"I already told you," the elderly lady said, "I don't want to sell the business. I'm keeping it for my grandson. Once he finishes college –"
The large man on the right, sporting long dreadlocks, took a step forward, bits of gravel on the asphalt crunching under his heavy, steel-toed boot, "You wouldn't want something serious to happen to your Todd, now would you?"
The man's two companions each took a step forward as well, glaring menacingly to emphasize the pain they would inflict on Grace Patterson's grandson.
Grace Patterson thrust her chin out, "I've already signed the papers to transfer the business. You're too late–"
The big man on her left, sporting a red Mohawk, growled in a low voice, "No you haven't. You were gonna do it tomorrow. If you do that old lady, little Toddy is going to be in a world of hurt." He raised his right hand and slowly formed a fist, "That is if he survives the hurt."
Grace Patterson's old gray eyes narrowed at the man, "Now, how in the world would you know I was going to the bank tomorrow to sign the papers? Who have you been talking to young man?"
"We have ears everywhere, grandma," said dreadlocks "you can't escape this–"
Grace Patterson wagged a finger at the big man, "When that young Detective Berenson catches up with you, with all three of you, he's going to give you the whipping of your life."
The three men laughed. "He's probably going to give us a high-five," dreadlocks said to red Mohawk. Then he looked back directly at Grace Patterson, "Time to stop playing games, old lady." He made a motion with his head to red Mohawk, "Pit Bull, knock a few teeth out. If the old crow has any left."
Pit Bull flashed a gap-toothed smile, "My pleasure, Digger." Pit Bull took a step toward the old lady, pulling his fist back to throw a hard right. But before he threw the punch, his eyes widened in shock, he howled, clutched his right side in the back and dropped to his knees.
Rory Mack Steele had been waiting behind the old garage where Grace Patterson kept her car at the back of her two-story house. Three long strides and one punch to Pit Bull's kidney from behind had done the job.
Digger was taken by surprise and slow to respond as he watched Pit Bull drop over onto his face. By the time he was turning towards Rory, it was too late.
Rory landed a punch to Digger's jaw and watched the big man drop to his back on the asphalt. Looking to the third man, a big, 6-foot barrel of a man, with a shaved head and a goatee, Rory saw him go into a defensive crouch. Rory had learned his street name was Fat Boy, but there was a lot of hidden muscle under the three hundred pound frame.
Fat Boy swung his arm and made a whipping action with his wrist.
Rory hadn't expected that. Fat Boy had a collapsible fighting baton in his right hand. Only now it wasn't collapsed. It was rigid and ready to strike. He had expected a man with his girth would use that size and bulk. I guess not.
Bringing the weapon up to his left shoulder in a well-practiced move, Fat Boy whipped the baton down in one quick motion to strike Rory's right thigh.
Rory stepped back but was not quick enough. The end of the baton caught his thigh muscle. Pain shot through his body and his right leg collapsed under him. His right knee screamed in pain as his kneecap slammed into the asphalt.
Raising the baton over his head, Fat Boy moved ahead in attack mode. He brought the baton down with two hands and a loud shout.
Rory raised his left arm, fist over his head, elbow down at the shoulder and deflected the baton with this forearm. He emitted a cry of pain from the deflected blow, but he kept his head. He brought his right fist up between the man's legs.
Fat Boy saw the blow coming and twisted to the left. It struck him on the inner right thigh and he yelped in pain, staggering back a couple of steps.
Rolling over backward, Rory came up on his feet. The pain in his right thigh was still immense and he nearly lost his footing.
Seeing the stumble, Fat Boy moved his bulk forward again quickly, bringing the baton up over his head, aiming a vicious two-handed blow at Rory's head.
Rory brought his left arm up again at an angle. Thrusting his arm forward in one smooth motion, Rory deflected the blow with his elbow and then thrust a flat left-hand blow towards the man's face.
Fat Boy reacted by pulling his head back.
Rory used the reaction to go on the offensive and disarm the big man. Dropping his hand down between Fat Boy's arms, Rory then circled his hand up and back, twisting the big man's arms. He reached for the baton with his right...but it wasn't there!
Fat Boy was grinning. He had anticipated Rory's move and had simply dropped the baton. Now he threw a hard left cross and connected.
Rory staggered from the hard blow to his jaw.
Now shifting his weight, Fat Boy threw a right uppercut between Rory's arms.
But Rory countered by moving his upper body back and the punch missed by barely a quarter of an inch. Bringing his upper body forward and angled to the side, Rory threw a body punch with his right to the man's now exposed left side.
Fat Boy's face was a mass of agony as he dropped to his knees and collapsed onto his face from the vicious body punch.
Before he could deliver another blow, Rory felt pain exploding across his upper back and he collapsed to his own knees.
Digger now stood over Rory, holding the baton Fat Boy had dropped. He grinned maliciously, blood from Rory's first punch coating his teeth and his lips. He raised the baton and brought it down on Rory's back again.
Rory collapsed face down in pain. He ignored the hurt and got to his knees but a steel-toed boot caught him in the stomach, knocking him over onto his back.
Pit Bull had recovered from the kidney blow and he was now striding towards Rory, teeth clenched in anger as gravel crunched under his own steel-toed boots, "Let's finish this little bastard."
Fat Boy had recovered as well and was only a few feet away, his voice a growl, "Yeah, you're going to die, buddy."
Digger spit out blood, "Naw, I wanna play a little more." He raised his arms and brought the baton down from way over his head.
Rory rolled to his left. He heard the baton strike the asphalt hard just behind him and roll brought him over on his hands and knees. He was wondering how he could fight all three without the element of surprise when he spotted a page from a discarded newspaper. It was lying against the back of the garage, lightly flapping in the breeze that had carried it there. The headline caught his eye and everything changed in a heartbeat. Adrenaline raced through Rory's body.
Pit Bull attacked, aiming another vicious blow at Rory's midsection with a steel-toed boot.
Rory rolled over, letting the boot pass and then rolled back towards Pit Bull. His maneuver had worked. The man with the red Mohawk was now like a defenseless punter, his right leg lifted high in the air. Rory spun around on his back like a break dancer and threw a leg kick at Pit Bull's left knee.
The sound of bone snapping was loud. Pit Bull screamed in agony and he fell hard in a heap.
Rory kept moving on attack. He spun back, rolled over and threw a left punch directly between Fat Boy's legs.
Fat Boy wasn't expecting the blow and he clutched his groin, rolled over and vomited in agony.
Digger's face was a mask of rage as took two strides and attacked with the baton, bringing it down hard from over his head.
Rory rolled right and came up to his feet as the baton struck the asphalt again.
Digger shifted his stance and attacked with a left-handed baseball swing, aiming to catch his opponent in the side.
But Rory countered by stepping forward to the inside of the swing and securing a hold on Diggers' right arm with both of his. Rory locked Digger's elbow, then twisted and pulled on the locked arm at the same time.
Digger was spun around by the force of Rory's move. He dropped the baton and fell hard to his back.
Rory stepped forward and stomped between Digger's open legs, connecting solidly with the tender bits of the big man.
Digger howle
d in pain and curled up in a fetal ball, clutching at his genitals.
Rory heard a noise on the gravel behind him and he turned.
Fat Boy was standing there, holding the baton, looking at Rory menacingly. Smelly vomit ran down his jaw and his shirt and the three hundred pounder snarled, "I'm gonna crack your skull –"
Grace Patterson held her arm out, pressed down with her thumb and launched a pepper spray attack.
Fat Boy dropped the baton and his hands shot to his burning eyes as he screamed in agony.
"How's that you son-of-a-bitch," hissed Grace Patterson as she moved to the side as the police had taught her and continued the attack.
Rory took advantage of the situation, stepped forward and kicked Fat Boy squarely between his legs.
Grace Patterson continued her spraying as the man collapsed to the ground in agony, "That'll teach you to attack us."
Fat Boy rolled up in a ball, trying to protect his face with one hand as the other hand instinctively clutched between his legs.
Grace Patterson stopped spraying and looked over at Rory, "That was a job well done, Mr. Steele. I especially like the way you used their family jewels in a non-traditional way."
Rory nodded as he pulled several sets of plastic handcuffs from a pocket.
"Mrs. Patterson, are you okay?" a middle-aged man yelled as he ran up to the fight scene. It was Howard Chub, Grace Patterson's lawyer.
"Of course, Howard," Grace Patterson said with a look of why-wouldn't-I-be. A big grin swept across her face, "Mr. Steele and I took care of matters. Didn't we, Mr. Steele?"
"Yes we did," Rory said as he finished applying the last of the plastic handcuffs. All three men were now cuffed with her hands behind their backs, still in obvious agony.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Steele," Chub said, "I know I was supposed to be here as a witness but my car broke down...."
Rory stepped over to a garage and retrieved a small video camera. He stopped it from running and handed it to Chub, "No problem. I made sure we had video evidence of the whole incident. I figured they would use this isolated spot as their point of attack. Mrs. Patterson says she comes out this way every day to walk through the park."
Chub nodded eagerly, "Good. Good. With the videotape we did of Detective Berenson last night, when Mrs. Patterson told him she was going to sign the papers transferring the business, we will have more than enough to put them all away for good. I already have a police Captain who is a friend primed with the whole sordid tale of extortion."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Steele," Grace Patterson gushed. "Todd will be set once he graduates and I can...."
But Rory wasn't listening. He had stepped back over to the page of the newspaper he had spotted while rolling around on the ground from the attack. He bent over and picked it up. It was yesterday's front page of the Greenville Gazette. Rory smoothed out the wrinkles and stared at the picture. It was the young girl from the library. There was no mistaking her sweet, innocent face. And the name clinched it. The headline read; Another Missing Child. And under the picture was the name: Emma-Mae Lynn Houston.
Chapter 6
GOLDEN, SOUTH CAROLINA
RORY SAW FLASHING LIGHTS in his rearview mirror. A state trooper was pulling him over. Rory had been using the cruise control on his Jaguar so he knew he hadn't been speeding. And he had stayed in his lane all the way from Greenville without passing. He couldn't think of any other traffic violations he had committed. Nevertheless, pulled over to the shoulder and rolled his window down.
A heavy-set State Trooper, wearing the prototypical sunglasses, stepped from his vehicle.
Rory heard the man's boots crunching across the gravel as he approached the side of Rory's vehicle.
As the state trooper reached the rear bumper he called out, "Wanna get out of the car, sir."
Rory thought it was strange. In the side mirror, he could see the trooper standing with his thumbs hooked in his gun belt at his waist. Rory checked for traffic and stepped out, closing the door, "What's wrong officer –?"
The state trooper spoke in a no-nonsense tone, "I'll ask the questions. Step back here please,"
Rory walked towards the back of the Jaguar.
The state trooper backed up a couple of steps and pointed to the trunk area, "Hands on the car."
"I don't understand –"
The state trooper raised his voice, "Turn and place your hands on the car." He pointed to the trunk area again, "Do it. I won't ask you again." His hand went to the butt of his weapon.
Rory couldn't see the state trooper's eyes but the hard set of his jaw told him all he needed to know. Rory kept his face passive as he complied. He stepped carefully around to the back of the Jaguar. Bending over slightly, he placed his hands on the trunk.
The trooper stepped forward and kicked at Rory's feet, "Spread 'em."
Rory complied, spreading his feet apart.
The trooper began to pat Rory's body. "Any weapons on you?" he barked.
"No sir," Rory said in a compliant voice. He had his Baby Eagle 9915 RL Polymer 9mm handgun in a lock box in the trunk. He expected to be asked about weapons in the vehicle next, but that question never came.
The state trooper drew his weapon and placed it against Rory's right temple.
Rory's blood ran cold.
The big trooper's left hand grasped Rory's shirt in the back and he twisted the material to hold him in place. He leaned over, his voice a hiss in Rory's ear, "I saw you talking to that little girl, Emma-Mae Houston."
Rory could feel the trooper's hot breath on the side of his face. He smelled the stale coffee and cigarettes. This must have been the trooper who was parked down the street when Emma led him into Donna-Lou Haney's backyard. Rory could understand the state trooper's harsh demeanor. He had watched a stranger talking to a young local girl. A young girl who was now reported as missing –
"What were you two talking about?"
That question threw Rory a curve ball.
"The trooper pushed on Rory's back, "Answer me."
"I met her at the library. She took me down to Mrs. Haney's house to show me something."
"And what was that?"
"A sign...on a tree in the backyard–"
The state trooper pressed the gun barrel hard into Rory's temple, "That's it?"
Rory winced in pain, "Yes sir–"
"I ran your plates," growled the state trooper. "Your name is Rory Mack Steele...dual U.S.-Canadian citizenship...a big shot investigator from a company in New York City called Highlander Investigative Services. Now, what would a big-time, private investigator from New York want with a little girl and treasure signs down here in the south?"
"I was just passing through and–"
The state trooper pulled the gun barrel away from Rory's temple, then thrust it back harder.
Rory winced and grunted from the pain in his temple.
The trooper's voice was loud and angry, "You think I'm a fool? Huh, sport? You think I'm a stupid country clown? You think I just fell off the turnip truck?"
Things didn't look good right now.
His voice dropped to a hiss again, "Now, Mr. Private Eye, what exactly are you doing here?"
Roy opened his mouth, but he didn't know what else he could say.
The trooper's hot breath came closer. The smell of stale coffee and cigarettes was stronger.
Rory waited for the gunshot. Would he hear it?
The sound of a car approaching them from somewhere behind broke the tense silence.
The state trooper held the gun in place for a moment as the sound of the car drew closer. A moment later, the trooper pulled the weapon away from Rory's head and holstered it. Then the trooper stepped back as the car slowed to a stop on the road beside them.
Rory looked to the left, wondering what was going to happen next. He watched as the passenger window on the stopped car slowly lowered.
The driver leaned over and Rory recognized the face of Chet Calhoun, peering across the seat.
/> "Hey Buck, how you doing?" Chet said to the state trooper. "Looks like you got yourself a real criminal there." He looked over at Rory and grinned, "Hey Mr. Steele. What are you doing back here?"
Rory didn't say a thing. He was actually afraid for Chet, not sure where this whole thing was going.
"You know this guy, Chet?" growled the state trooper.
"Well, I met him at the radio station the day I was interviewing Nora-Jane Jackson," Chet explained. He opened his car door and stepped out.
The state trooper grabbed the back of Rory's shirt and hauled him upright to his feet. "That one's just another busybody, interfering in police business."
"Now you know Nora-Jane, Buck," Chet said as he leaned on the roof of his car. "She's good people and means well –"
The state trooper leaned into Rory and spoke in a low menacing voice, "Don't stay in town too long or we'll be meeting again. Do you understand me?" His eyes were hard as he looked at Rory. Then he straightened up and tipped his hat to Chet Calhoun. Turning, the big trooper walked back to his vehicle.
Rory turned slowly and watched as the state trooper got into his vehicle, floored the gas and did a U-turn, disappearing down the road.
Calhoun watched the police pursuit vehicle disappear as well and then looked at Rory, mirth in his voice "Just keep your speed down and mind your P's and Q's and you'll be okay with Buck."
Shaking his head softly, Rory looked at Chet like he had two heads, "You're kidding. Right? He pulls me over for no reason and pulls his weapon?"
Chet waved his concerns away, "Aww, he's just blowing off a little steam. Don't mean nothing by it. I think his nose is just out of joint with the FBI coming in again and taking over his turf for a couple of days."
Rory didn't buy Chet's soft-pedaling of the trooper's attitude but it was his other comment that caught his attention, "What do you mean the FBI was just here a couple of days? I just read about the disappearance of Emma-Mae Lynn Houston. After the disappearance of the other kids, I would think they'd be here for weeks."
Check shook his head sadly, "No. As I said, nobody really takes this thing too seriously. The FBI said they couldn't find any indication of foul play. I pressed the state troopers to keep looking on their own but they wouldn't. I even went to the Circuit Court Judge, Vernon Teague to get them back, but he thinks Emma-Mae just ran away. Which is ridiculous, little girl like that...." His voice trailed off in frustration.
Knights of the Golden Circle Page 3
