Eviscerating the Snake - The Complete Trilogy

by Ashley Fontainne

  God, he was so matter of fact, so nonchalant about the whole debacle. I guess it is always like that, but when you have a personal stake in the outcome of things, you notice more. I forced myself not to let my true emotions splay across my face as I stared into the darkness out the window.

  “That is your plan, Roger? Jesus, I’m paying you a small fortune, and that is the best you have to offer me? To hope that the prosecution fucks up? Wow, I’m impressed with your legal expertise,” Olin snapped, clearly irritated. “What do you have to offer?” he said, directing his attention to me.

  I turned my body toward the back and addressed them both.

  “Based on the events of yesterday, I say we attempt to introduce Audra’s suicide note that contains her admission that she lied about the rape, and that Robert confessed to her that he killed Gina, and thereby request that the judge throw out the DNA evidence. That leaves them with nothing.”

  Olin looked over at Roger and said, “Now there is a stroke of legal genius! You should learn from your younger partner.”

  Roger seethed in his seat, unaccustomed to someone talking to him like he was a first year law student. I smiled and turned back to the front.

  We had traveled about fifteen miles and were now on the darkest stretch of the highway. The radio had quietly buzzed with typical radio traffic earlier but now was just static as we truly were out in the middle of nowhere. The moon was full and shining brightly through the front windshield, and the only sound now was the hum of the engine and our breathing.

  We had not passed a single vehicle the entire time. The desolate area felt like we were driving on some unchartered planet, devoid of any life forms. Suddenly, the interior of the unit lit up with bright light, the sound of a roaring engine railing behind us.

  “What the fuc...?” was all the deputy could get out before the entire car shook from the impact with the vehicle behind us. The light was blinding as the headlights glared into the car. Although he tried valiantly, the deputy could not control the car, and we veered sharply to the right, the car careening violently down the slope and heading straight for a cluster of small juniper trees.

  “Hang on!” the deputy yelled.

  Before we hit the trees head on, he jerked the wheel with all his strength, and the car spun out in the dirt, the back end coming about so fast I felt sick, and finally slamming into the trees on the driver’s side. Roger and the deputy were on that side, and they absorbed the majority of the impact. Roger’s head smashed into the passenger window with such force the glass shattered, and the deputy’s did the same. Although I was sore from the bouncing around, the seatbelt kept me in place and free from any major damage. I looked back quickly and noticed that Olin was snow white, the fear in his eyes emitting his shock.

  The vehicle stopped moving and the motor made a sick noise, sputtered once, and then went silent. I looked over at the deputy, whose head was bleeding, glass covering his head, face and shoulders. He was groaning slightly, but his injuries did not appear to be life threatening. I unlatched my seatbelt and reached back to check on Roger, but it was obvious he was dead. His head was sticking through the gaping hole that once contained the window, his chest now covered in his blood and brain matter.

  Olin finally found his voice and said, “Get on that fucking radio and call for backup or something! Someone is trying to kill us!”

  I glanced away from his ashen face and out the rear window. The headlights from earlier were now headed our way, slowly, down the embankment. My heart skipped several beats as I fumbled blindly with the radio.

  “I can’t get it to work, Olin!”

  “Fuck!” he screamed. He turned his head as far back as it would go and saw the lights coming, his face covered in sweat now. “Hurry up and find the keys! I have got to get out of here!”

  I dropped the mike and reached over and patted down the deputy, finding the keys to Olin’s shackles on his belt. I opened my passenger door and climbed out, opening his door and reaching down to unlock his chains in the dark. He was trembling as he yelled, “Hurry the fuck up! They’re almost here!”

  “Hold still, Olin! I can’t see!” I said through clenched teeth, sweat already pouring off of me.

  Suddenly, the lights that had been coming toward us were extinguished, along with the sound of the growling engine. I finally unlatched the last of his shackles, and Olin knocked me over in his quest to exit the vehicle. I stood up and brushed myself off, my heart pounding wildly.

  “It’s no use, Olin. Time’s up,” I said, turning toward him.

  The sound of pump action shotguns locking and loading followed my words, and Olin froze.

  He did not turn around; he just stood there, back erect and trembling, as footsteps behind us came closer. I nodded at the two men, completely encased head to toe in black, both wearing ski masks, and the one closest to me carrying a long lead pipe. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the pair of surgical gloves that I hid earlier and snapped them on.

  “You can turn around now, Olin,” I said as I secured the second glove.

  Slowly, he turned his body and faced me. The look on his face was absolutely priceless.

  “Olin, your life is like a credit card commercial. Controlling an unstable individual with empty promises? Expensive. Laughing at her death once she accomplishes your dirty deeds? A luxury. Paying for your sins? Absolutely fucking priceless,” I said, smiling as masked man number one handed me the lead pipe.

  “Now, walk, you bastard,” I said, enjoying the stinking fear that was exuding from him.

  “Nick, can’t we just...” Olin started to plead before I cut him off.

  “Shut up, Olin. Walk, right now, or he will shoot your kneecap off right here,” I said, jerking my head toward masked man number two. I could see the wheels spinning as he tried to calculate his odds of running, but in the end, like the coward I knew he was, he put his arms down and began to walk deeper into the woods.

  No one said a word as we walked. After about ten minutes, we reached an open area where the trees parted and the moon shone, revealing two freshly dug graves. As soon as Olin saw them, he pulled up and swung around, facing me. I smiled. Now, for the fun part.

  “Nick, come on, are you kidding? Buried alive? For things I did not do? That does not seem like a fair punishment! For God sakes, you are a lawyer!”

  “Shut up, Olin! I’m not ready to hear you talk just yet,” I said, raising the lead pipe in the air like a bat, motioning for him to continue closer to the graves. “You will get your chance to speak in just a second,” I sneered as he moved closer to the hole. “Now, stop before you fall in.” Lowering the pipe, I rested it against my leg as I reached into my jacket pocket. “So, would you like the chance to make this right? To, for once in your miserable existence, be honorable?” I asked, removing the hidden recorder.

  His eyes wild with fear, he looked down at the recorder and then back between the two masked, gun toting goons and the graves. He nodded his head “yes.”

  “Whoever said you were not reasonable just didn’t know you like I do, huh? Okay, here is the plan. If you would like to have your life spared, Olin, you need to start talking. Clearly, concisely—enumerating, without omitting any details, every single tidbit of your derelict transgressions. Start with Gina and end with Piper,” I said, holding the recorder out to him.

  He stared at it for a full minute before responding. “The truth… that’s it? Then I’m free to go?”

  “The truth, Olin, and not your twisted version of the truth—the actual truth. We will be the judge of your words, so chose them carefully,” I said, waving my other hand at the goon brigade. “If they don’t like what they hear, I am not responsible for their actions.” For emphasis, goon one lowered the barrel of his shotgun to aim at Olin’s chest.

  Olin nodded once and took the recorder from me, his fingers cold and clammy. For the next thirty minutes, I listened to him recount everything, and as he progressed, I swore I heard an undertone of pri
de seep through his words. When he finished, his voice was hoarse and barely audible. Holding out my hand, I took the recorder from him, and I quickly stuck it into the hand of goon one, where it disappeared into the depths of his pocket.

  Reaching down, I grabbed the pipe that had been leaning against my leg. I raised it high and smiled at Olin, burning the fear in his face forever into my memory. One predator to another, he was fully aware of what I was about to do, but the slimy worm tried in vain one more time to weasel his way out.

  “Nick, I did what you asked! You gave me your word! You are a lawyer; you can’t just kill me in cold blood! I know you; this isn’t who you are! Please!” Olin said, his hands instinctively rising to protect his face as I leaned back, the lead pipe dancing around in small circles behind my head.

  “Lawyers always lie to get the outcome they want, Olin. I wanted a confession, which now I have. Yes, the old me would never kill someone in cold blood. But the new me, the one you created, has absolutely no qualms about doing so,” I said as I swung the pipe and landed it squarely between his legs, the force so intense that his breath was completely stripped, unable to even cry out in pain. He dropped to the ground and rolled onto his side, his face contorted in pain. I moved to the other side and raised the pipe again, bringing it down this time on the side of his kneecap, smiling as I heard the bone crack. The pain from that blow allowed Olin to find his voice, and he screamed out in pain. I moved slightly back and brought the pipe down again, smashing his ankle bone into pieces, laughing like a maniacal fool as he continued to squeal like a little girl. He finally removed his hands from his crotch and grabbed his ankle, snot and tears mingling down his face as he begged for his pathetic life. I answered his pleas by crushing his hands under the weight of the pipe.

  As he writhed in the dirt, I stepped back and nodded at my companions, setting the pipe against my leg once more. Silently, they moved past me, handing me their guns. They each took position at his feet and head. In tandem silence, they hefted him into the grave. The sound of his body making contact with the bottom made me laugh out loud again, and something in the back of my mind told me I was enjoying this a bit too much.

  I didn’t care. I might have to pay for this lack of moral compass sometime in the future, but at this moment, relishing every single whimper of that bastard was worth it.

  Piper deserved no less.

  I walked over to the edge of the grave and peered down. Broken and unable to move, he finally stopped screaming, for the realization that his life was almost over hit him. Our eyes locked and I literally felt the raging anger shoot out of them. I shot my own back as I said, “This is for Piper.” I kicked the first pile of dirt straight down into his lying face.

  Shovels appeared in the hands of Trevor and Frankie, Rosemary Milligan’s nephews—or as I like to call them, the goon squad—and they began to fill the grave. With each shovelful, Olin screamed obscenities like only he could. Silently, I watched until I could no longer see his body or hear his muffled voice. Satisfied that he was gone, I turned and began to make my way back to the wrecked car. Stumbling a bit through the darkness, I eventually found it, and I set the guns down by the back tire as I peered inside. The deputy was still unconscious and Roger was still dead, so I sat down in the dirt and waited, hoping beyond hope that Piper was enjoying this.

  I sure was.

  An hour later, I heard the footsteps of Trevor and Frankie coming through the brush. I stood up, patted myself off and opened the passenger door, draping my arm across it for support until they appeared. They were silent, covered in dirt, and no longer were wearing their ski masks. Really, what would be the point now? I sure as hell wasn’t going to give them up.

  Trevor was the older one, and much stronger. We had already agreed that since he had been in plenty of bar fights over the years, he would be the one. I reached inside my coat pocket and pulled out my cell phone and handed it to Frankie, who promptly threw it on the ground and crushed it under his black boot. Trevor stood in front of me now, he eyes full of emotions that I could not begin to decipher. This was the one part of my plan in which he had an issue. I found that rather ironic; he had no problem burying a guy alive but had issues with beating one up.

  Steadying myself against the doorframe, I took a few deep breaths. Trevor finally spoke and said, “Ready?”

  I sucked in one more huge breath and, just as the first blow landed, said, “Ready.” Funny, instead of seeing stars, I saw Piper’s face.

  THE SOUND OF THE door opening jolted me out of my restless sleep, my hand instinctively reaching for my gun on my hip. For a split second, panic overtook me when my hand found nothing but an empty holster. Then I remembered where I was.

  The young nurse smiled apologetically at me while she moved over to the left side of Audra’s bed. Embarrassed, I rose and stepped outside, letting her finish her job while I stretched my legs. Wiping my sleep-encrusted eyes, I tried to focus on my watch, shocked when I realized twenty-four hours had passed.

  Twenty-four hours spent beside my silent Audra, listening to the humming machines keeping her alive.

  The nurse was changing her bandage now, and I knew I could not handle seeing any more of her blood, so I turned around and headed down the hall, my nose following the smell of coffee. The black bag that belonged to Audra’s mother was still sitting in the chair by the door, which meant she was still here somewhere. She and Dr. Tanner were probably in the cafeteria, which meant that was not where I would go to find coffee. Jesus. Those two were the epitome of phoniness. No wonder Audra stayed away from them! If I had to hear one more round of “Where in the hell were you?” from that woman, I was afraid of what I might do. My own immense guilt was enough to make ten grown men weary.

  The yellow plastic chair was uncomfortable as hell, but I ignored it and sipped the steaming concoction that sure didn’t taste like coffee. I wanted this to be a dream, and was wishing I would just wake up from this God-awful nightmare in my own bed, my arms protectively around my love. Dreams dissipate quickly upon awakening, and the images do not remain embedded in your mind.

  In a daze, I replayed the events of the last two weeks over and over in my mind, reliving every word, every emotion, every place I went wrong. So many varying emotions were vying for my attention right now. I felt nauseated watching them spin around in my head at supersonic speed. The one that was hardest to control was unadulterated, raw anger.

  Just a few short days ago when my hands were clasped tightly around that bastard’s neck, I came closer than I cared to admit to killing him. Part of me wished that I had finished what I started and snapped his neck in half, leaving his body in a crumpled heap on the jail floor. The other part of me was sort of glad he was still breathing, so I could make a fresh trip to the jail and beat him to a bloody pulp since I couldn’t very well beat up the corpse of Piper.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I closed my eyes in an attempt to chase those thoughts out of my head. They went against every fiber of my being—the polar opposite of not only what I was brought up to believe but also what I was trained to do as a cop.

  But God, I wanted that sonofabitch dead more than anything, other than for Audra to wake up—a horrible, painful death. One full of screams of pain, interspersed with pleas for mercy. Oh God, I am way too emotionally involved.

  Before I started seriously planning ways to circumvent the cameras at the jail, my devious thoughts were interrupted by footsteps moving fast down the hall. I looked up to see Deputy Sullivan running toward me.

  “Detective! Finally! We’ve been trying to call you for hours now,” he sputtered, his breathing heavy and his face a flushed light red.

  Sensing his emotions, I stood up and braced myself. “Sullivan, what are you doing here?”

  He took a deep breath and said, “What’s wrong with your phone?” I quickly shook my head in irritation and motioned with my hands “continue.”

  “Olin is dead. They just found his body about four hours ago.” He pau
sed, letting me digest that bit of information before he continued. Good thing he did, because it took a full thirty seconds for me to really comprehend his words. He waited for the color to come back to my face before he continued.

  “They never showed up at the Yarkema jail. A search party found the transport car about fifty miles from the prison down in a gully. One of the attorneys is dead, the other unconscious, and so was poor Randy.” I looked quizzically at him, not recognizing the name. “The deputy who was driving. Anyway, Olin was nowhere to be found, so they called the dogs in. They found him about a mile from the car. Buried.”

  I stepped back and sank down into the chair. Dead—no, not just dead…buried. That meant someone else was involved. But who in the world…?

  “You said an attorney was dead. Do you have a name?” I said, the puzzle pieces coming into view.

  Deputy Sullivan consulted his notes, flipping the pages of his small pad. “Clanton… Roger Clanton. Nicolas Rancliff is the other one. He’s here in room 537. Poor guy took one helluva beating.”

  Thankfully, Deputy Sullivan’s radio sparked to life, and he stepped out into the hall. Immediately, my brain began to analyze all the individuals that wanted Olin dead, their reasons and their availability to accomplish an obvious hit. The list was long in terms of the willing, but short in terms of the able, and one name blinked like a neon sign in my head.