The Overnighter's Secrets

by J. L. Salter

  It was the one he’d waited for and Shane watched the approach almost as though it were slow motion. He leaped to his own left, fully on the rear of Ricks, who was still in the middle of his backhand. Shane’s club caught behind Ricks’s right knee and whipped that leg completely out from under him.

  Somehow, Ricks kept the knife in his hand as he crashed to the floor. Shane’s club smashed into his hand and knocked the blade across the room into a dark corner. Ricks screamed at his shattered knuckles.

  “Where’s Bethany?”

  No answer.

  Shane brought the club down on the outside of Ricks’s left knee.

  He screeched. Whatever else happened to Ricks, he would not be walking for a long time.

  Anger made Shane want to continue bludgeoning, but that would kill Ricks before he could reveal anything about Bethany. So he shoved the chisel into his back pocket, grabbed a handful of Ricks’s shirt, and pulled him up to a seated position.

  Ricks obviously saw it coming, but couldn’t pull away because of the tight grip on his shirt. Shane’s balled fist caught him full in the face and the impact turned Ricks’s head half-way around. It clearly broke his nose. He crumpled near the open doorway.

  “Ricks, I’m gonna tie a rope around your neck and drag you along I-40 all the way to California... unless you tell me which room Bethany’s in.”

  Still no answer.

  Could this meth head actually be so stoic that he’d refuse to talk? Or was Ricks more afraid of what might happen to him from somebody else? Maybe—and it just then dawned on Shane—maybe the Boss hovered nearby.

  Shane surveyed the darkened room again as he released Ricks’s shirt front. The nearly unconscious punk dropped to the floor like a tipped-over sack of manure. Shane retrieved the club with his right hand and removed the chisel from his back pocket. He couldn’t take the time to search for Ricks’s knife.

  A new lightning flash temporarily blinded him. Again, he counted the seconds before the booming rumble of thunder. Roughly twenty miles distant. Still moving this direction and perhaps at a slightly faster pace.

  In order to focus on the possible other individual, Shane wanted Ricks completely out of the picture.

  “Where’s Bethany?” He kicked Ricks’s ribs hard enough to crack a few. Shane leaned over and hissed, “I promised Bethany I’d never actually kill anybody who messed with her, but—” He raised the chair leg.

  “Whoa, there, cowboy!”

  A stocky man stepped from the sizeable bathroom enclosure into the dark room’s vague shadows. This had to be the Boss.

  Looking down the massive muzzle of a .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol reminded Shane: You don’t bring a chisel to a gunfight.

  The thickset man scraped the thumb knuckle of his gun hand with the thumbnail of his free left hand. “You’d better drop your woodworking project, buddy.”

  Shane didn’t drop anything as he squinted into the darkness. “Who are you and where’s Bethany?”

  The ominous operative stepped out of the shadows. “You’re my last scrap to clean up and then I’m through.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  About 9:50 p.m.

  Shane was outgunned in an abandoned hotel room... with only one exit. Really messed up this time.

  “Hate to interrupt your love fest reunion with Ricks, but you’re ruining my timetable.” The stranger’s voice was deep and hard edged as he waggled the pistol.

  Shane centered himself in front of the doorway. “Who are you?” He already knew this sturdy pro was the source of all their recent trouble.

  “Right now, buddy, I’m your Boogey Man.”

  “Don’t call me buddy.” Shane struggled to take his eyes off the .45’s muzzle because he needed to watch the man’s face.

  “You have to be the chopper cowboy from California. My addle-brained former associate told me what to expect.” The shadowy outlaw nodded his head toward Ricks’s lifeless body.

  “So, if you know who I am, it’s only fair—”

  “I’m a fixer... all you need to know. Hired to clean up some old, bad news... and I’m nearly done.”

  “I’d guessed that much. But why are you scared to tell me any more?”

  That got a rise out of him. The gunman laughed, but it sounded hollow. “I know what you’re trying to do, but it won’t work. Just imagine an ex-spook. The feds needed lots of independent contractors for their dirtiest black ops.” He smiled thinly. “I enjoyed dirty work.”

  This guy’s off budget and off radar. “So, they kicked you out with the other washed-out misfits and psychos.”

  From his expression, the mercenary obviously disliked those descriptors. He rubbed that knuckle again with the other thumbnail.

  “Why kill the incompetent thief?”

  “He was a loose end.” That admission merited only a shrug.

  Shane discreetly shoved the chisel into his back pocket and eased Connie’s canister from his front pocket. He slowly lifted the chair leg and held it in front of him like a police baton at a crowd control barricade.

  “My only dilemma is whether to shoot you where you stand, or to have an interesting reveal... like on TV. Now drop that club.”

  “You want it, come get it. But first, I’m gonna knock your teeth out.”

  Another lightning strike. Shane quickly closed his eyes to minimize the effect on his retinas. Three seconds before the thunder. The front was closing in, headed their way.

  “I’ve already stayed too long for an armpit place like this. Out of my way.”

  “Not ‘til I know where Bethany is.”

  No reply, but a sinister smile.

  Shane focused on some way to neutralize that pistol. He thought he heard a noise from the closet but figured it was more rats.

  “I’d actually prefer to kill you anyway.” The adversary’s voice was cold. “Don’t like leaving witnesses who’ve seen me.”

  “What about Ricks?”

  “I only kept him alive for one last errand and he actually got it right—a little package for pickup and delivery.” The gunman glanced toward the closed closet.

  Shane figured he meant Lynette’s suitcase.

  The mercenary chuckled. “Wonder how many bikers die in the backwoods of Tennessee?”

  “You’re not gonna shoot me, because another bullet report will bring the cops up here in under a minute. Their station’s right around the corner.” Shane lied.

  “Don’t think so. I picked this isolated place because nobody would find the bodies for months. By then, it’s just a transient meth head and an anonymous cripple in a pitiful orgy with a third rate local girl.” He looked toward the closet again. “But there’s no need to waste a seventy cent cartridge on you anyway.”

  “Verde-town police love collaring ex-spooks. They got a special task force that works ‘em over... just to stay in practice. It’s their small town version of extraordinary rendition. But they have two problems: never learned how to waterboard properly and it takes several attempts to get those electric probes in the right places.”

  “Nice try.” Despite his relatively calm words, the professional was obviously eager to leave.

  “They can do anything they want because you don’t exist. Whatever real identity you ever had was scrubbed. If the real you ever popped up, you’d be nabbed by the guys in black choppers. But before any of them can get their hands on you, I’m gonna break you into little pieces... until you tell me where Bethany is.”

  The gunman seemed less sure of himself. “Okay... drama. I guess that pitiful ancient actress has rubbed off on you.”

  Don’t talk that way about Lynette.

  “Easy or hard…doesn’t matter. In fact, I might even enjoy some one-on-one. I didn’t have time to exercise today.” His smile vanished. “Last chance…put down that club and get out of my way.”

  Shane didn’t move, but he gripped the chair leg tighter. He needed to buy more time. How long could it take Jeff to convince the local police to inve
stigate a kidnapping at the abandoned hotel? “First, tell me what’s so important in that overnighter? Break-ins, stalking, assaults, kidnapping... whatever. For some old lady’s antique mementoes?”

  “You actually don’t know, do you?” The ex-spook laughed. “All these years you’ve clutched that little suitcase, you’ve held the political future of a rising star.”

  “Who are you working for?”

  “Let’s just say that I’m helping clean out some old trash from the state legislature.”

  “So you’re just a hired thug. Does this candidate know how far you’ve gone?”

  “Doesn’t know and doesn’t care,” the contractor explained, rather patiently. “That woman’s got ambition to run this state for a while and then move to D.C. and run the whole country.”

  “So, your boss doesn’t actually care about that overnighter? Then this whole thing is just about you enjoying the dirty work.”

  “And money.” The man with the pistol grimaced. He also moved two steps closer, until he was only about nine feet away.

  “I don’t care about your politician... or how many people you’ve killed to get her elected. Just tell me where Bethany is.” Shane chose that moment to unleash a stream of pepper spray from Connie’s canister. He abruptly thrust the cylinder at arm’s length and squeezed.

  The mercenary lurched backward.

  Nothing! Both men were too startled to react quickly.

  With his club extended protectively, Shane pulled back his other hand to see if he’d pushed the canister’s release improperly. Didn’t appear so, but he couldn’t read the tiny print without his glasses. He quickly jabbed it forward and again pressed the release.

  This time it worked. But it had nothing to do with spray. It was a self defense alarm! The kind used to deafen an attacker. Of course, it also deafened the person holding it, so Shane hurled it at his opponent.

  The gunman ducked and then fired three quick rounds in the direction of the piercing siren. One of those slugs ended the noise... mercifully.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why hadn’t he checked the cylinder before? Shane worked his jaw to try to lessen the pain in his ears. Despite being furious with Connie and disappointed in himself for not checking out his make-do weapons, Shane found himself extremely grateful to the man with the pistol. Not only did he end the piercing wail, but he expended three more cartridges in the process. Now it was at least five down.

  ****

  About 10:05 p.m.

  Beth began stirring and slowly opened her eyes in what was obviously a tiny, dark space that she didn’t remember entering. With the pain in her rump, hips, and shoulders, she guessed she’d probably been dragged to this tiny space. Tape on her mouth—she couldn’t scream, only whimper.

  She couldn’t hear! Beth felt something thick in her ears and remembered Ricks roughly cramming in heavy foam plugs after telling her she wouldn’t miss much. That was the last thing she recalled before Kaser knocked her out. She’d seen his pistol barrel coming and only shut her eyes at the final instant. Beth didn’t know anything about Boss Kaser except he was obviously the source of all their troubles and he specifically wanted Shane there also.

  Her head throbbed. There was just enough light through the sizeable crack beneath the door for Beth to realize she was seeing double, or worse. She tried to pull out the ear plugs but was additionally terrified to realize one of the men had taped her bound wrists to one of her denim belt loops. Some might think it’d be easy to rip a belt loop off its mega-stitching, but not from that angle and not without leverage.

  Also, her bladder was full. Wonderful.

  She thought she felt vibrations as though someone was moving about. No, it was something or someone crashing about. Who was out there? Through the heavy foam, she could barely hear the thrashing, but no voices. What was going on?

  After what seemed like several minutes, Beth sensed no more movement from outside her tiny space. She tried focusing on the thick strip of dim light from under the door and realized she was no longer seeing double. Nothing to look at, but at least her vision was slowly clearing again. Her head still pounded.

  Then she heard a piercing sound, felt more vibrations, and detected three muted whumps which must have been gunshots. Something major was happening right outside the door she leaned against!

  ****

  About 10:10 p.m.

  Shane tried to get a sense of which sections of flooring were solid. It wasn’t very much.

  “That was real cute... but you disappoint me. A big biker like you carrying a little girlie toy?” The pro made a crude tsk-ing sound.

  Shane had to ignore the insults and focus on two things: survival and Bethany. “Where is she?”

  The mercenary seemed to ignore Shane’s question about Bethany. “As much as I hate to break up our tedious acquaintanceship, I guess it’s time to play my trump. I’ve got something of yours in that closet over there.” He pointed. “If you won’t play ball for any other reason, you’ll cooperate for this.”

  “You can keep the stinkin’ suitcase. It’s been nothing but trouble for weeks.” Shane glanced toward his watch but it was too dark to see the time. “Cops are on their way and I’ll wait here by the door ‘til they drag you out kicking and screaming.”

  “Don’t you wish.” One of the battery powered camp lanterns dimmed out until it suddenly went dead. They both noticed.

  Shane tried again to tally where the holes were in the floor. It’ll be completely dark in here pretty soon. “Where’s Bethany?”

  Without taking his eyes off Shane, the gunman moved sideways to the closet and opened the door.

  Bethany Muse fell over into the room. Gagged. Hands taped in front of her and apparently rigged to her waistband somehow. Ankles wrapped with tape. Ears plugged. But she was alive and at least semi-conscious because her eyes were blinking.

  “Bethany!” Shane turned to the man with the gun. “What’d you do to her?”

  “You probably think she’s raped and drugged. Nope. Didn’t have time for either... yet. I told Ricks to bring her here and don’t mess with her. But you can see he used a little persuasion to keep her under control.”

  Shane spotted cuts on her neck, some bruising, and a little blood on her face.

  “I just tapped her on the head to keep her quiet. But if you hadn’t responded to my text message, I would’ve let Ricks take care of some old business.” He laughed crudely. “When I saw vehicle lights outside, I realized you’d be here soon.”

  “You shouldn’t have let Ricks beat her up.”

  When the ex-spook shrugged, his .45 wavered slightly. “I’ve kept him flying high with some primo junk.”

  Shane wanted to be next to Bethany but if he made the wrong step, they’d both be dead. “You’ve got the suitcase, and whatever’s in it that scares your politician, so you never needed me or Bethany. We don’t know what the terrible secret is... and don’t even care.”

  “Well, I figured having the suitcase and the girl was a much higher percentage of me getting away clean. And I brought you in because I don’t like loose ends.” The former operative paused. “At first, I didn’t exactly know you’d show up. But I figured this tramp had somebody she kept warm in bed.”

  Shane clinched his fist but didn’t dare respond… too dangerous to show any emotions.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  About 10:15

  Beth’s head had cleared slightly. When Kaser first yanked her out of the dark closet, she’d pretended to be less alert than she actually felt. Didn’t know if that was a bona fide tactic but it made intuitive sense to play opossum. She couldn’t hear, speak, or hardly move, but she could see. Shane was there!

  She wanted to warn Shane that he was the one they’d been waiting for. But her shriek was muffled. She looked from side to side, frantically. Ricks was no longer in sight.

  Apparently in the middle of an explanation, Kaser roughly yanked her ear plugs. “Oh, sleeping beauty wakes up. Just in time to he
ar the big punch line.” He paused for effect, then kicked Beth’s nearest hip. “Sit up. You’re part of the audience now.”

  Muffled yelp. With considerable difficulty, Beth sat with her legs under her rump and her bound wrists still tethered to her belt loop. Her eyes flooded when she looked at Shane more closely. Blood trickled from a gash on his right arm. His eyes belonged to a wild animal... maybe an enraged, protective grizzly.

  “On your knees, tramp.” Kaser the gentleman.

  Eyes wider, Beth struggled trying to get up.

  “Oh, you need some help...” He grabbed her bound wrists and wrenched them from where they were anchored. It nearly ripped the waistband of her jeans and compressed the tape even tighter into her wrists.

  Beth’s sweatshirt and nightgown were already torn partly open and a good bit of skin was showing. Ricks had banged her up pretty badly, especially on her chest and torso. Must be a special thrill for him. She wondered what Kaser had in mind now that Shane was finally present.

  Lightning flashed outside. In about two or three seconds, the thunder rumbled so harshly that the entire hotel trembled.

  With his eyes on Shane, Kaser menaced Beth with the muzzle of his .45. “Your boy Ricks got a little frisky.” He prodded her body. “Though I can’t say I blame him. Your companion here has some lovely... features.” Kaser laughed wickedly. “In fact, I have a great idea for what to do after I kill you, buddy.”

  “Don’t call me buddy. You have to earn that right.”

  Kaser seemed to know intuitively that pawing Bethany would push all of Shane’s buttons. The pistol kept stroking her chest and the smell of cordite stung her nostrils. Beth peered into the dark room and, for the first time, saw the heap against the wall and another body near the threshold. She guessed one was Ricks; the other individual must have entered while she was locked in the closet.

  She had not slept at all the previous night, huddled on a filthy mattress in the far corner. Even if she’d been able to fall asleep with all the restrictive duct tape, she was too terrified. She kept her eyes on Ricks the whole time. She knew dawn had passed because she’d briefly seen sunlight through the window, before the thunderstorms squatted over old downtown.