings became more and more sparse, giving way to the empty fields and short hedges lining the pavement. Just when the lane appeared to terminate in a thick stand of bushes, Brendan caught sight of the old gap in the hedge on his left and cut the wheel, sliding the truck out into the field.