Forever Man

by Brian Matthews

  At first she thought Owens and Katie had both been hit. The old man covered the smaller girl. Then Owens stirred and sat up. Beneath him, Katie looked up at Izzy. She smiled weakly.

  Izzy breathed a sigh of relief. “For a second there—”

  “Izzy,” Owens said. He was looking toward the driver’s seat.

  Turning, she saw Gene slumped to one side, his seat belt keeping him from falling over. From where she stood, he didn’t look hurt. But he wasn’t moving.

  She opened his door. Reaching in, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upright.

  Her hand came away wet with blood.

  Chapter 29

  Izzy ignored the blood on her hand and gently turned Gene’s head.

  The owner of the Lula had been very fortunate. Denny’s shot had grazed the side of his head near his temple. Had the round hit just a bit lower, he’d have lost his ear; had it hit more directly, he’d be dead. As it was, the skin had been split, and he was bleeding down the side of his face.

  “There’s a first-aid kit in the trunk,” she told Owens.

  Gene began to stir as the passenger door opened, and Bart Owens slid in the seat with the first-aid kit in his hand.

  “I’ll take care of Gene,” he said, opening up the kit and pulling out some gauze pads. “Someone should see to Katie’s friend.”

  Katie started to get out of the car, but Izzy stopped her. “I’ll go check on Brittany. But you can do something. Go see if the driver of the other car is all right. If he is, tell him it’s okay to go. Right now, I’ve got more things to worry about than a bad driver.”

  Katie jumped out of the SUV and headed over to the Impala.

  “I’ll be right back,” Izzy told Owens. Then she hurried to Katie’s house.

  In the living room, she found Brittany Parsons sitting on the floor, groggy, shaken, but alive. She had a nasty lump on the back of her head, but otherwise she appeared to be fine. After reassuring the girl that they would do everything to find Kevin, Izzy radioed in for a patrolman to come and take Brittany’s statement, and then afterward, drive her home.

  Back outside the house, she saw that the Impala had already left. Katie was making her way back to the Explorer. Izzy hurried to catch up.

  Snow had piled up on the SUV already, covering the windows and blowing into the open space where the rear window used to be. It also began filling in the tracks she’d made walking over to Katie’s house.

  When she reached the Explorer, Izzy checked on Gene. Owens had finished wrapping a bandage around the dressing, covering Gene’s wounds. She breathed a sigh of relief when Gene turned to look at her.

  “And I thought my back hurt.” He blinked hard and took a deep breath. “It feels like a bunch of kids played kick-the-can with my head.”

  Owens said, “The wound was shallow. Stitches would probably be a good idea, but other than his headache, I can’t find anything else wrong with him.” He gave Gene a wry smile. “You should be dead, you know.”

  Gene chuckled. Izzy remembered that Gene had said the exact same words to Owens only a few hours ago.

  “So you’re a doctor, too?” she asked Owens.

  “Medic, remember? Couple of World Wars ago. I learned a lot.”

  Katie had slid into the back seat. “Brittany?”

  “A little frazzled, that’s all,” Izzy replied. The news was met with looks of relief.

  Gene sat up a little straighter. “What happened with Kevin?”

  “They got away,” said Izzy, spitting out the words like they were broken teeth. “But I don’t intend on letting them get far. Gene, do you think you could move to the passenger’s side?”

  “Hell, yes,” Gene said and exited the SUV. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

  Izzy’s gaze slid over to Katie, then Owens. “I’m still worried—”

  “I am not staying behind,” Katie interjected. “These guys killed my mother. That gives me the right to be here.”

  “I’ll keep my eye on her,” Owens said. “They’ll have to kill me to get to her.”

  Izzy wanted to argue the point, but she was running out of time. She climbed into the Explorer. Grabbing the mic hanging from the police radio, she updated the APB for Webber’s Chevy Silverado: it had three bullet holes in the left rear body of the car. And they now had a hostage.

  Next she had her dispatcher send out notices to Marquette’s airport and the area bus terminals with the descriptions of all four individuals.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” she said as she hung up the mic. “Somebody might see them.”

  Izzy straightened out the SUV and headed in the direction the Silverado had gone. With the rear window missing, it was getting colder inside the Explorer. She kept the heat cranked up to high. The snow appeared to be easing up—the only thing going in their favor.

  Traffic here had been minimal. She could see the Silverado’s tracks turning left on Baker Street. She followed them. The next stop was Asher.

  Now that they had Kevin, Webber and Jack would be headed out of town. A left on Asher would take them northwest toward the airport in Marquette and then on to Wisconsin. Right would lead southeast to the two bridges that provided ways out of the Upper.

  She rolled to a stop. Being the main road through town, traffic here was heavier. And the road had been plowed.

  She pounded the steering wheel with her fist. There were no tracks. She couldn’t tell which way Webber had turned.

  She had lost them.

  * * *

  The Lexus RX rolled east along M-28 toward Kinsey. The ride was smooth enough, the woman thought. But it couldn’t compare to the feel of her favorite set of wheels, a fully-loaded Porsche 911 Carrera she’d picked up a few months ago. Driving that was like having a love affair with the road. Then again, spend over a quarter million dollars for a car and it had better drive like a dream.

  No, she’d chosen the Lexus for practical reasons. The weather report had called for a snow storm to roll across this rural slice of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. So prior to leaving Dulles International Airport, she’d called ahead to the car rental counter at the airport in Marquette and arranged to have the SUV waiting for her when she arrived. Its wide tires and solid handling were perfect for traversing snowy roads. For now, function trumped form.

  Just past a small town called Munising, the road banked left, following the shoreline of Lake Superior. The woman eased up on the accelerator. The Lexus’s handling in the snow had been excellent, but there was no need to take chances. She would arrive in Kinsey in due time.

  Working her way deeper into the heated seat, she pondered her current dilemma. Darryl Webber had disappointed her. She had sent him up here to collect the boy and bring him to her. That had been almost two weeks ago, and she still didn’t have Kevin Sallinen.

  One long, immaculately lacquered fingernail began tapping the leather-wrapped steering wheel. The current situation was unacceptable. She should have gone with her first instinct. Send Webber in and have him take the boy; the less complicated a plan, the better it worked. But she had allowed Webber to talk her into a more detailed operation. And, she had to admit, he’d had a point. She could secure the boy and rid herself of Bartholomew, all at the same time.

  The operation hadn't been a disaster, but it certainly hadn't been a success, either.

  She had last spoken to Webber thirty-six hours ago. Since then, she’d heard nothing.

  There could be a couple reasons for that. Webber had noted that Kinsey’s Chief of Police was more formidable than he’d expected. Not surprising, given that Darryl Webber was a misogynistic fool. Underestimating women was something she’d had to address with him in the past. It didn’t look like the lesson had sunk in.

  And then there was Bartholomew. While she had expected his involvement—had counted on it—he had the frustrating habit of throwing up all kinds of barriers. And he had twice beat Webber at his own game.

  All in all, it was enough to irritate her.

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nbsp; She didn’t fully trust Darryl with phone calls. In the past, he’d tried to explain away his failures, then go on doing what he was doing. So for this operation, she’d decided to delay her other obligations and stay close to the Midwest. Good thing she did. Once events in Kinsey had started going awry, she’d been able to come up here. Personally see to things. It wasn’t something she liked to do. But if Kevin Sallinen had half the potential she suspected, it would be worth the inconvenience.

  And if she could not secure the boy, she would make damn sure Bartholomew and his cadre didn’t get him either.

  Turning her attention to the GPS attached to the Lexus’s dashboard, she saw it wouldn’t be much longer.

  Close enough? Probably.

  She reached for her cell, but something made her pause.

  Oh my, she thought, bringing her hand up to her face. Webber’s antics must have upset me more that I’d believed.

  Her perfectly manicured fingernails were gone.

  She smiled at the hooked, razor-sharp claws that now extended from the tips of her fingers.

  Chapter 30

  Darryl Webber maneuvered his Silverado down the snow-slicked road. He checked the rear-view mirror. No sign of Morris.

  Huddled in the back seat, Jack held his son; the gunfire had set the boy off on another crying jag. Denny Cain sat next to Webber, the rifle propped between his long legs. Adrenaline seemed to have burned away some of Denny’s hangover. That, and the chance to take a shot at the man he thought had killed his son. Revenge was an excellent tonic for a tormented soul.

  As they approached an intersection, he called out, “Jack. Directions.”

  “Left,” replied Jack. “That’ll take you out of town.”

  Denny looked over at Webber. “What do you mean, ‘out of town’? I ain’t leaving. Maddie’s at home waiting for me.”

  “Seriously? You just shot at the Chief of Police. Blew out her car window. You think she’s going to take kindly to that?”

  Denny’s face screwed into a frown. “But—but I don’t wanna leave. What’ll Maddie do without me?”

  “Here,” Webber offered, pulling the car over to the curb. “Let me drop you off. You can go back and apologize. Maybe Morris will understand.”

  “You know she ain’t gonna do that.”

  “See what I mean?” Webber eased back out into what little traffic there was. “Buckle up, hoss. You’re in it for the long haul.”

  “I—but—”

  “No ‘buts’.”

  Webber took the left. When his cell began playing “Black Hole Sun,” he checked the display. He was tempted to ignore the call—he’d screwed up by not checking in. But he also knew he could stretch his luck only so far.

  He clicked on and said, “It’s me.”

  “Nice of you to pick up,” came her voice over the phone, sounding uncomfortably close.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been kind of busy.”

  “Busy?” she said archly.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “Keep me out of the loop again and you will be.”

  “Understood.” Bitch.

  “Have you managed to get the boy yet?”

  “Just now. I ran into a couple problems.”

  “Spare me your excuses.” Her sarcasm was sharp enough to draw blood. “And Bartholomew?”

  “He was one of the problems. We just managed to get away from him.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “You’re saying Bartholomew got that close to the boy? Before everything was in place?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “Near the end.”

  “I gave you every advantage, and still he dogged your steps. Unbelievable. Makes me wonder.”

  “Yet I’m the one who ended up with the boy.”

  “More by luck,” she replied. “What about my pet?”

  Damn. He’d hoped not to go there. “Well, that’s a different problem.” Webber recounted his decision to send the creature after Morris. And how it had returned, injured, with Morris still alive.

  The pause was longer this time. “How is that possible?”

  “She got a shot off. It took a bullet in the chest.”

  “We both know it would take more than that.”

  “I told you she was resourceful. She—”

  “What are you not telling me, Darryl?”

  His mind churned as he tried to think of an effective lie.

  “And don’t try lying to me.”

  Webber let out a sigh. “Owens was with her at the time.”

  When she spoke next, her words were clipped and harsh. “You sent my favorite pet after someone protected by Bartholomew?”

  “Yes,” Webber said, thankful for the distance between here and Maryland.

  “He saved her?”

  “That’s the theory.”

  “Don’t be cute. It’s annoying.”

  “Look,” he said, desperate to change the subject. “I’ve got the boy. I did what you asked.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Now what?”

  “The boy,” Webber said. “He spoke to me.”

  “Spoke…how?”

  “In complete sentences. Coherently.” He could almost hear her chewing on that one.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “He’s not supposed to do that yet.” Webber glanced at Kevin in the mirror. “What kind of danger am I in here?”

  “No more than when he’s speaking his gibberish.”

  “Wait a minute,” Webber said, alarmed. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Whatever made you think I’d tell you everything?”

  “But my control over the Fek?”

  “I’m still not sure about the extent of the boy’s abilities, so I’d be careful if I were you.”

  Webber was stunned. “That would have been nice to know from the start.”

  “Life’s full of little surprises,” she said sweetly. “Now, where are you?”

  Biting back his irritation, he replied, “I’m almost out of town. Give me a couple more days.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m coming to you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Webber said in a panic. “Seriously, I’ve got everything under control.”

  “Yes, I do,” she replied. “And no, you don’t. Besides, I’m already here.”

  Oh, fuck. Not good. Not good at all. “Where?”

  “About an hour or so from Kinsey.”

  He swallowed. “All right. I understand. What do you want me to do?”

  “Where were you keeping my pet?”

  “A cave outside of town.” He gave her directions.

  “Make your way there.”

  “Of course,” he said stiffly. “I’m on my way.”

  “This had better work,” she said. “I won’t tolerate another failure.” Then she hung up on him.

  Webber shut his phone. It was amazing how fast things can go down the shitter.

  Looking into the rear view mirror, he asked: “How’s everyone feel about a walk in the woods?”

  * * *

  Deke Frenz picked his way through the woods. A hard wind blew the snow around, creating drifts and generally making the walk difficult. In one hand he carried a burlap bag filled with apples. The other rested on the strap of a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  Earlier, after the ambulance had left with the kid found in Room 7, Deke had decided to flip on the NO VACANCY sign, close up shop and go check on his bait piles. There were no other customers, and he was unlikely to see more that day. Fishing season was winding down, and even though you could get some good steelies in the nearby trout streams, most people weren’t willing to make the long drive just for that. Bow season for deer started next week. That might pull in a few people. But the major influx of customers started around November 15th. That was when firearm season opened. He already had enough reservations to fill the Hiawatha Trails for three weeks.
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br />   He stepped between two trees and approached his third and final bait pile. Despite the snow, he knew exactly where he was going. He’d lived his whole life up here, hunted from the age of fifteen. This was like his second home.

  The last pile was in a shallow indentation in the ground marked by three trees, two large pines and a smaller aspen. He dropped the bag of apples and leaned his rifle against a tree trunk. Kneeling down, he began brushing away the snow. He frowned at what he saw.

  Like the other two piles he had visited, the apples here were untouched.

  He recalled the rubs he’d seen on the trees. The bark had been scraped away by the antlers of some huge buck. It had likely marked its territory, pissing all over the place and keeping the other deer away. But why hadn't it eaten the apples?

  He thought he heard something moving in the woods. He stood and looked around, his ears straining against the crystalline stillness of the forest. The overcast sky had rendered the woods into a stark landscape of whites and dark grays. He didn’t see anything. But still, there was something not…quite…right….

  Sticks broke in another direction. He spun, eyes darting back and forth, his breath coming in shallow, quick gasps. Blood rushed through his veins, pounded loudly in his ears.

  He wasn’t one to panic in the woods. Nothing spooked him, really. But now he was afraid—unreasonably afraid.

  He reached for the rifle. Before coming out here, he’d loaded the gun, chambered a round, and engaged the safety. He never wandered around the forest unarmed. It was a good thing, too.

  Because he was certain something was out there.

  And he got the feeling it was watching him.

  * * *

  Webber turned off the road and onto a small trail leading deep into the woods.

  The drive had taken him back toward the Hiawatha Trails Motel. He would have preferred using less-traveled side roads—Morris had likely put the word out about them over the police band—but the cave was located near the motel, and M-28 was the only way he knew to get there. So he had sped along as fast as he could on the slick roads, keeping one eye out for the cops and the other for his turn-off.