American Crow

by Jack Lacey

  I eyed the base of the fence, which looked as if some animal had burrowed beneath it then forced it up inch by inch until I could squeeze underneath it myself. On the other side, I sprinted over to an old Ford estate, then crouched down in the dark and eyed the gleaming black sedan parked next to the static some twenty or so metres away.

  I had to move fast to avoid detection, or hope the CCTV camera fixed high above the lot was simply a dud. I took a breath then broke cover, ran hard at the sedan, then jumped onto its bonnet, onto its roof, and leapt in one fluid motion at the office in a way that would have impressed a free-runner.

  I slammed down hard onto its surface and spread myself quickly, trying to distribute my weight on the flimsy roof, then waited for a reaction. Nothing...I relaxed a little and looked up. The perimeter wall had shards of glass imbedded into its surface making it hard to scale. I cursed. Getting a clean foothold to jump down safely was going to be just as awkward...

  Discounting any other options, I stood up tentatively, threw my jacket on the wall, then took a few steps back and leapt at it hard with everything I had...

  I landed hard on my stomach and held on, then slowly redistributed my weight over the angled shards feeling a few of them dig into my ribs as I moved. Eventually, I managed to ease myself up into a crouching position and survey the junkyard from above...

  The place was massive, a sprawl of crushed cars piled up like houses around a circular area where some grabbing machines were parked up for the night. Behind them I could just make out three flat-bed trucks, including the one with the battered Nissan still on its back. I nodded in satisfaction. All I had to do was get down there and examine the car for myself now...

  I eyed the creaking stack of cars below as the wind stirred and didn’t like the look of it suddenly. There were potential foot-holes and handgrips for me to get down safely, but it looked mightily unstable from where I was sat. It was at least ten or twelve metres high too. High enough to break some bones if I misjudged the jump...

  Gradually I talked myself into it, snagged the inside of my jacket against some of the glass so that the sleeve was left hanging down, then stood up carefully, wobbled, counted to three and leapt into the darkness like a madman again...

  Thump! The resulting contact echoed out across the yard. I pressed my face against the cold crushed metal hoping that I hadn’t been heard and waited for trouble. A dog barked in the distance suddenly as if acknowledging my concerns, then one close-by within the processing area sounding a lot more menacing.

  I looked down and saw a Doberman chained to the bottom of some stairs, leading up to what appeared an office.

  ‘Shit...’

  The guard dog stood up and trotted over to the perimeter wall as if sensing something was wrong, then responded fervently to the barking outside for a while. I stared at the thick metal chain fastened to its collar hoping that it was well-secured, then lowered myself over the side and gained a foothold in the crumpled window of the car beneath.

  I’d descended perhaps two or three meters at best, when ominously, everything fell silent once more. I glanced down. The dog had returned and was now sitting directly below me...I froze, trying not to make the slightest sound, clinging vertically to the stack like a spider on a windshield.

  A full and very painful thirty-seconds later the barking started up again, drawing the dog away. I exhaled and continued my descent...When I was close enough to risk jumping down into the shadows I pushed myself off and landed hard in the dirt.

  Quickly, I rolled to one side, righted myself, then waited for the dog to come racing around the corner. When it didn’t, I picked myself up, scrambled over to the next stack, then inched my way to the end and looked back at the office area. The dog was now some twenty metres away, standing alert at the extent of its chain, peering in my direction, but now mercifully out of reach...

  I was just readying myself to move again, when suddenly a side-door opened in the warehouse opposite. It looked like one of the guards coming to check on the disturbance…

  ‘Fuck it…’

  I watched him make directly for the dog, then go down on one knee and give it some of his sandwich as he surveyed the compound warily. I pressed myself tightly against the wreckage in response, melding into the darkness, then gave it another minute and looked again. The dog was still staring in my direction, the guard’s torch beam zigzagging across the yard towards my position.

  I ran back to the rear of the pile, crouched down and eyed the pair of boots coming my way, then desperately crawled through the collapsed windscreen of the bottom car, dragging myself fully inside, incarcerating myself in the darkness...

  The guard’s footsteps work their way ominously closer, then stop at the end of the stack suddenly.

  ‘You okay over there, Charlie?’ a voice broke from his radio suddenly.

  ‘Yeah, the dog’s heard something that’s all,’ the guard responded.

  His torch beam penetrated the twisted metal above me, then lowered to where I lay. I tensed, waiting for the inevitable. A second later, the light pulled away. No one came. Silence. Just the sound of the wind whistling through the car wrecks.

  Then a tirade of barking erupted from outside again, cajoling the Doberman to join in some more...

  ‘Fuckin dogs,’ the guard cursed, turning back.

  I eased myself back out, like some alien birthing from a metallic womb, then stood up, and jogged to the end of the row to check out the situation again. The guard was nowhere to be seen now, nor his dog…

  Seizing my opportunity, I darted across the yard into the safety of the elongated shadows extending from the trucks. The Doberman raced back to the end of its chain and started barking louder than before.

  Hurriedly, I slid underneath the truck with the Nissan on its back then pressed my face against the dirt as one of the guards returned.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Gibson!’

  The guy waited for the barking to quieten down, then headed back to the main gate cursing under his breath. When I was sure he’d gone, I crawled out and eyed the wreckage of the battered Nissan on top.

  The floodlights were illuminating the chassis perfectly, and there were bullet holes sprayed all across the driver’s side door…

  ‘What in the hell…’

  Using the wheel-housing as a footrest, I hauled myself up onto the back of the flat-bed and peered anxiously through the smashed window inside. Much of the interior had been burnt out from the fire and the plastic melted, leaving just the springs of the seat poking out through the disintegrated upholstery.

  I reached through the window and forced open the glove compartment with my one free hand. Amazingly, there were some driving documents still inside, scorched but intact. I pulled them out and fingered through the singed paper. The car belonged to one, Phil Peterson, Ethan’s friend. He’d probably left it close to the ranch, and at some point Corrigan’s men had opened up on the pair as they made their getaway.

  I returned the papers and stared down at the charred trainer lying in the foot well, then pivoting my stomach on the car door, leaned in and grabbed it. It looked small. It looked like a women’s.

  ‘Damn it...’

  Deciding I’d seen enough, I tied the trainer to my belt, lowered myself down then worked my way back through the shadows, incurring the wrath of the Doberman again, that was now being abjectly ignored by the security guards much to my relief.

  Back at the first stack, I waited anxiously for the wind to subside in the darkness then painstakingly climbed up the same precarious pile onto the roof again, where I eyed the jacket sleeve I’d left hanging down.

  ‘Bollocks...’

  Now I really didn’t like the look of it. I stood up gingerly wondering if the fabric would hold, then slid to the far edge of the roof and knew that there was only one way to find out...

  I ran at the wall full tilt, reaching out for the material in mid-air but missed then fell backwards onto the roof where I smacked down so hard i
t sounded as if a bomb had gone off in the compound.

  The Doberman responded instantly and went berserk. Several doors slammed loudly far off. Then I heard voices echoing out across the yard, hurried footsteps heading towards me. I had to get the hell out of there before it was too late, before I was cornered by the guards and the police were called...

  I righted myself in a daze, took a few steps back, then leapt again, this time successfully grabbing the jacket sleeve with one hand, allowing me to gain a second purchase higher up with the other, and haul myself up successfully onto the lip of the wall.

  Quickly, I put my bomber jacket back on, lowered myself down onto the roof of the static, then jumped down onto the sedan, scrambled under the fence, and worked my way back through the industrial complex to the pick-up, where I took a few good breaths hands on knees, thinking what a close call it had been.

  ‘Jesus...’

  I righted myself, untied the trainer and threw it on the passenger seat, relieved I hadn’t been mauled by the Doberman, caught by the guards or crushed under a pile of cars, then sparked up the engine and headed out of town, knowing that whatever had gone on at Corrigan’s place, Olivia looked to have been there when it all happened, and more worryingly, the police seemed only too happy to cover it up...

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘re-united’

  It was around three in the morning by the time I’d finally threaded my way back through the mountains and pulled up outside Martha’s lodge again.

  I clicked the truck door gently shut, crept back across the gravel, then fanned the back door open just as quietly, trying not to wake anyone, desperate to hit the covers and get some sleep.

  When my eyes finally settled on the reception committee the other side though, I realised it had all been in vain. Everyone was up and waiting for me, sat around the fire...

  ‘Blake,’ Nancy gasped, running towards me, concern etched into her tired features. ‘Did you find her?’

  ‘No,’ I said smiling over her shoulder at the familiar faces huddled together.

  ‘There’s some fresh coffee on the stove, buddy,’ Tug announced, holding his wife’s hand like they were newlyweds.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ I said, pleased that something positive had happened for once.

  I peeled away from Nancy’s embrace as Martha poured me a strong black coffee and stared at the tear in my trousers.

  ‘I must have caught it on something...’

  Nancy stooped down to examine my leg closer.

  ‘It’s cut pretty deep, Blake. Jesus, I can see the bone,’ she said, sounding annoyed.

  ‘Was that doing something you shouldn’t be doing, in a place you shouldn’t be doing it in again, buddy?’ Tug said, like some older brother.

  ‘Might have been,’ I said, finding all the attention amusing.

  ‘Well you certainly have been stirring up a few hornet’s nests since you came back to the U.S, pal. You know there’s a warrant out for your arrest in Iowa?’

  I felt the bite of the antiseptic sting my leg as Nancy dabbed the wound, then looked over at Tug, smiling like a boy who’d been up to no good.

  ‘You serious?’

  ‘I’m damned serious, Blake. Looks like you tugged the beard of the wrong man back at that diner you stopped at...’

  ‘The bounty hunter?’

  ‘Exactly. One William McDougal. An old school fugitive reinforcement officer from the area. He did his homework on you via the CCTV, then traced the truck back to one, Honey Finnigan, the owner. He then managed to track her down in person where she told him about a guy she’d picked up who’d stolen a rig from her friend, outside Mickey’s Diner in Minneapolis only a few days earlier.’

  I sighed knowing what was coming.

  ‘And it appears that that truck belonged to a guy from St Paul’s called Jed McCain, who ran a nice little side-line in smuggling people across the border, before his wheels got torched. He’s now helping the State Police with their enquiries and singing like a bird it seems, to save his ass.’

  ‘Is that so…’ I said, wondering how Tug was going to play it.

  ‘Certainly is…’

  ‘And do you know what else?’ he said, with a knowing glint in his eye.

  Nancy stopped bandaging my leg and looked over at Tug, as if expectant for the next bombshell.

  ‘There’s footage from the diner showing you pick up Jed McCain’s keys, heading outside, then driving off in his damned truck...’

  ‘Oh shiiit,’ Martha exclaimed under her breath.

  ‘Now, what I want to know is...why would you want to steal the man’s truck when he’s just smuggled you into the darn country?’

  ‘Fair question,’ I said calmly, as Nancy joined Martha at the stove, looking perplexed.

  ‘Shall we have a little chat outside?’ he said breaking the tension.

  ‘Sure…’

  He stood up, kissed Chrissie’s hand then walked across the kitchen expecting me to follow. I decided to keep him happy and joined him on the ramshackle terrace, where we both pulled up a couple of wooden chairs and waited for each other to speak.

  ‘Nice, very nice,’ Tug said eventually, as some wind-chimes sounded in a tree nearby.

  ‘Calming...’ I said noticing the gun poking out of his jacket.

  ‘Well, if you’ve got something of importance to tell me, Blake, best you do it now, because in all the years I’ve served, I’ve never broken the rules once…’ He sighed and stared at me intently for a second as if reluctant to carry out some task. ‘Now some people might say that was why Chrissie left me, and I’m beginning to think that maybe I should have done it more often, you know. So say what you gotta to say to me now, and it might persuade me to do it for once, huh?’

  Just as I went to speak, he raised a hand in the air, bidding me silent again.

  ‘And, no bull crap, okay? I don’t do crap. I’ve done some digging around myself. Got a friend who’s a Fed in fact, who checked you out, unofficially of course, and it seems that you’re someone who’s not exactly welcome in this part of the world…’

  I tensed.

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘Your photos oddly match one, William Bury, who’s wanted in the State of Nevada...’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘For murder no less...’

  ‘Is that so?’ I said becoming more anxious.

  ‘Now why in the hell would you risk coming back to the U.S with a murder charge hanging over you, Blake, or whatever you call yourself these days? And more importantly, did you damn well do it?’

  I faltered for a second, unsettled that Tug knew about the Nevada job. The cops must have found out a lot more back then than I’d hoped...

  ‘To answer your second question, it was genuine self-defence. To your first, I needed a change of scene...’

  Tug pulled a face.

  ‘A-change-of-scene?’

  ‘Look, I find people. It’s what I do. You know that.’

  He finished the rest of his coffee and placed the cup slowly down on the table as if he was thinking about his next question.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be a whole lot easier if you just kept your work consigned to your own country.’

  ‘People can’t choose where they go missing, Tug.’

  ‘So what happened in Nevada?’ he pushed, changing tact.

  I looked into his determined eyes and knew I’d come up against an immovable object. I eyed him warily, chewing over how much more to reveal.

  ‘I was trying to find someone’s brother a couple of years ago. Officially the guy was dead, supposedly from some drowning incident in Venezuela, but his twin thought different. You know how connected people say twins can be...

  ‘Well, this guy felt that his brother was still alive, just living somewhere on the quiet, and that he’d gone walkabouts to escape his spiralling debts and his nagging wife.’

  Tug edged forward, hands resting on his knees seemingly interested at being let in on some big secret.

  ‘S
o...’

  ‘So, this missing guy owed a lot of people we found out. We followed all the money trails, the transactions, but one by one they all drew a blank. The guy was good at covering his tracks...Then finally one day, we got lucky, and I stumbled across a fresh lead in Vegas of all places.’

  I downed some more coffee to moisten my dry mouth.

  ‘After a week or so of digging around I uncovered an illegal gambling operation, which this guy, Tynsdale was involved in. Some low-life types were using his table knowledge to set up bogus card games for ridiculously high-stake games, to fleece fresh meat. You know…businessmen and high-rollers with zero sense and lots of cash to burn.’

  ‘But something went wrong?’ Tug pressed.

  ‘I’d managed to find out where the operation was based and was just about to take some pictures of the guy, when I got clocked by an associate of his...’

  Tug nodded calmly like he was taking down notes at a crime scene.

  ‘Things got heavy and it ended up being either this guy, or me.’

  Tug blew out some air.

  ‘Jesus...’

  Chrissie stuck her head out of the door suddenly, breaking the intensity of the conversation.

  ‘More coffee, guys?’

  ‘Not now!’ Tug barked, before checking himself. ‘We’ll be back in in a minute, sweetheart...’

  Chrissie shrugged and disappeared. I suppressed my amusement.

  ‘So what happened after that?’ Tug enquired, sounding genuinely concerned.

  ‘Someone clocked my plates leaving the scene. I decided that I had to get out of Nevada and then the country pretty damned fast, that’s what. I got the photos after all, proving the guy’s existence. My job was done...’

  ‘So, did the cops pursue it? Are there extradition papers outstanding to bring you back to the U.S to face trial?’

  ‘No, I always travel with false documents as a matter of habit. You see, I don’t just trace people, Tug, sometimes I have to bring them back too, and against their wishes if they’re not seeing sense at the time. Difficult situations can arise...’