When Doubt Creeps In: A Harry Bronson Suspense Thriller

by L C Hayden

  God, he hoped that was true. He hated lying, especially to Ellen. He wondered if Ellen had seen through the lie.

  Bronson stood up. He looked at his phone. No new messages. Had he really been expecting any? He headed indoors and flopped down on the recliner.

  What if Mike—

  Bronson shook the thought away, took in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. He picked up a magazine. It remained unopened in his lap. He focused on his breathing. That was the key. If he could control his breathing, he could control his thoughts. His doubts. His fears. That was too much to ask of a single breath. But who cares?

  Honey jumped up beside him. He patted her, and she rested her head on his lap.

  The two remained sitting for what seemed an eternity. During this time, Bronson’s breathing had not yet returned to normal, and his mind had not quieted down.

  Mike.

  Breathe in.

  Always Mike.

  Breathe out.

  He needed to get out of the darkness that Mike had taken him into and step into the light.

  Breathe. Breathe.

  Breathe.

  “You broke the dog.”

  Bronson looked up at Carol. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first, nothing came out. “W-What?”

  “The dog.” Carol pointed to Honey. “You drained all of her energy out.”

  Bronson looked down. Honey had brought him a pull toy so they could play tug of war. She had brought him two balls so they could play catch. She had brought him the worn-out towel so Bronson could hide her toys. She had brought two teddy bears. When had she done all of that? “I—I—” Bronson cleared his throat. “She likes to play catch, so we’ll do that.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to play that anymore because she never brings the ball back.”

  “I solved that problem. I give her a treat each time she brings the ball back. She caught on real fast.” Bronson bolted to his feet. “We’ll play catch, but I don’t want her to get used to the idea that she’ll get a treat each time she brings the ball back. So, I’ll give her one every other time.”

  Carol smiled. “Good for you. I like seeing you filled with energy.”

  Well, yeah. She was right. He had to let it go. He picked up the ball and treats. He threw the ball. Honey caught it in mid-air. She watched Bronson.

  He showed her the treat.

  She handed him the ball and ate her treat.

  Bronson repeated the process but this time, he didn’t give her a treat. Honey looked at him as though she was analyzing him. Still, she handed him the ball.

  Five minutes later, Bronson joined Carol in the kitchen. Honey followed close behind.

  “How did the lessons go?” Carol asked.

  Bronson shrugged. “They didn’t.”

  “What happened?”

  “Like before, she figured out the pattern. She knew she’d get the treat only every other time. So she wouldn’t give me the ball unless I gave her the treat first.”

  “And you gave in.”

  Bronson lowered his head. “I gave in.”

  Carol laughed. “Who is training who?”

  “What can I say?” Bronson shrugged. “She’s a smart dog.” His phone buzzed, and he looked at the message. A breath of air escaped his mouth.

  “Harry?” Carol reached out for her husband.

  Despite his efforts, Bronson found himself back in the dark place. Breathe.

  Carol’s forehead wrinkled. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  The dog wagged her tail and jumped up on Carol. She ignored her. Naming a dog Honey had been a horrible mistake.

  Carol stepped toward her husband and squeezed his arm. “Is everything okay?”

  “Mike texted me.” He walked away.

  43

  The single word text read Come.

  Where? Bronson texted back.

  Meet me in Round Rock, at the rock itself.

  Bronson was familiar with the place. When?

  Tomorrow @ 3.

  Will be there. You ok?

  Bring Alex.

  Bronson bolted toward the bedroom and began to pack.

  Early the next day, he and Honey were on the road, heading from Dallas to Round Rock.

  * * *

  Bronson glanced at his watch. He had already reached the Round Rock city limits sign, and it wasn’t even 2:30. Maybe he should stop at McDonald’s and get himself a cup of Ice French Vanilla Coffee and a plain hamburger for Honey.

  He saw the approaching McDonald’s sign. The thought of coffee turned his stomach. He couldn’t drink anything now. Not until he settled things with Mike.

  Amazing. There would be no coffee for him and no hamburger for Honey. “Sorry, Honey.”

  Honey whined and lowered her head.

  Bronson turned on Chisholm Trail Street and soon found himself in the middle of Brushy Creek. He parked the car and spotted a three-foot-tall rock wall fence under the shade of some trees. The wall was thick enough to provide a nice sitting place.

  If he sat there to wait for Mike, he had a clear view of the large round rock located in the middle of the creek, the same rock that gave the city its name. He glanced down at the rock. Wagon wheel ruts were embedded in the exposed rock. Hundreds of wagon trains had crossed the river there because at one time, this had been the lowest part of the creek.

  Bronson sat on the fence, and Honey rested by him as though keeping watch.

  Bronson retrieved his cell. Maybe Mike had texted him.

  He hadn’t.

  Bronson returned the phone to his pocket and saw Mike approach. He stopped in front of him.

  “Bronson.”

  “Mike.”

  Honey stood up and studied Mike.

  “What’s with the dog?”

  Bronson swallowed a smile. Prior to all of this mess beginning, Bronson had told Mike he had found a new Honey. Mike had assumed Bronson was planning to replace Carol. Bronson fed that belief and never explained that Honey was a dog. “I want you to meet Honey, our new dog.”

  Honey wagged her tail and approached Mike.

  Mike squatted and patted her. “A dog?” His eyes widened. “Honey? Really, Bronson?”

  Bronson shrugged. “What can I say?”

  Mike took in a deep breath. “A dog. That’s good. It’s one less thing I have to worry about.” He smiled. “A dog. I should have known.”

  Honey licked Mike’s face.

  Mike stood up. “You actually brought the dog to work this case?”

  Bronson briefly told him how he had met Honey and how she had saved his life several times. He was sure, although he had no way of proving it, that she was a trained police dog.

  “We’ll see how she works out.” Mike sat down beside Bronson. They sat in silence, staring at the creek.

  “Talk to me,” Bronson said. He reached out and patted Honey.

  “Apparently Pablo pulled some strings, and I remained on the case, on the condition that when this is over, I turn myself in.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, about you stayin’ undercover. I know that’s what you wanted.” Bronson retrieved a Milk Bone from his pocket and gave it to Honey. “So how’s the case goin’?”

  “During these past few days, I’ve made some real progress. I am now El Patron.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Mike shrugged. “It’s no bigee. Now that we’ve moved our headquarters from Hobbs to Austin, I’m actually low-man on the totem pole.”

  “So where does that leave you?”

  “I’ve got to prove myself all over again, and that’s where you come in.”

  Bronson cocked his head. “Oh?”

  “I told them about Alex Bentley. They’re eager to meet the man who will bring them the El Dorado treasure.”

  “I can tell them the story, but I can’t produce a single artifact that will back me up.”

  Mike stretched out his legs. “Pablo has taken care of that. The first thing he did was give you your own website.”
r />   “My own website?” Bronson cocked his head. “I love bein’ famous.”

  “Don’t get your head all swollen. The website is not exactly yours. It’s Alex Bentley’s.”

  “And there goes my claim to fame.”

  “Yep, we cops are at the bottom of the totem pole. But this Alex Bentley, he is quite the adventurer. You should check out all of the pictures of you and the vast number of treasures you’ve recovered.”

  “What can I say? All in a day’s work.” Bronson gave him a thumbs up. “Gotta love that Alex. Quite the guy. Hope all the pictures of me are complimentary.”

  “Only you can be the judge of that.”

  “Yep.” Bronson stared at the peaceful creek and tried to imagine what this place looked like when all those wagons made their journey through here. “I’ve got to memorize that website. Just in case.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “I hate homework.” Bronson saw a car pull into the parking lot. The driver remained in the car.

  Mike shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t live without homework.”

  “What else have you got?” Bronson kept his eyes glued on the car.

  Mike followed Bronson’s line of sight. “We have, on loan, a gold medallion.”

  Bronson let out a whistle. “How did Pablo manage that?”

  “He apparently has very good connections.”

  “You’d think?” The car door opened and a man stepped out. Bronson immediately recognized him. “What arrangements did you make with Pablo?”

  “I told him we were meeting. He said he’d be here.” Mike pointed to the man heading toward them from the parking lot. “In fact, there he is now.”

  Bronson stood and offered him his hand. “Special Agent Escobar. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  The agent accepted Bronson’s hand. “You can drop the special agent crap. Call me Pablo.”

  “Pablo, call me Bronson.”

  Pablo frowned. “I have something to say, and I want you to listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once.”

  “I’m listenin’.” Bronson sat back down and Pablo sat next to him.

  “I don’t know how much Mike has filled you in, so I’ll just hit the highlights. In order to infiltrate and eliminate these powerful figureheads, we had to revive Alex Bentley. The men here in Austin have never seen you, so I considered several of my colleagues for the job. Many were eager to do it, but Mike said it was you or nobody.”

  Bronson glanced at Mike. He looked away.

  Pablo continued. “We argued long and hard until I finally agreed. Getting you approved for the job took some doing. But in the end, I won. Of course, it helps that the mayor owes me favors, and we’ve developed a deep friendship. The mayor pulled some strings, and here you are.”

  “I appreciate all of the trouble you went through to approve me.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank your ex-partner. I was dead set against it, and I still am. I’m telling you this because I know you’re an individual thinker. You like to do things your way. Not this time. Everything you do goes through me first. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Bronson considered saluting him but decided against it.

  “Good. I’m glad we see eye-to-eye on this.” He stood up. “As of this moment, consider yourself a special member of the FBI. As such, you will uphold the high standards we maintain.”

  An FBI agent. Cool. “Does this mean I’ll be getting an FBI badge?”

  Pablo’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Don’t push it.” He looked at Mike. “I’m holding you personally responsible for this man’s actions.”

  “We’ll do well by you.”

  “You better.” He turned and walked away.

  “He’s a very pleasant man,” Bronson said once Pablo was out of hearing range.

  “He’ll grow on you.”

  “So you requested me.” A statement, not a question.

  Mike shrugged. “What can I say? I’m already a doomed man.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get this worked out, and you’ll come out smellin’ like roses.”

  “Ellen and Carol can smell like roses. I don’t particularly want to.”

  Bronson smiled. “So what’s the plan?”

  “We’re supposed to find out who’s the brain in the organization and bring them all down. Then, as a reward, I get to turn myself in. After that, who knows?”

  Bronson frowned. “I’ll be there for you, buddy.”

  “Yeah. Sure thing.” Mike looked away from Bronson.

  Honey returned to her spot beside Bronson. She sat down and laid her head on his lap. Bronson rubbed the area behind her ear. “I guess I should go memorize that website.”

  Mike stood up. “I guess you should. We have a meeting, tonight, at seven. I’ll pick you up at 6:30.”

  “I don’t know where I’m stayin’.”

  “I do. You’re staying at the Four Seasons Hotel. Courtesy of Uncle Sam. Nothing but the best for Alex.” Mike retrieved the car keys from his pocket.

  Bronson’s eyes widened at the mention of the hotel. “And you? Where are you stayin’?”

  Mike shrugged. “I’m sure Austin has a lot of Choice Motels.”

  “I’m sure they do, but you’re welcome to stay with me.” Honey nudged Bronson. “With us. Think about it. We never get the royalty treatment. Might as well take advantage of it.”

  Honey walked over to Mike, sat in front of him, and raised her paw.

  Mike stared at the dog. “Sure. Why not?”

  Bronson smiled.

  44

  Bronson and Mike ordered an early dinner delivered to their hotel room. Much to Bronson’s surprise and delight working once again with Mike felt like old times. The strain had vanished. It was two friends—two brothers—enjoying their man time together.

  A bit past six, they were ready and headed for their meeting. On the way, Mike drilled Bronson with questions he assumed the group would ask. Bronson answered everything like a champ. “You’re ready for this. How do you feel?” Mike asked.

  “Like a high school kid who over-prepared for a test.”

  Mike smiled and eased off the gas. “That’s always good.” He slowed down. “This is it.” Mike turned into a long, driveway that snaked through rows of trees. To Bronson, it seemed they would never reach the house.

  Minutes later, Bronson stared at the huge mansion that loomed up before him. It stretched somewhere between 80 to 90 feet and stood three stories high. Lights gracefully streamed from various angles and directions, competing with the full moon for attention. “Quite the house,” Bronson said.

  “If you think this is breathtaking, wait until you see the inside.” Mike smirked. “Whoever said crime doesn’t pay doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He pointed to the dog. “What are you going to do about Honey?”

  “I’ll let her out and tell her to stay. She’ll be here when we return.” Bronson patted Honey’s head.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very.”

  “In that case, do your thing, and don’t forget to grab your backpack.”

  Bronson reached into the backseat and retrieved the bag. He carried it instead of placing it on his back. He looked at Honey, spread his right hand, and slightly moved it up and down. “Stay.” Bronson walked away. The dog whined but obeyed the command. “Back soon,” Bronson said and turned to Mike. “Ready.”

  “In that case, let’s ring that doorbell, and let’s get this thing started.”

  A petite woman in her early twenties opened the door. The smile she flashed resembled that of a homecoming queen’s. “Mr. Hoover. It’s so nice to see you again.” She stepped aside to allow them to enter. “You must be Mr. Bentley.” Her one-hundred-kilowatt smile spread from ear to ear.

  Bronson smiled back and stepped into the foyer covered with black-and-white tiles. The chandelier overhead sprouted thousands of crystal drops that illuminated the shiny floor giving it a mirror-like effect. “I
am.”

  “Andrew—um, Mr. Beauregard and company are eager to meet you.” She led them down an elegant hallway that displayed art pieces that put the best art museum to shame. “We are meeting in the sitting room.”

  She opened a pair of light brown oak doors revealing a large room with high ceilings. A maid stood just inside the wide doorway. Two men sat on a luxurious couch. Another man sat on an upholstered couch which faced the other one. He bolted to his feet, stepped between matching antique Georgian tables, and offered a welcoming grin. “Mike, thanks for coming.”

  Through his years in the police force, Bronson had learned that stereotypes belonged only in novels and on the screen. Traditionally, the man standing before him should have been a middle-aged cowboy displaying well-formed muscles. Instead, he was greeted by a youth who couldn’t be more than what? Sixteen—seventeen?

  The young leader focused his attention on Bronson. Who knows? Maybe Bronson didn’t match his expectations either. Maybe he had been expecting Indiana Jones.

  “You must be Alex Bentley. I am Andrew Beauregard.” He offered Bronson his hand.

  Bronson accepted the firm handshake. Nothing about this boy/man spoke of weakness. Bronson moved his age up to the early twenties.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” Bronson noticed the boy/man held a half-drunk Mojito.

  “Coffee, please. With lots of sugar and milk.”

  Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “Coffee? Really? I would have thought you’d be a hard liquor man.” He set his drink down.

  “I make it a point never to drink while I’m workin’.”

  Andrew clasped his hands together and shook them. “Very good, Mr. Bentley. I like that. Coffee it is.” He turned to Mike. “What about you, Mike?”

  “I’ll follow his example, except make mine lemonade or tea.”

  Andrew looked at the middle-aged woman who stood by the door. “You heard them, and bring me some tea, too.”

  “Yes, sir.” She bowed her head and let herself out.

  Andrew pointed to the couch. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

  Bronson set the backpack by his feet and sat down. Mike sat next to him.