Dead South (Mattie O'Malley FBI agent)

by Daniel Adams

  What saved her car was that the truck essentially acted like a bulldozer and cleared a path for her. This minimized the damage to her car while maximizing it for the truck. Even though Jubal fought to keep control of the truck, his efforts didn’t change the outcome by much. Like a bucking horse, the truck bounced across the shoulder, careened off a big tree and flipped over in the middle of the road. It had hardly come to rest when Jubal scrambled out the driver’s side door and ran to one of the oncoming cars that had stopped for the wreck. With pistol in hand, he yanked the driver out of the car.

  Mattie saw all of this as her car crashed through several small trees, gouged out a big chunk of an embankment and finally landed in a ditch, the impact crushing the front of her car like an accordion. Dazed, she tried to push open the car door but ended up kicking it open with her feet. By the time she got out, Jubal was accelerating away in the hijacked car. On wobbly legs she ran back to a car that had stopped behind her. She waved her badge in front of the driver.

  “FBI—I need your car.”

  The driver, an older man with short hair and a deeply wrinkled face pointed at the passenger seat.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “No, I just want your car.”

  “Take it or leave it,” he calmly replied.

  She didn’t have time to argue. Jumping in the car, she pointed at Jubal’s rapidly disappearing car.

  “Catch him.”

  With a loud roar, the car spun one hundred and eighty degrees and accelerated after Jubal’s car. Mattie was pinned in the seat by the force of the acceleration. She had never felt so much power. She looked over at the driver who was grinning at her.

  “It’s a stock car,” he said. “Drive it to work sometimes. Race on the weekends. Got six hundred horses under the hood. Hope you have a change of underwear.”

  With that, the car leaped forward with so much force it made her gasp.

  “He’s got about two miles on us. We’ll catch him by the time we hit town.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dwayne.”

  “I’m Mattie O’Malley—FBI. That’s Jubal Flatt ahead of us. Is that a problem?”

  “What did he do?” he asked.

  “Killed his son.”

  Dwayne thought about it, the enormity of a man killing his own son almost beyond his comprehension.

  “He done that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Son of a bitch. Klan finds out, trust me, they’ll take care of it. That ain’t right.”

  “I was at the Triple K. They know.”

  There was a long silence while Dwayne concentrated on keeping the racecar on the road. The engine thundered so loud it was difficult to keep a thought in her head.

  Dwayne was a helluva driver. He kept the car at one hundred miles per hour regardless of whether the road was straight or curved. He took the curves down low, backing off of the accelerator just a hair then caught the centrifugal force coming out of the curve with a slight dip of the accelerator. It was like watching honey pour out of a jar. It was that smooth.

  “You know where he’s goin’?”

  “No, could be anywhere.”

  “Don ‘t matter. I’ve got enough gas to get to Dallas.”

  For an instant she caught sight of Jubal’s taillights at least a mile ahead of them. They were approaching Kingswood at a high rate of speed. She glanced at the speedometer. It was over 160 miles per hour; outside her window the side of the road a white blur. In spite of the speed the car road rock solid on the asphalt. In fact, the faster they went, the more the car hugged the road. Unbelievably, she sat back and actually enjoyed the ride.

  “You caused a big stir around here. People don’t know what to think about you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You’ve kicked a lot of ass—especially up at Perkins Landing. Lot of Klan are carrying around birdshot cause of you. Guess you sprayed ‘em pretty good with that shotgun. Lot of trucks getting new windshields this week.”

  “I was hoping to put a couple in the morgue.”

  “Came close. Old Ray Franklin got a pellet through the lung. He went to the vet to get it taken out. Vet made it worse. Ray had to go up to Jefford City to get fixed up at the ER. He wants the Klan to run the vet out of town or kill him.”

  “You Klan?”

  “No, I’m the vet,” he grinned.

  Coming around a big curve, they saw the lights of Kingwood a mile ahead of them. They also saw Jubal’s taillights a scant one quarter of a mile ahead of them. Like a rocket, they bore down on the hijacked car at 120 miles per hour. In less than a minute, they hit the outskirts of town with Jubal’s car only a few car lengths in front of them. “You want me to Pitt him?”

  Before she could answer, Jubal steered the car onto a narrow side road that angled away from the main road at a 45-degree angle.

  “Where does it go?” she asked.

  “City Park. Dogfood factory.”

  They rocketed along the back road, barely twenty feet behind Jubal’s car

  “Can you wreck him?”

  Without a word, he feinted right then pulled alongside the car and banged its rear quarter panel a sharp blow.

  The Pitt maneuver worked—up to a point. Jubal’s car fishtailed, ran off the road and slashed through fences and bushes alongside the road. Even though Dwayne had Pitted the truck perfectly, in an instant, chance changed his future. An old car pulled out in front of the speeding stock car. With only a microsecond to react, Dwayne jerked the steering wheel to the right and followed Jubal’s car off the road.

  The two vehicles were still going over eighty and in spite of Dwayne’s heroic efforts, he couldn’t stop the racecar. Neither could Jubal. Locked in a tight embrace, the two vehicles shot across the dog food factory’s parking lot and crashed into the main building.

  The last thing Mattie saw was the side of the building rushing at them then everything went black.

  Jubal’s car tore through the outside wall, several offices and came to rest against the far side of the building. Desks, chairs, tables, file cabinets and other office furnishings were thrown aside like dollhouse furniture. Several sections of the roof collapsed on top of Jubal’s car, partially burying the cab. Although the car was demolished, Jubal kicked out the side window and disappeared deeper into the building.

  Because of his skill and training Dwayne fared much better than Jubal—at least until the stock car slammed into the back of Jubal’s car. Seeing that he wasn’t going to stop in time, Dwayne locked up the brakes two full seconds before Jubal and he almost got the speeding car stopped short of the building but when it hit a strip of lawn, the wheels skidded and it followed the hijacked car into the building. Mattie would have avoided any injury except as the stock car bounced across the narrow strip of lawn around the building her head hit the heavy roll bar cage above her. She was out cold when the stock car hit the building.

  Dwayne too almost escaped injury. When the car came to a stop in a pile of debris from the crash he turned to look at Mattie who was slumped in the seat with a smear of blood across her forehead. Above the stock car a huge beam, unsettled by the crash, dropped off its support and crashed down on the stock car roof. It happened so fast Dwayne had no chance to dodge out of the way. The roof of the car slammed down on Dwayne and knocked him out.

  When Mattie came to the first thing she saw was Dwayne pinned under the crushed roof with blood dripping slowly from a deep cut above his temple. She shook her head to clear it but a flash of intense pain rippled through her brain. For an instant she thought she was going to pass out but after a few seconds the pain subsided. Moving very slowly and deliberately she opened her door. After exiting the car, she leaned against it for a couple of seconds. She was thinking about checking on Dwayne when she heard someone moving through the building. Glancing to the right, she saw Jubal stagger through a doorway at the far end of the room.

  She looked at Dwayne again, this time to evaluate his condition. She s
aw he was breathing which was a good sign. Even as she looked him over, he groaned and tried to sit up. She went around the car to the driver’s side door. After wrenching open the door, she dragged him out of the car. As she lowered him to the debris-strewn floor, he opened an eye.

  “You ok?” he croaked.

  “Yeah.”

  “He get out of the car?”

  “He just went into the factory.”

  “Go after him,” he ordered. “I'll be ok.”

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “Go! Go!” He waved for her to get going.

  “Soon as I catch him, I'll call for help,” she promised.

  With that, she hurried over to where she had last seen Jubal. She drew her gun. If Jubal was armed he could be waiting for her around any corner. Being very cautious, she peeked through the doorway where Jubal had disappeared. It was semi-dark in the factory. From her position she saw a lot of machinery and vats. She saw four gigantic holes in the floor. Above them hung huge mixing blades that were connected to large electric motors. A conveyor belt with large hooks ran the length of the factory. She guessed the hooks were to carry animals to the big mixing vats in the floor. Keeping low, she crept through some machinery until she reached one of the big vats. It was empty. She knew Jubal wouldn't run too far because he was so out of shape even the slightest exertion made him wheeze. As if to verify her theory, Jubal suddenly appeared from behind a row of shelves about twenty-five feet from her. He was looking the other way. She tiptoed up behind him.

  “Put your hands up!” she yelled.

  She startled him so much that she thought he was going to have a heart attack. He grabbed his chest.

  “Don't shoot,” he pleaded.

  “Get your hands up!”

  “Can't,” he gasped. “I think I'm gonna have a heart attack.”

  He certainly looked like it. His face was beet red and he was gasping for breath.

  Grabbing his arm, she spun him around. It was like moving a side of beet. She strained to pull his arms behind him. She had the cuffs on one arm when she heard someone behind her. She whirled around.

  “Drop the gun,” Junior Barnes sneered.

  He and Leroy had pistols pointed at her. Rafe stood behind them with his arms folded across hi chest.

  She had no choice. She dropped her gun.

  “My, oh, my, what do we have here?” Rafe asked.

  Mattie was in no mood to joust with Rafe. Her headache was getting worse.

  “FBI. Jubal’s under arrest.”

  “For what?”

  “He killed Paxton.”

  “You surprise me, Jubal. I didn’t think you had the guts. That what you paid me with?”

  Jubal didn’t answer. He just hung his head with shame.

  “Put down your guns,” she ordered. “You’re interfering with FBI business.” She was in a bad place and she knew it. Without backup, she was very vulnerable.

  “I don't think so. You know too much. I'm not going to jail. Bad for the career. Junior, get her gun.”

  Bending down, Junior Barnes picked up her pistol.

  With Mattie held at gunpoint, Jubal felt empowered enough to jerk his arm away from Mattie.

  “Kill her, Rafe. She’s gonna close down the Klan. You know I didn’t kill Paxton.”

  “That’s one thing about her, Jubal, from what I hear, she tells the truth. As I recall, we have some unfinished business. Leroy.”

  Leroy grabbed Jubal who tried to pull away from the huge black man.

  “What are you doing?” he cried.

  Leroy dispassionately dragged Jubal over to the closest in-ground vat. With a mighty heave of his shoulders, Leroy pitched Jubal into the vat.

  “Rafe—we’re friends—I paid you back your money,” Leroy whined from down in the vat.

  Rafe walked over to the edge of the vat.

  “Get me out of here!” Jubal yelled.

  Rafe snagged a control box that hung down from the ceiling.

  “I promised you a horse and it’s a horse you get,” he growled.

  Rafe pushed one of the buttons on the control and somewhere overhead an electric motor whined. A moment later the overhead electric conveyor belt ground into action. Out of the darkness a black shadow came toward them. As it passed under one of the few overhead lights, they saw it was a horse. Rafe picked at the buttons until the horse was positioned directly over the vat.

  “Here's your horse, Jubal.” Rafe snapped. It's Big Blue--you poisoned him, you keep him. Enjoy.”

  “No!” Jubal bellowed.

  With a smug satisfied look on his face, Rafe punched a button on the control. Big Blue’s body dropped on Jubal, crushing him to the bottom of the vat.

  Rafe spit in the vat then turned to Mattie.

  “Son of a bitch. Hey, enough about him. I'm mixing up a special blend of dog food tonight, but I'm afraid it needs a little dark meat.”

  “Are you really stupid enough to think you can get away with this?” Mattie asked.

  Before Rafe could answer, Sheriff Wilks stepped out from behind some equipment.

  “What’s going on?”

  Startled to see Sheriff Wilks, Rafe stumbled for something to say.

  “Uhh—we’re—we’re tying up some loose ends. Soon as she’s dead, we’re in the clear.”

  “If she dies, they’ll send a swarm of agents here. They’ll turn over every rock. We’ll all go to prison.”

  “They ain’t gonna find her body, that’s for sure. You worry too much, Sheriff. Junior, kill her.”

  In a split second, Mattie knew she was going to die. Her life had come to an end. There was no way out. With a big grin on his face, Junior Barnes swung up his pistol—

  As he pulled the trigger, Sheriff Wilks threw himself in front of Mattie, drew his own pistol and shot Junior Barnes three times in the chest. Astonishment plastered on his face, Junior Barnes fired three shots into Sheriff Wilks then dropped dead to the floor.

  In any situation, it’s often the small things you don’t know that can bite you in the ass and in this case it was the fact that Mattie had the bartender’s pistol tucked under her jacket that bit Rafe. As Junior Barnes hit the floor, Leroy jerked out his pistol. Problem was, he was very slow. By the time his pistol was out, Mattie had already shot him two times in the head. But even as he died, Leroy got off a shot that hit Mattie in the shoulder. The bullet hit her clavicle which shattered, the impact causing her to drop her gun. She dove to the floor to pick up the pistol with her left hand but Rafe, who was uninjured, kicked it away.

  “It's not exactly what I had planned but it works. Just have to use more cans.”

  He knelt beside her.

  “Guess your luck ran out, little lady. Too bad too because I never got to see you draw.”

  “Give me a pistol and I’ll show you,” she said defiantly.

  “I’ll bet you would,” he laughed.

  With his foot, he shoved her over to the vat. It hurt like hell. She fought hard not to black out. Rafe picked up the bartender’s gun.

  “Did you ever watch that old TV show with George and Gracie Allen?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “You know what he said at the end of nearly every show?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Say goodnight, Gracie.”

  He lifted the pistol.

  Mattie knew she would be dead in less than a second. She tried to think of something to do.

  BOOM!

  A shotgun blast shattered the silence and a large hole appeared in Rafe’s chest. Astonishment appeared on his face. Mattie swung her head to look behind her. Jenny stepped out of the darkness with a shotgun aimed at Rafe.

  “That’s for cutting my face, asshole,” she said. “This is for what you done to her.”

  She fired again. The charge of pellets his Rafe in the face, ripping a chunk of his head off. He toppled into the vat, his body landing on top of Jubal.

  Mattie tried to say something but blackness over
whelmed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When Mattie regained consciousness, she was in the treatment room at Dr. Flint’s house. She was in a hospital bed with her shoulder wrapped in thick bandages. There was no one in the room but she could hear someone in the next room. She figured it was Dr. Flint. It took her a moment to figure out what had happened. Her mind felt dreamy and sleepy; probably from anesthesia, she guessed. It felt good to lie in the bed without a care in the world. She rolled to the side to get the pressure off of her shoulder. She gasped as a sharp pain ripped through her shoulder and arm. It took her a couple of seconds to get over it. A moment later, Doctor John popped into the room.

  “Finally decided to wake up, huh? Must be nice to loaf around all day.”

  She could tell he was very relieved. It showed in his face.

  “How long have I been out?”

  He quickly checked her bandage.

  “Almost twenty-four hours—of course a lot of that was under anesthesia.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “The bullet shattered your clavicle. Since I didn’t have much to do I rebuilt it with a whole bunch of screws and plates. Guaranteed you will set off any airport metal detector you get close to.”

  “Will it slow down my fast draw?”

  “Don’t think so. It’s exactly the same only heavier. I don’t think it will impede your movements at all. How do you feel?”

  “Warm and snuggy.”

  “That’s the drugs.”