by Diane Moody
Michael felt his heart racing. “I’m not afraid of you, Elliot,” he lied. “I’ve nailed your hide on this one and you know it. Your only choice here is to hand over your shares in my company or see your dirty little secret spread all over the front page of tomorrow’s Chronicle.”
“So you overheard some talk. You can’t prove a thing.”
“Oh, but I can. I have all the evidence I could possibly need. I hired a private investigator to follow Duke and your little friend Beauregard. I have a whole file of pictures, receipts, phone records . . . and they all lead back to you. Well, that is—you and your good friend Duke. I’ve gotta tell you, Elliot. For being such a shrewd politician, you sure blew it placing your trust in someone like Duke. Not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
By now Michael felt much more sure of himself. Flaunting his evidence pumped up his confidence. But it was short lived. Even before he’d finished speaking, he noticed Elliot stealing glances here and there. Michael tensed, sensing danger.
Then all of a sudden, Elliot seemed to relax. He sat back in his seat and released a long breath. “I guess you’re right, Michael. You’ve outfoxed me this time. It’s a little hard to digest, but I’m afraid you’ve got me over a barrel on this one.”
Well, what do you know? Michael gave himself a mental pat on the back. He relaxed somewhat cautiously, stretching his arms out against the steering wheel. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Elliot. I’ve kept my mouth shut this long. No reason to open it now as long as you’re willing to relinquish The Page to me once and for all.”
As he turned to face his father-in-law, he heard the indisputable pop of a gunshot.
“Noooo!” he shrieked, instantly fighting back as reality rushed in. A white hot burn in his bicep screamed in pain as he struggled to seize the pistol out of Elliot’s hand.
Elliot’s face contorted with rage. Age was no issue with stakes so high. Michael’s hands locked around Elliot’s grip on the pistol. Elliot fired off another shot which whizzed past Michael’s ear and out his open window.
Elliot cursed. As the struggle intensified, he groped for the door handle with his right hand. Then, with a sudden burst of force, he jabbed his fist into the bleeding wound on Michael’s shoulder. Michael’s grip broke free as he recoiled, grabbing his shoulder and screaming in agony. Elliot threw open the door behind him.
Michael knew it was now or never. He turned the key in the ignition, shifted into reverse, and slammed his foot on the accelerator. Elliot catapulted backwards out the door, but not before firing off another shot.
The Escalade spun backward in a wild cloudburst of dust. Michael threw the car into drive, keeping the pedal on the floor. Careening off into the darkness, he felt a second pinpoint of searing heat on his right side just below his ribs. He forced himself to ignore the wounds, trying to make sense of what was happening. He flipped on his headlights and peered into the rearview window. A bright red glow shrouded the trail of dust in his wake, his rear lights mercifully swallowing the scene behind him.
The will to survive consumed him. Instinctively, he approached the interstate and headed north, the engine roaring against the accelerated speed.
This can’t be happening . . .
I have to drop out of sight . . .
Gotta go somewhere I can think . . .
Have to get some help . . .
He reached down to the festering pain below his ribs. His hand was soaked immediately with bright scarlet blood. The sight shocked him, sending an involuntary shudder over him. Wiping his hand on his pant leg, he continued speeding toward an unknown destination.
The desperate prayer escaped his lips. God if you’re out there, help me . . . please help me!
The clock on the wall of Elliot’s dark office read 8:00. He slammed his door shut and rushed to pick up the telephone on his desk. With a trembling hand, he punched each number, then collapsed into his chair.
At the second ring, he cursed. Answer, Duke!
“Hello?”
“Get your butt to my office immediately. We’ve got trouble.” Elliot slammed the phone down and cursed again.
By 8:20, Elliot was on his second shot of bourbon. He heard the outer doors of his office open and close, then a rapid knock on his door as it opened.
“What’s up?” Duke Willis asked, obviously trying to remain calm as he hurried into the inner sanctuary of Elliot’s office. “Good grief! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Maybe that’s because I have,” he spat. “Maybe that’s because I’ve been hitchhiking for the last hour. Maybe that’s because I had to catch a ride with a bunch of brain-dead illegal aliens in a pickup loaded with filthy, stinkin’ snot-nosed kids,” he shouted, wiping his hands on his shirt.
Duke dropped into the leather chair behind him. “What in the world were you doing out there hitchhiking? Don’t you realize how dangerous that is in this town?”
Elliot’s face heated with anger. “Of course I know how dangerous it is, you imbecile!” he bellowed. “That idiot son-in-law of mine dumped me out in the middle of nowhere! Tried to blackmail me! Thought he could stop me from squeezin’ him out of his stupid company!”
Duke scrunched up his face. “Blackmail you?” he laughed. “With what?”
Elliot leaned forward, clutching the edge of his desk. “With Christopher Jordan,” he growled, his eyes narrowing.
Duke went pale. His mouth fell open. “Wha—what does he know about Jordan?”
“Everything.”
For half a minute the two men locked eyes. No words were necessary. Unspoken scenarios rifled through Elliot’s mind. And by the look on his assistant’s face, he was confident the same scenarios pummeled Duke’s mind as well. Finally, Elliot got up and walked over to his bar. He replenished his drink and poured one for Duke. He sauntered slowly over to the sofa and handed the glass to the silent, frail man whose face was now buried in his delicate hands.
“Now, listen to me very carefully, Duke.” Elliot sat down in the wing chair adjacent to him. “I’ve already called Gus and Marcus. I called them from my cell phone right after Michael took off before the useless thing went dead on me. I sent them up I-45 north toward Dallas to track him down. He’s in his Escalade—they shouldn’t have any trouble spotting him. I gave them explicit directions to call me the minute they find him. And I told them to stay out of sight. Told them not to go near Michael, just tail him.”
“But—”
“I told them this is stealth surveillance. Of course I had to explain that since the morons didn’t a clue what it meant. But I made it absolutely clear—under no circumstances were they to stop him or in any way warn him of their presence.”
“Why can’t they bring him in? Or dispose of him?”
“Because I want to know just exactly where it is our Mr. Dean is going. He claims to have all the evidence he needs to link us to Jordan’s murder. If he’s got it stashed somewhere, I want him to lead us to it. There’s too much at stake. If we play this smart we can eliminate him and his little packet of goodies.”
Duke shifted under Elliot’s stare.
“Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to find Bo. I don’t care where he is, you find him. Then you put him on a plane out of the country. Send him where no one will find him. And you make sure we can reach him at all times wherever it is you stash him. You got that?”
“I haven’t talked to him in years! I have no idea where—”
“FIND HIM!” Elliot roared. He paused, exhaled, then continued. “Now Michael probably hasn’t gotten very far. I got a couple of shots into him so—”
“You what?” Duke jumped up. “Are you out of your mind? Elliot! He’s threatening to implicate us with Jordan’s murder! You can’t go blasting away at him like some Keystone cop! Do you realize what you’ve done?”
Elliot felt his face heat once again. He slammed down his drink and stood nose to nose with Duke. “You shut up and listen to me! If you hadn’t been so carel
ess, Michael would never have come up with any proof in the first place. It’s your fault this has blown up in our faces and I’ll see you hang before I’ll let them pin this on me!”
Duke stared silently at him. Elliot could almost read his thoughts. Duke knew perfectly well he would be six feet under before he blinked if he didn’t do just as he was told.
His assistant quietly sipped from the glass in his trembling hand and sat back down in resignation. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me, Elliot. You know that. We’ll find Michael. Don’t worry.”
“That’s more like it.” Elliot made his way back to his desk.
“How bad is he hurt?”
“I don’t know. For all I know he may be dead on the side of the road even as we speak. But I doubt we can count on it. Oh, and get rid of this, will you?” He handed Duke the small handgun out of his pocket. “Wipe it clean and make sure it doesn’t mysteriously appear again. Bury it in concrete if you have to.”
CHAPTER 11
Huntsville, Texas
An hour after his exit from his explosive encounter with Elliot, Michael pulled off the interstate on the outskirts of Huntsville. His gas tank was low, but more urgently, he needed to care for his wounds. His arm and side were bleeding too much. Already the towel he’d pulled from his gym bag was soaked with blood.
He spotted a Shell Super Station and pulled in, pleased to find the restrooms tucked back behind the station. He pulled up next to the men’s room and slowly slipped inside carrying his bag with him. Once inside, he locked the door and assessed the damage. The mere sight of so much blood sent the room spinning. Holding onto the sink to brace himself, he waited for the dizziness to subside, then splashed his face with cold water. He carefully peeled off his shirt and threw it in the sink under the running tap.
Just don’t even think about it. Just clean it up and get out of here. No time to think. No time to think . . .
Michael held a wad of wet paper towels over the dark wound on his side hoping to slow the flow of blood. Apparently the bullet must have grazed him, tearing in then back out his side. At least that’s how it looked. He pulled his Astros sweatshirt out of his bag and carefully crawled into it. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and took another assessment through the mirror. It would have to do, at least until he could get some medical supplies. He cleaned up his mess, throwing the blood-soaked shirt into his bag.
Holding his arm tight against his body, Michael walked as casually as he could across the pavement to the store. Avoiding eye contact with other customers, he gathered his supplies into the small shopping basket—a traveler’s first aid kit, some antiseptic, extra gauze and medical tape, and a large bottle of pain reliever. He grabbed a handful of snacks and a six-pack of bottled water, then headed for the counter. He realized he was the only customer left in the store. For the first time, the young clerk, dressed in a yellow Shell Super Store shirt and tight blue jeans, looked up to greet him.
“Hey-how-ya-doin?” she drawled. Nineteen, maybe twenty, Michael figured. She chomped on a wad of purple bubblegum.
Michael opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He coughed and cleared his throat then tried again. “Whoa, sorry. Guess I must be thirstier than I thought. But I’m fine.”
Ringing up his purchases, she looked back at him with a questioning glance. “Say what?”
“Oh, sorry. You asked how I was and I said I’m fine.” He tried to smile.
“Oh. Yeah, right.” A purple bubble exploded out the frosted pink lips. She stopped smacking for a second. “Are you okay, mister? You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t?”
“No, you sure don’t.” She handed him his change. “Maybe you oughta’ sit down for a minute. Go git ya one of them iced down bottles of water in the cooler back there. You said you was thirsty. Maybe you just got dehydrated or somethin’.”
Michael stuck the change in his pocket then wiped his brow. “Yeah, maybe I will. Thanks.” He slowly walked back to the refrigerated section and picked out a tall bottle of natural spring water.
“Oh hey, mister. That one’s on the house. You just take it easy now, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it,” Michael answered, awkwardly grabbing his bag of supplies and heading out the door. He looked back to see her craning her neck to watch him.
Great, Dean. Draw attention to yourself.
Finally out of sight, he quickened his pace back to the men’s room. He undressed again, this time using the first aid supplies to treat his wounds. After the thorough and painful cleansing with the antiseptic, he bandaged and wrapped both wounds with gauze. Finally, he taped the last piece firmly in place and cleaned up the bloody paper towels around him.
He backed the car around to the gas pump and got out. Okay, now be cool. Act natural. Just gas up the car, pay Miss Maybelline, and get out of here.
He filled his tank, his clumsy moves making him realize how handicapped he was without the full use of his right arm. The pain was becoming unbearable. He shuffled over to the window, handing a fifty dollar bill to the same young clerk.
“Wow. That was quick! You back again already? And you changed your clothes, huh?” It was a statement, not a question. Michael cracked a lame smile and looked away. She was still checking him out when he noticed the name monogrammed on her Shell uniform blouse.
Christine.
She looked puzzled. She followed his gaze down to her blouse and looked back at him, her eyes widened. “Wh—what’s the matter? Mister, you want me to call a doctor or somethin’? You’re actin’ kinda weird, know-what-I-mean?”
Michael came back to his senses. “Oh, no—no! I’m sorry. No, I’m okay. But thanks. You’ve been great.” He began walking away. “Really. I’m fine. No problem.”
Moments later he pulled into the drive-thru of a McDonald’s. “A large coffee. Black. That’s all.”
“That’ll be a buck twenty-five. Drive up to the next window, please.”
Michael knew he had to get some serious caffeine in his system if he was to make the long drive. He knew he was taking a risk by making another stop, but the Golden Arches offered a speedy solution to his caffeine dilemma. As he waited, his eyes made a quick check for tails or cops. Even as the thought crossed his mind, a police cruiser slowed to make a left-hand turn into the McDonald’s parking lot.
Come on, come on . . .
“Do you want sugar with—?”
Michael grabbed the cup and pressed the accelerator. The cruiser turned into the entrance as Michael pulled out. He was careful to keep his face out of view. As fast as he dared to go, he headed toward the interstate entrance ramp and freedom.
Careful, careful . . .
He slowly began accelerating, hoping to put plenty of distance between himself and Huntsville’s finest. He was just starting to relax when he noticed the cruiser catching up with him. The officer was keeping his distance but obviously in pursuit.
Come on, man, if you want me, flip on your stupid siren on and come after me!
The cruiser followed Michael for almost ten minutes before dropping back then taking the next exit.
That’s odd. He had plenty of time to call in my plate.
He checked the digital clock on his dash. Maybe Elliot hasn’t had time to catch a ride back to town. Or maybe he’s afraid to call the police in on this.
Fat chance.
Juggling a hot cup of coffee and a steering wheel with only one functional limb proved a challenge. The combination of pain relievers and caffeine was easing the discomfort. At least a little, anyway. He pressed the automatic window button to let in the cool night air. It was a habit he learned back in college after partying ’til the early morning hours. To stay awake and try to keep the lines on the pavement from multiplying, he’d roll down the windows for a good stiff breeze. Worked every time.
College . . . it seemed like a lifetime ago. So many memories. So many faces.
And tonight, an embroidered name on a yellow shirt
flashed a forgotten face through his mind. In that instant, he knew exactly where to go.
The perfect hideaway.
“Yes, sir. We know. He’s a few cars in front of us.”
The voice on the speaker phone echoed through Elliot’s home office. He took a puff of the cigar and watched the smoke circle around him as he listened to the report.
“We haven’t lost him for a moment. He stopped at a convenience store. Got some gas and medical supplies. Looks like he may have cleaned up in the bathroom.”
Gus Rainey’s report did little to relieve Elliot’s worries. Gus and Marcus were loyal enough, just not too bright. He had to stay on them, calling them every hour.
“We thought one of the local boys was tailing him for a while, but he took an exit and we haven’t seen him again.”
“Keep your eyes open. You let me know if anything or anyone looks the least bit suspicious. And whatever you do, don’t lose Michael!”
Houston, Texas
Daddy, it’s after midnight. Are you all right?”
“Oh sure, honey,” Elliot laughed as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Your daddy’s just fine. I’m awful sorry to be bothering you so late, but I had a concern about something and I just couldn’t go to sleep until I talked to Michael. Some business matters. Could you put him on the line for me, darlin’?”
“He’s not home, Daddy. I don’t know where he is. I tried to contact him several times today but I never got through.” Elliot could hear the rustle of sheets when she paused. He could hear her snap on the bedside light.
“I’m sorry I woke you, darlin’. I assumed Michael would still be up and would answer.”
“He’s been so distant with me lately.” Her voice caught. “Things are awful between us. He’s completely avoiding me.”
Elliot clenched his jaw. “Oh now, Amelia, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. You know how busy Michael is with the company right now.” He heard her soft sniffles through the line.
