by Andrew Allan
I gave her the full report. Everything from what I learned about the execution team to my meeting with Wingart, and even an aside about the Panhandle Rippers.
“You have done well, love,” she said. “But now, it is time to get serious.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have spoken to DG. He can get us out of the U.S. and into Holland. It would be expensive, but I have money hidden at my house. It would cover his fees and give us plenty to live on for a while. At least a year,” she said.
“Didn’t I just say I was making progress?” I said.
“And, I heard you. It sounds like you’ve taken very dangerous risks and I am grateful you survived. But, now you have enough information to give to other people so they can handle this. Someone better equipped for this. And, I don’t want to risk losing you again. I won’t,” she said.
I didn’t say anything. I needed a moment to consider her proposal. She watched me and waited for my answer. But, she wasn’t going to like it.
“I’m not going to Europe. I’ve seen these guys, what they do. I’m not walking away now.”
“You are foolish.”
“Running is foolish,” I said as I got up from the bed. “They won’t stop chasing us. Are we really having this conversation again?”
“Yes, we are. And, we’re lucky to be having it!” Her face flushed red with anger.
“Lucky? Or, maybe I’m better at this sort of stuff than either of us knew.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. How soon until your luck runs out?”
“They’re from Europe. How soon until they find us there? I have no choice!”
She didn’t respond and I didn’t follow up. Things had become too tense.
“I’m the one who has no choice,” she said.
She turned away and several minutes of silence followed.
I hated fights like this. We both wanted the same thing – to stop the bad guys, stay safe, and get back to our normal lives. But, we saw varied degrees of risk. It was a drastic difference.
“I think you’re making a terrible, careless, unkind decision,” she said.
“Maybe. But, it’s the right one.”
She looked away frustrated.
Another long silence.
Her body relaxed and she sunk deeper into the pillows. Tension in her face revealed a war of thoughts going on inside her head. Her expressions evolved from sad to resigned to stern. She looked at me with renewed resolve.
“If I can’t take you away...I will find a way to support you here. But, you must do something for me.”
“I promise not to get killed,” I said, jumping the gun with a smirk.
She scowled, seized my wrist, and shook it. “You must promise to kill! If that’s what it takes.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
“They’re bad men, Walter. Doing very bad things. DG can only babysit me for so long. If they kill you, I’m as good as dead, too,” she said.
“Thank you for the pep talk, love,” I said. “But, I have all the motivation I need.”
She continued as if I hadn’t said a thing. “You can show no mercy and no pity. Not anymore. Not with these men. Understand?”
I watched the anguish percolate across her face. She wasn’t going to look away until I made that dark promise. A promise, which seemed crazy, but rang true.
“You are protecting yourself, your family, and me. You are kicking ass for those who can no longer kick,” she said and patted her bum leg. “Even if you hate the idea, remember it doesn’t make you a killer. It makes you a hero. And, heroes do what it takes, no matter how ugly.”
I did hate the idea. But, she was right.
She folded her arms. “Deal?”
I nodded. “Deal.”
She swiped her welling tears a way. A sniffle. She cleared her throat. She looked to me.
“Now, shut the door and make love to me.”
She didn’t smile. It was an order and I followed it.
Afterwards, she fell asleep fast. The last thing I remembered as I drifted off to sleep was the birth of my first son, Evan, and the first moments I held his soft, warm body in my hands; I understood then and there that because I could create life, I knew it was in me to take a life. I could kill. And, I would do just that, without hesitation, to anyone who tried to hurt my beautiful child. It was a scary thing to realize about myself. No one wanted to admit they could do it. But, in that precious instant, it became an undeniable truth in me. I could and I would kill anyone who messed with my kids. For Ilsa.
My timid husk was gone. With Ilsa’s blessing and my own, I was now ready to go after the executioners.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I SLEPT SOUND and woke up rested and refreshed. Ilsa looked the picture of peace as she lay next to me. I couldn’t wait to tease about her snoring.
Shower, shave, and fresh clothes and I was back to feeling like myself. All I needed was a few hours to write to feel all the way back to normal. No time for that.
I found DG in his living room holding court with five guys from his gang. He said to give him a minute, so I went to the kitchen and heated up breakfast. He found me there stuffing my mouth.
“I don’t think I even ate yesterday,” I mumbled through a mouthful of biscuit.
“Eat up. You’re gonna need it,” he said. “Things are getting too hot with you around.”
I looked around at the kitchen we were in. “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the...?” I said with a smirk.
He forced a smile but wasn’t amused.
“Look, Walt. You know I love you like a brother. And, you can count on me. But, you’re bringing the fuzz too close to my operations. It’s swarming. And, I can’t have ‘em sniffin’ this hound’s butt, you dig?”
“I dig.”
“That means you and Ilsa either split for Europe together or don’t come back ’til you get things cleared up. However they have to get cleared up.”
“You’ve been great to us. I can take it from here.”
“That’s a peculiar decision on your part,” he said.
“I’ve thought it through,” I said.
He nodded.
“Ilsa can stay. She can’t go on her own and you can’t have her slowing you down. We’ll take care of that fine lady until you’re ready to come and get her. Plus, I got guys running her bars.”
“How much is that costing?” I said.
“Usual ten percent skim. She’s cool with it. And, those boys will shotgun any one who tries to mess with the place,” he said.
That was good to hear. Ten percent seemed like a small price to pay to keep everything from falling apart. Wish they could fill in for my writing business. But, that’d be weird. Although, I bet DG’s boys could muscle higher rates out of my clients. It was something worth considering.
DG continued, “ They came snooping around.”
My heart started racing. “Who?”
“I dunno. But, we checked the surveillance cameras and pulled a pic.”
He extracted a small black and white photo out of his grubby flannel pocket. It showed the scrawny blonde man who’d tried to stab me at my house. He was standing outside Ilsa’s bar, The Brute, in downtown Gainesville. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He looked to be sizing things up.
“He tried to pry info from the bartender. He asked about Ilsa like they were old friends. Said he was supposed to meet the two of you there. My boy told him to get lost and get fucked.”
“Your boy’s lucky to be alive,” I said.
“So is that guy.” He flicked the picture.
“Thanks for everything, DG.”
“Any time. I’ll help however I can. But, for now I need you to pull the cops away from here.”
“I’m going back to Union County. That’s where they’re hiding,” I said holding up the photo. “But, the cops were out in force last night. I can only imagine it’s worse today.”
He nodded, knowing all about it.
/> “Don’t worry about that. I had some of my Miami boys phone in fake sightings, saying they’d seen you. One saw you in West Palm. The next down in Kendall. Then another said he seen you moving south through Marathon Key. I suspect they’re already racing down to trap you.”
“Nice.”
“But, just in case they keep a fleet up here, I’ve booked you some alternate transportation. It leaves in two hours and you can’t miss it,” he said.
My alternate transportation was an hour and a half away from DG’s hideout. That meant I barely had time to bid Ilsa goodbye. Brave faces for both of us. But, there was a heavy silence knowing it could be the last time we see each other. If things went wrong. We kissed and I was whisked into the back of a cargo van made up to look like a cable company truck.
I couldn’t see out any windows on the drive down, and no one told me where we were going. When the back of the van opened, I saw we were at a private dock at the end of a winding, mangrove lined inlet. The dock looked out to a wide, stunning view of the Gulf of Mexico. A pair of dirty, brown pelicans bobbed up and down as the greenish water beneath them chopped against the pylons.
It was blazing hot and the glare off the white crushed shell path that lead to the dock made squinting necessary. My drivers lead me aboard a shrimp boat that looked like it had served for thousands of voyages over several decades. Appearances aside, it felt sturdy when I stepped on it. One of DG’s boys told me to make myself comfortable, so I sat at the back of the boat on a bench that stored life jackets. I was offered my choice of beer, joints, and an array of fresh seafood that had been prepared on the dockside grill. I took a little of each.
The beer refreshed under the brutal sun and tied in well with the breeze as we motored along. The shrimp and grouper were fresh and stellar. And, the marijuana relaxed me. A precious clarity formed in my mind, allowing it to wander in positive directions as I sized up my situation.
I looked at the picture of the executioner. Young, blonde, and with a defiant face. His features didn’t scream redneck. But, his clothes hinted in that direction. He had the same anglo/Euro features as the other attackers I had seen up close. That tied right in with their supposed French history, per the Warden. I memorized every detail of his face so that I would recognize him before he recognized me the next time our paths crossed.
I had a map of Florida, but had no idea where we would dock. So rather than chart a path from the Gulf, I concentrated on Union County, memorizing the main highways, and just trying to absorb as much about the geography of the place as I could. It might come in handy.
It occurred to me that I needed a weapon. I couldn’t go up against these guys unarmed. Not anymore. And, I had left the Skull Crusher back in the car in Defuniak Springs. That was okay. As handy as it had been, I’d prefer to have something that fired from a distance or could be thrown, like a blade. Not that I was an expert marksman of any sort. That just felt like the right way to go. Plus, the weight of the Skull Crusher had taken a toll on my arm muscles. My shoulder was killing me from swinging that thing.
I was struck with a substantial realization: Acting like a complete novice – which I was – wouldn’t cut it anymore. I need to throw down the gauntlet and do something drastic. In advertising it’s called "pattern interrupt." You disrupt the consumer’s pattern to stand out and get a sales edge. I knew the only way I could stop these killers was to disrupt their pattern of operation and attack them from an angle they’d never suspect. Instead of worrying about them stalking me, I needed to stalk them. And, when the opportunity presented itself...keep my promise to Ilsa.
Just over five hours later we pulled into another private dock on the west central coast of Florida. It was just north of Steinhatchee, a small coastal town known for their scallops and scallop fest. Scallopalooza, they called it. Ilsa and I had considered going then realized we’d missed it by a week.
DG’s guy introduced me to Boris, DG’s three hundred plus pound Steinhatchee contact who appeared to sweat professionally. He said he could give me a ride into Cross City as soon as they unloaded the boat, and that’s it. I’d be on my own after that.
Fine by me. I leaned against the dock railing as the boat crew unloaded bales of something I presumed was illegal. Fifteen minutes later, I was on the back of Boris’ motorcycle holding on to his rotund belly.
His goodbye was brief and I soon found myself standing on a corner in little, bitty Cross City. I was outside a boutique “for sassy, stylish gals” and across from a greasy spoon with a small crowd. A green highway sign indicated the way east to Gainesville, the way I needed to go. That meant I had to cut through the middle of town to get to where cars would be heading my way. Maybe I could hitch a ride. In truth, that was my only hope. Otherwise I’d be stuck on the dark highway and turned into insect or alligator bait. No thanks.
I crossed through the town’s main intersection. No one appeared to recognize me. For that, I was thankful. Next problem: I’d have no place to hide once I got out onto the highway. Any police cruiser that passed by would size me up quick, pull over to question me, put me in their computer, and bam, that’s that.
But, two blocks down the main drag I stopped worrying about police encounters and found inspiration for my drastic action.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
HE WAS STANDING next to a battered Toyota Camry in a dusty parking lot adjacent to the Cross City office of the Dixie County Advocate, the small, hometown newspaper. A camera hung over his shoulder while he jotted notes on a palm-sized notepad. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was a reporter. His fresh face and preppy pink shirt gave him a just outta college vibe. And, the focus with which he wrote made it clear this was but a small stop on his path towards a Pulitzer Prize. Just what I needed.
I waited for a cattle truck to pass and stepped through a cloud of swirling road dust.
“You work for the paper?” I asked as I walked up.
He looked up from his notepad.
I offered a megawatt smile.
“Why, yes,” he said, smiling back.
“How would you like a scoop on the biggest story in the State?” By the time I’d finished saying it I had moved around his car and opened the passenger side door.
“Uh, well, yeah! I’d love it.”
“Good. Get in and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Where are we going?” he asked as he settled into the driver’s seat and shut his door.
“Starke. Union County.”
“Wait, what? I can’t. I have an assignment,” he said, stopping short of starting the car.
“For what?” I buckled up and locked my door. He noticed and started to look concerned.
“Mrs. Strother’s new petunia blooms. Local interest.”
“Sounds boring, uhh...”
“Teddy. Teddy Salters. Hey, if I don’t go, I’ll get fired.”
“I seriously doubt there are many people lining up to get your job, Teddy. Besides...” I reached over and turned the key to start the car. “I have the story that’s going to change you from a flunky Teddy to a respected Ted and make your career.”
“Holy bones! You’re the guy the police are looking for? I’ve seen your face in the paper. And, on TV.”
Teddy couldn’t believe it.
We drove east on Highway 26 towards Gainesville.
“That’s right. Only what you’ve heard about me isn’t true. Not in the least,” I said.
“So, why are they saying those things?”
“Because the guys who really did it want me captured and killed. They’re bad men with important connections and if they can’t find me themselves, they’ll have the cops and media do it for them.”
“That sounds pretty incredible. How do I know you’re not making it up and you really did do all those bad things they say you did?”
“Because what man on the run from the law asks to be driven to the same city as the Florida State Prison? That’s where I’m trying to avoid going,” I said.
He thought about it then nodded. “That’s a good point.”
“I know.”
“You must want more from me than a ride, right?”
“Teddy, I can already tell you have a sound journalistic mind. And, that will serve us both.”
“How so?”
“I need you to do some things that I can’t do with my face plastered all over the place. So, here’s the scoop: The guy the paper is saying I killed is actually one of the death row executioners for the State of Florida.”
“Why would you kill him?”
“Because he was trying to kill me.”
“So, you did kill him,” he looked at me, worry growing on his face.
“Watch the road,” I said. He obeyed. I continued, “It was accidental and in self defense. For real.”
He focused on the road ahead but his brow was furrowed with confusion and questions.
“Teddy, this is where you say, Walt, why did you have to defend yourself from them?”
“Why did you have to—”
“Because they’ve been trying to kill me. And, they’re doing that because I know they killed my good friend Ken Kerenz. At his house, right along the beautiful Rainbow River, where I should be swimming now instead of talking to you.”
Teddy thought about it for a minute. He really did have a sharp mind and a budding bullshit detector.
“One of Florida’s state executioners killed your friend,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“In his home.”
“His backyard.”
“Not on Death Row.”
“Out of his jurisdiction, wouldn’t you say?”
He nodded.
“So, why would one of Florida’s state executioners kill people other than on Death Row?” he said.
“That’s what I’ve spent the past several days trying to find out. And, the answer is, they’re freelancing,” I said.
He looked at me, a grave expression on his face.
“Now, you’re getting it,” I said. “The only sanctioned killers in the state have expanded their business and are working for the highest bidders.”
