A Dirty Shame

by Liliana Hart

  Lorna grabbed her purse, and followed us out to the porch just as Jack was hanging up the phone. He turned to look at Lorna and said, “Reverend Thomas must have called to tell you we were looking for you.”

  The statement caught her off guard just for a moment. “He called to tell me I needed to update my address with the city.”

  “It gave you plenty of time to call William and let him know we were coming. He’s under surveillance you know. My men caught him trying to sneak out of the back window of his house and get away. Was he coming to help you, or do you think he would have let you take the fall all by yourself? Things don’t look good for you, Lorna. They’ve made you out to be the scapegoat. It’s your name attached to the car and the house here. Not theirs. What will we find in that barn?”

  Things turned to chaos in that moment and a gunshot rang out—the sound deafening as it echoed under the small space of the porch. Fear gripped me like it never had before, not even when I’d watched my last lover die by the hands of a madman. I couldn’t do this again. All I could think of was protecting Jack, and I flung my body towards him, knocking him back against the clapboard siding.

  The blood rushed in my ears and black dots edged into my vision.

  “Jesus, Jaye,” Jack’s voice finally came through. “Are you crazy? Look at me.”

  I couldn’t listen to what he was saying. My hands ran over his body, checking for the wound I was sure I’d find, ready to staunch the blood and feel the life of him drain beneath my fingers.

  “Where is it?” I begged. “Where is it!” Hysteria bubbled inside me, and Jack put his arms around me tight, holding me as close as he could until the only thing I could hear was his heartbeat, nice and steady.

  “I’m okay,” he soothed. “Everyone’s okay. Look.”

  “You’re okay,” I said, more to reassure myself than asking a question. Tremors wracked my body, but I made myself look over at Lorna. Carver already had her in cuffs and she was weeping softly on her knees, her head bowed as if in prayer.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I tried to push away and stand on my own. “I shouldn’t have interfered. I’m sorry.”

  But Jack didn’t let me go far, and he kept an arm around my waist. I was still struggling to catch my breath, and I realized that fear was dictating every choice and action in my life. And if I wanted to survive and be happy, I couldn’t let the fear take over.

  “I’m okay. I’m sorry,” I said again.

  “I’ll let it go this once,” he said. “But if you ever try to step in front of a bullet for me again I’m going to bend you over my knee. You took ten years off my life.”

  I realized then I wasn’t the only one trembling. I squeezed him and dropped my head to his shoulder. “That’s something we haven’t tried yet,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Sounds kinky.”

  His body shook with laughter, and this time when I pulled away he let me go.

  “Why don’t you come over here and hug me?” Carver asked. “I’m the one that knocked the gun out of her hand.”

  “My hero,” I said, fluttering my lashes.

  “Carver is also a terrible poker player,” Jack said. “You guys have that in common. I knew he was waiting for Lorna to make a move, so I wasn’t worried at all. She shot right through her handbag and into the porch.”

  “I’m glad someone is as bad at poker as me,” I said.

  “Maybe not quite so bad,” Jack added, his smile giving me a glimpse of his dimple. “I told Lewis and Martinez to arrest William Vance and bring him in for questioning. And now with Lorna’s little stunt here we don’t have to wait for a warrant to search the premises.”

  “I’ll stay here with her if you want to check it out,” Carver said. He lifted her up under the arms so she was on her feet, and he started moving her towards the cruiser.

  Jack and I watched until Carver had her settled. She was still weeping softly, and I felt the first stirring of pity nudge me.

  “Let’s go check out the barn,” Jack said.

  “Let me get my bag. Just in case.” I didn’t know exactly what just in case might encompass, but I was prepared for anything.

  The walk to the barn was a trek, and by the time we got to the doors I couldn’t see where Carver was waiting with the car. Jack handed me a pair of gloves and I put them on while he decided the best way to get through the padlock holding the doors closed.

  “Hand me that scraper thing in your bag. The one that looks like a dentist’s pick.”

  “Since when are you proficient in breaking and entering?” I dug in my bag and handed over the tool.

  “You learn all kinds of interesting things in the military. Move back some. You’re in my light.”

  I took a few steps back while Jack worked his magic. The temperature was starting to warm up and I was regretting the added layers I put on early that morning. I dropped my bag to the ground and took off my jacket, tying it around my waist. I slapped at a fly that lighted on my arm, and then another that buzzed around my face. There were several seeking me out. I looked around until I saw a swarm of them above us.

  “Jack,” I said.

  “Almost got it.” His concentration was complete. “There we go,” he said. “It’s been awhile. Never used to take me so long.”

  “Jack,” I called again.

  He followed my gaze up and we both stared at the blowflies going in and out of the broken hayloft door. Jack took his weapon out of the holster and flipped off the safety with his thumb. He gestured me to move behind him and this once I decided not to argue. I’d left my gun back at the house. It was the first time I’d been without it in months, and I hadn’t even realized I was missing it as I’d left. I didn’t like the feel of being helpless. I knew Jack would protect me with his life, but he shouldn’t have to. What if he was the one who needed protection? Love and trust was a two-way street, and I hated that I felt like I’d dropped the ball.

  “Jack—I’m”

  “You didn’t,” he said in that uncanny way he had of knowing what I was going to say. I’d been about to apologize for letting him down when he pulled my little Beretta out of his pocket and handed it to me. “We left in a hurry this morning and you left it by the nightstand. There’s no one I’d rather have watching my back.”

  I grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him down for a short kiss. “I love you,” I said.

  “I know. But it’s nice to hear you say it first for a change.”

  Jack removed the padlock and stuck it in his jacket pocket, and then he pulled out the wooden slat that had been shoved through the handles to keep the doors closed. The wood was warped and swollen from the recent rain, and he had to jiggle it to get it loose. But once he got it out, the doors fell open with an ominous creak to display the dark cavern inside.

  The smell assaulted me—death. It washed over my body in thick waves, and the flies seemed to thicken around us as if we were drenched in honey instead of decay. I’d smelled worse things, but not many.

  “Jesus,” Jack said, his face set in harsh lines as we stepped inside. We both breathed with shallow pants—the kind of breathing technique only people who’d been around the dead had perfected.

  The inside of the barn had been gutted so the stalls were gone, and the rectangular discoloration on floors was the only reminder they’d existed. It was darker inside, but light streamed through the door behind us enough that we could see we’d found what we were looking for. Jack pulled his Maglite from his belt and turned it on. On second glance, the barn was in better shape than it looked on the outside. The windows had been boarded up, and the walls were patched so no one could see in or out.

  The floors were wooden and covered in remnants of hay and dust, but some of the boards had been pulled up in certain areas so only the dark earth was visible beneath. It was easier to let blood flow into the ground than try to wash it off a solid surface.

  Thick wooden beams were lined three on each side as supports and rafters were spaced ev
enly above, so the hayloft was reinforced. A hose was attached to the faucet on the wall, and the drip, drip, drip of water splashed against a metal bucket beneath it. Ropes and pulleys were attached at different intervals, and it was all too easy to imagine the atrocities that had taken place inside.

  “Jesus,” I whispered as chills broke out over my skin. I’d never seen anything like it. And I’d seen a lot of terrible things in my career.

  “Everything’s still here,” Jack said.

  He picked up the leather belt on the floor and held it up. Tied to the end was a rusted piece of scrap metal crusted with blood. They’d beaten Daniel Oglesby and Julie Lawrence with that tool as they’d hung from one of the rafters, probably praying for death to come soon.

  A wooden ladder was propped against the wall, and it led up to the hole that had been crudely cut out to enter the hayloft. I swiped at the flies and headed towards the ladder, slinging my bag across my body as I went. Jack followed behind me and kept his gun in his hand. The ladder was rough against my gloves, and sharp slivers of wood pierced through the latex.

  The smell grew stronger the higher I climbed, and it was hot as hell, so by the time I reached the top it was like going into a thick cloud of steaming death. The flies swarmed like mad and sweat coated my skin.

  I pulled myself through the little hole and into the hayloft. It wasn’t a big space—maybe twelve feet on each side. The floor was particleboard that had been nailed into the rafters below. Railroad ties were nailed into the wall, and old tools hung from them.

  It was hard to miss the remains of Doc Randall. He’d just been a little old man who’d made a bad decision. And this is how he’d ended up, crumpled in a heap like garbage in the corner.

  “It’s him,” I said as Jack’s head popped through the hole behind me and he climbed up.

  I took off my bag and dumped my jacket on the ground before stripping off the outer sweater I wore. Jack stripped off his flannel shirt so he was down to his shirtsleeves.

  I dug around in my bag and came out with a couple of surgical masks. Jack declined the one I held out for him, but I went ahead and put mine on. There was nothing like having flies that had been feasting on a rotting corpse tickle at your nostrils and mouth.

  I kneeled beside Doc Randall and had just started to examine the body when all hell broke loose. I heard a gunshot in the distance at the same time I felt the rafters shake below. The barn doors slammed shut, and Jack pointed his gun to the ceiling and stayed to the edges of the room as he tried to look out the broken hayloft door. A crack of gunfire sounded, and splinters of wood exploded around his face just as he dropped to the ground.

  “Jack,” I yelled, staying low as I crawled over to him.

  “I’m not hit,” he said. His temple bled profusely where a piece of wood had cut him, and I tried to staunch the bleeding, but he pushed my hand away. “There’s no time. Let’s get out of here.”

  “But Doc Randall—”

  “He’s dead, Jaye. We’ll come back for him later. If we’re alive.”

  I hurried down the steps as fast as I could go, stumbling into darkness, and Jack dropped down beside me almost before my feet had touched the ground.

  “I can’t see,” I yelled, panic starting to close in on me.

  “Look there. You can see the light coming from under the doors. Run. Now.”

  We ran for the barn doors, and Jack rammed his shoulder against them—once—twice—but they didn’t budge.

  “They’ve got the doors jammed,” he said. My breath was heaving in and out of my lungs, but I couldn’t hear anything from Jack. If I hadn’t felt him brush against me, I wouldn’t have known he was there at all.

  Little whispers of sound surrounded us, and the noise grew in intensity until it became angry hisses. Smoke started to fill the barn from all directions and the heat became overwhelming.

  “Back upstairs,” Jack yelled over the flames.

  I could only see his outline with the barn doors closed, and if we waited too much longer we’d never be able to find the ladder again. More splinters jabbed through my gloves and into my fingers as I crawled quickly back up to the hayloft, and Jack pushed at me from below.

  The air was a little easier to breathe once we got to the loft, and we could see for the moment, but the black smoke billowed up from the ground and past the hayloft door, sneaking inside little by little.

  “Strip off your clothes.”

  Jack had his shirt off and was down to his boxer briefs before I could get the command wrapped around my brain. He was already fashioning a rope out of his clothes and the jacket and sweater I’d left on the ground. He swiped at the blood running into his eyes with the back of his hand, but he stayed focused. I did as he asked until I was down to my bra and panties, unsure what I could do to help.

  Jack pulled a knife and ran over to Doc Randall, efficiently slicing down the back of his blood soaked shirt and slacks.

  I had no idea what was happening outside. The gunfire had stopped, and I didn’t know if Carver was dead or alive—whether the good guys would be waiting for us outside or the bad guys. I tried to move closer to the hayloft doors, but the flames from below had started to lick their way up until they almost reached the hayloft door. We couldn’t jump out the window without catching fire. There was no way down.

  The floor grew hot beneath my bare skin, and Jack continued to work with the clothes rope. It was getting harder to see, and all I could do to help was hold the flashlight steady so he could see what he was doing. I knew Jack was trying, but I didn’t see hope for our escape.

  “Give me your gun,” Jack said. He immediately went into a coughing fit, and we both huddled closer to the ground, breathing in as much air as possible.

  I handed it over to him without question. He grabbed my hand and we crawled on hands and knees away from where the flames were starting to encroach on our space. Jack pulled my head close and said, “Hold on to my leg. Don’t let go.” He kissed me hard once, and I stopped him, my eyes blind with tears and smoke.

  “I won’t let go,” I promised him. “In this life or the next.” And then I held on to his leg, waiting for the flames and smoke to take us both.

  I jerked against his body as I felt the recoil of my gun. He fired every round into the outside wall and then did the same thing with his own weapon. He dropped the guns and grabbed onto my hands, holding me tight as he started kicking against the weakened wall. I tried to help him, my bare feet hitting the wood, but the smoke was starting to get to me.

  Bright light hit my eyes, and I thought, This is it. There’s the white light at the end of the tunnel. But a great whoosh of air sucked at the smoke and I realized it was daylight. We both stuck our heads out of the makeshift hole and breathed in, coughing as our lungs seized.

  I looked down, and that one brief moment of hope left me again when I saw we’d never survive a jump from that high.

  “We don’t have long,” Jack said. “The fire will reach this side in a couple of minutes,” Boards creaked and moaned all around us, and great crashes sounded from below. “If the building doesn’t collapse first,” he added.

  He tied the makeshift rope to one of the thick iron railroad spikes sticking out from the wall and let the rope of clothes unfurl. It was too short. By a lot. But we had a better chance with it than without.

  “I’ll go first,” Jack said. “I’ll catch you. Trust me.”

  I looked at him and nodded. “With my life.”

  Jack launched himself out the hole we’d made in the wall and was at the end of the rope much too soon. The clothes strained against the nail they’d been secured to, and just when I could see Jack gather his resolve to drop the rest of the way to the ground, a police cruiser sped towards us and slammed to a stop beneath us. Carver got out to help, but Jack gauged the jump and let go, landing on top of his cruiser.

  My hands were damp with sweat as I crawled through the hole, much less gracefully then Jack had managed to make it look. I kn
ew it was stupid but all I could think was that I was going to die in my underwear while everyone watched. I almost laughed from the hysteria of it, but I started coughing instead.

  Jack stayed on top of the cruiser, and then suddenly I was in his arms and I never wanted to let go. We held on to each other, our breaths heaving and blood and tears soaking our faces.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this,” I said. “But I’m really glad you were in the military.”

  “At least you’ll never be able to say our life is boring.” He kissed the top of my head and wiped at my tears with his thumb.

  “I could maybe deal with a little boredom in my life.”

  “I’ll make sure our honeymoon doesn’t require anything more stressful than asking the beach waiters for drinks with umbrellas, or having slow, lazy sex in the surf.”

  I stared up at him. His face was black with soot, and blood covered one side of his face. “Sounds like heaven,” I said.

  “Good. Now let’s go put these assholes away.”

  “Maybe I could get dressed first,” I said, noticing the crowd of cops gathering around us. “I think Martinez is taking pictures.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  With the excitement of the FBI swarming over the county, it was easy to forget that four people were dead—six if you counted Julie Lawrence and Ronnie Campbell—maybe more we didn’t know about. But Greg Vance—not William—was behind bars, which had been a surprise to all of us after the warrant had gone through and we’d gotten a copy of the membership roster of the Aryan Nation. Gregory Vance Sr. joined his son in a cell for conspiracy to murder.

  Jack had been right. It had all come down to the money.

  Greg Vance had been taking over the reins of the Aryan Nation for the past several years—about the same time the FBI started their file on the Blood Brothers. The crazy thing about people like Greg Vance is they never think they’ll get caught. They’re always smarter or above the law.

  His car dealerships had been the perfect cover for drug running. He’d enveloped George’s garage and six others all over the state into his rotation. The drugs would go into the cars at the auto shop at his Richmond dealership, and then the reformed Booth Wilkins would drive the car out to a remote location with the drugs. Someone would trade out the drugs for a fat wad of money, and then George would tow the car and the money back to the shop. The FBI and DEA were both having a field day with Greg Vance.