by Glenn Trust
“Roy, we can take them out tonight if you want, but if we do, it’s over.” He watched Budroe’s face as those words sank in. “No export market, and that’s where the real money is. You said so yourself.”
Budroe nodded. “You may be right.” He reached for a bottle on the counter in the trailer’s small kitchen area. “Let’s have a drink. I should calm down. Think straight.” He poured two full tumblers of bourbon. “There’s money to be made. This is business.” He took a sip and shrugged. “They made their play. The next play is ours.”
68. Squatting
“We have movement.” Jake’s voice was controlled, fighting down the adrenalin surge and excitement. After circling the glowing lights under the tree canopy for fifteen minutes, they had begun to think that the source was nothing more than a fish camp. Now the glow was moving.
“You see the headlights?” George had the map on his knees, ready to mark the direction.
“No, we lost the headlights reflecting off the water. Just the ambient light under the canopy moving.”
“Which direction?”
“East, back towards the target area.”
George looked at Sharon. “How far?”
“Turnoff’s about a mile ahead.”
He nodded and spoke into the radio. “”We’re a minute away from the dirt road. Are you gonna be able to track the lights.”
“I think so, unless the vegetation gets a lot thicker.”
“Good.” George held on to the door handle as Sharon made the turn, the SUV fishtailing and then straightening out. “We’re on the dirt road headed towards the target.”
“Okay, we’ll stay with lights, keep you advised.” Jake paused and added, “That son of a bitch is in a hurry. Not the kind of road you want to take too fast at night. I think something might be up.”
“Right.” George looked at Sharon, focused on the road in front, leading them down a tunnel of green. “Get us there.”
“Working on it.” She did not take her eyes of the road. “We’ll need to stop and walk in before we come crashing into whatever is going on up ahead. You have any idea where we are? Where we should stop?”
“Not really.” George peered out into the dark. “Can’t make out any landmarks. I figure it’s three or four miles from the turnoff”
The radio crackled. “The lights just went out.” Jake’s voice was excited now. “It’s dark down there. Nothing, just black. Shit.”
George thought and then picked up the radio. “You’re right, something is up. Whoever is in the vehicle wants to approach in the dark. Don’t know what that means, but I’d put money on something happening at the target area…soon.”
“Right. We’ll watch the area to the east of where the lights went out. Hard to judge distance in the dark. We can make out the tree tops from the ambient starlight, beyond that can’t see much.”
“Just keep watching.” George grabbed the door handle again, as Sharon bounced the SUV over a large tree root growing across the road and keyed the radio mike. “Are you able to pick up our lights under the canopy?”
“Standby one.” Jake scanned to the south.
“There they are.” Rince pointed, extending his arm across Jake and indicating lights bouncing on the dirt road, visible for an instant before the tree cover turned them into another dim green glow below.
Jake nodded and spoke into the radio. “We have you, to the south. Looks like you are within a couple of miles, maybe less of the target as the crow flies. Hard to tell though, with all the turns and twists the road takes.” A few seconds passed and he added, “Hold on one.” Jake looked at Rince, who nodded. They had both seen the flash. They both knew what it was.
“Be advised, we have identified the target area.”
“How? It’s too dark to be certain.”
Jake hesitated. Rince looked at him. “Tell them. They need to know.”
Nodding, Jake keyed the mike. “We just observed a muzzle flash. Single shot fired. It briefly lit up a small clearing.”
“10-4.” George looked at Sharon, intent, wanting to get to the target, to Andy as quickly as they could. “We should slow down, Sharon.”
She made no response.
“Sharon, you said it yourself. It won’t do any good if we come roaring in. They’ll be waiting for us. If that happens, we won’t be any help to Andy or the girls. Slow down.”
Lowering her head, Sharon took her foot off the accelerator, allowing the SUV to slow and continue forward cautiously.
“Jake,” George said into the radio. “Track our lights. Let us know when you think we’re about half a mile from that clearing.”
“10-4”
An excruciatingly long fifteen minutes passed, and then Jake spoke. “George, looks like you are within a half mile or so of the target. Hard to tell in the dark, but that’s our best estimate.”
“10-4”. George looked at Sharon. “We need to stop.”
Focused on the road and tunnel of green ahead, Sharon kept the SUV moving forward. “Just a little further,” she said.
“Sharon, stop the car. We have to go in slow. You know that.”
She lifted her foot and the car rolled to a stop, without braking. “Sorry.”
“Let’s go.” Exiting the car, George moved to one side of the road. “You take that side, I’ll take this. Anything happens, you get into the woods first, under cover. Right?” When she did not answer he repeated, “Right, Sharon? You understand, no unnecessary chances here? We do this by the book.”
“Okay,” she said. Then taking a deep breath, added with her normal flippant smile, “Let’s get moving, Mackey.”
It took twenty minutes, walking almost soundlessly on the soft dirt along the sides of the road. The clearing appeared suddenly as they came around a bend. Crouching where they were, they surveyed what lay before them.
A shed stood at the far end of the clearing, no doubt, the one Jerome Banks had said he’d used before when he was out hunting. Two camper trailers sat to one side, one much larger than the other. The glow from a window in the large trailer made a circle of light on the ground. The overhanging trees would make it impossible to see from the air. It was no wonder that Rince and Jake had not been able to spot it. The muzzle flash they had seen would have been brief, but intensely more brilliant than the battery powered light from the trailer’s window.
George squinted into the dark. He could make out two forms, men at the front of the large trailer. They were in awkward positions, one on the ground and other seeming to be leaning over the trailer’s hitch frame. Studying the two men, he realized that they were bound somehow.
Moving in a crouch across the road to Sharon, he pointed out the various landmarks. Shed, trailers, the two men bound to the trailer. He leaned close to her ear and whispered.
“Stay here and watch the big trailer. I’m going to make my way around the clearing to the shed. That’s got to be where the girls and Andy are.” He didn’t add, if Andy was still alive. He didn’t have to.
He started to move away, when Sharon jerked his arm, almost pulling him from his crouch onto his ass. “Bullshit, George. There is no way I am sitting here waiting for whatever is going to happen.”
George sighed. She was pissed. He always knew she was pissed when she called him George, instead of Mackey. “Sharon, I don’t…”
“Knock it off. I’m part of the team. Andy is my friend too. Helping those girls is my responsibility too. I am a law enforcement officer. I have a weapon. I can shoot.” She looked at him, the whites of her eyes blazing in the dark. “Let me make it plain. There is no fucking way I am squatting here in the dirt while you go out there and get yourself killed.”
Head down, kneeling beside her with his arms resting on his knees, George knew she was right. She was all of those things. She was also the one person he could not bear seeing at risk.
“Sharon, I can’t…”
Her hand came out and rested on his arm. “Look, you’re the expert. You know wha
t to do here. Tell me. I’ll follow your instructions.” She nudged him so that he raised his head and looked into her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you either, Mackey. I trust you…trust me.”
George took a deep breath and nodded. What would happen, would happen. “Okay, you circle to the left around the clearing. Stay under the tree canopy. The ground is pretty clear a few feet in. walk careful, and you won’t make much noise. Be careful crossing all the little trails and dirt tracks that come into the clearing. That’s when you’ll be exposed. Make your way to that far side of the shed, but stay out of sight.”
He looked out towards the trailers and the two men at the front of the big trailer. “I’m going to circle to the right, past those trailers and the two guys they have trussed up there at the front. I’m not sure what is going on, but it probably isn’t good for them. That might be good for us. I’ll come up on the right side of the shed.”
Sharon nodded. “Right. Then what?”
George smiled for the first time since he had begun outlining the plan. “Well, that’s where the plan is a little weak. Not sure. We’re going to have to see what happens, wait for our chance and take it…play it by ear.”
“Play it by ear. I can do that.” Sharon disappeared into the woods.
George listened, her movements barely audible. Satisfied that she could move without detection under the tree canopy, he turned and stepped into the woods on the other side of the road.
Crouching, moving slowly and deliberately, George advanced from tree to tree, circling around the clearing. When he came even with the trailers, he stopped and took a closer look at the men bound to the big trailer. It was obvious that one was injured, maybe dead. That explained the muzzle flash. Good. It was not Andy. The other had his arm extended through the A frame of the trailer. He realized that they were handcuffed together. Boss Stimes was around.
Continuing through the woods, he came to the rear of the shed. He was about to come into the clearing and move along the wall of the shed to the front door when the big trailer’s door banged open. He lowered himself to a squat at the edge of the woods, motionless. One of the big trees surrounding the clearing would have provided cover, and he was tempted to move back into the woods, but moving would have probably given his position away. Motionless, he was unseen. He could only hope that Sharon was concealed on the other side of the shed and not caught out in the open.
Boss Stimes descended the steps to the ground followed by Roy Budroe. George felt the anger boil up inside. It was one thing to learn that one of their deputies was dirty, a traitor. It was another to see Boss Stimes actually standing there with Roy Budroe, a partner in whatever shit Budroe was stirring up.
George fought back the urge to confront them now, maybe draw fire from them, let things take their course and maybe end this now. He was under orders from Sandy Davies to bring Stimes in to stand trial. It was the only way to restore faith in the system, Sandy Davies had said. In his heart, George knew it was true.
There was a more imminent tactical reason for not doing what his anger urged him to do. He had no way of knowing how many others might be in the trailers, or in the shed. How did they have the girls held? How was Andy held, if he was alive? Were there guns pointed at them now? There were too many unanswered questions. Satisfying, as it would be, acting precipitously now could have deadly results for the innocent. As far as George was concerned, deadly results would be just fine for Budroe, and Stimes if he couldn’t bring him in, but not for the others.
Out of options, he squatted in the dark at the edge of the woods and watched.
69. The Moaning Ceased
Moving to the front of the trailer, Stimes tossed a handcuff key to Paco.
“Unlock the cuffs.”
He did so, eyes fixed on the big man and the forty-five in his hand.
“Now grab hold of your partner and drag him out here.” Stimes motioned to the dim circle of light cast from the trailer’s window.
Standing unsteadily, stiff from being bound to Emilio, Paco reached down, took hold of a limp arm, and began dragging him across the dirt. A long, monotone moan escaped from the killer as his partner pulled him into the circle of light.
Looking with concern into the muzzle of the pistol, Paco was reminded of what the big man had said to Budroe after shooting Emilio. “Remember, my friend. We may have some value for you, with Mr. Rivera.”
Stimes nodded. “You’re right. You may have some value for us. We have been discussing that.” Smiling, he shrugged. “We have decided that…we don’t give a shit.”
Understanding filled his eyes an instant before the big Colt bucked in Stimes’ hand. The bullet entered his forehead, and Paco dropped straight down in a crumpled heap, the gaping exit wound in the back of his head visible as his face plowed into the dirt.
Stimes regarded the body curiously for a few seconds and then turned the pistol towards Emilio, still moaning on the ground beside his friend. It kicked twice in his hand. Thunder crashed through the clearing. The moaning ceased.
Eerie silence followed the crashing roars. A light breeze drifted the scent of the discharged gunpowder past George. The murders had happened so quickly that George had only had time to tighten his grip on his pistol and then the men were dead. Nothing had changed. The unanswered questions remained unanswered, and they had no idea where Andy and the girls were. He remained motionless.
“Take care of the one in the shed, whoever he is.” Budroe turned to the small trailer. “I have a call to make.”
“We don’t know who he is, or what he’s up to. That might be important information.”
“Then find out who he is,” Budroe said, stopping and turning back to face Stimes. “When you do, get rid of him. Make it quick. Understand?”
“Right.” Pressing the release on the side of the pistol grip, Stimes dropped the magazine in his left hand. He walked to the big heavy-duty pickup parked beside Budroe’s Escalade. George recognized the truck, had parked next to it in the sheriff department’s parking lot on more than one occasion. Reaching behind the driver’s seat, Stimes pulled out a box of shells and pushed three into the spring fed magazine.
That made eight rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber, nine in total. George knew the weapon. He and Stimes had qualified side by side at the county range a number of times. Uneasily, George recalled that once, he had traded weapons with Stimes after qualifying and fired a few practice rounds, just to get the feel of the pistol. He knew the weapon, and he knew what it could do.
70. A Longsuffering Man
The satellite phone sat on a chair in the small trailer where Paco had left it. Budroe sat down and pulled his own phone out of his pocket. As usual, he had no signal, but the satellite phone was ready and charged. Reading the phone number from his phone’s contacts, he punched in the digits and hit the call button. It rang twice.
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
Ramon Guzman recognized Budroe’s voice immediately. It was not the voice he had expected to hear.
“No, actually I am not.” Guzman struggled to keep his surprise under control. If Budroe was calling on the satellite phone, all was not well with their plan. He had to assume the worst had happened to Rivera’s men, and that Budroe had a purpose in calling him. If not, Guzman had no doubt that Budroe would have dispatched the big man, Stimes, to kill them both. He reacted instinctively, knowing that his life depended on hearing what Budroe had to say.
Rivera sat across from him at a table in a restaurant near their hotel. Waiting for the call from Paco, he looked with curiosity at Guzman with his own phone to his ear. Putting his hand over the phone, he whispered to Rivera, “My woman in Santo Domingo. She has had a fight with her mother. The old woman wants us to marry.”
Rivera smiled and nodded, giving a slight roll of his eyes. “Yes, mothers can be troublesome.” Sitting back, he lifted his glass and sipped the house cabernet, making a sour face. “They know very little about wine here in G
eorgia.”
Guzman mouthed his agreement without speaking and returned to the call, where Budroe waited patiently. Let Guzman make whatever excuse he had to. Then he would listen, or he would be dead.
“So we have a problem with your mother.” Guzman spoke with a tired voice, as if he had heard it all before from his woman.
Budroe gave a short laugh, understanding that Guzman was covering the purpose of the call. Rivera was close. “Very good, Ray, very good. I’ll keep this short. You are talking to me because your men are dead. Unless you want to be dead too, you will do exactly as I say.”
Giving a tired sigh, the kind one uses with an upset spouse or lover, Guzman said simply, “Yes, yes, I’m listening.”
“Our deal has changed. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that this was Rivera’s plan, not yours. It’s a very small benefit though, Ray. I don’t trust you as far as I can spit, but we can still make money together.” He paused, letting Guzman absorb what he was saying. “So the question is, do you want to make money, Ray? Do you want to stay alive?”
“Yes, yes. You know I do.” Guzman raised his eyebrows and shook his head at Rivera, exasperated with his woman.
“Good, then here’s what you are going to do.”
Budroe took a full minute giving his instructions to Guzman, who maintained the look of a longsuffering man listening patiently to an unhappy woman. When he finished he asked only, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good.” He peered out the window to see Stimes walking towards the shed. “This is a one-time offer, Ray. If you do not do exactly what I have told you, you will never make it to your plane. I promise you that.”
“Trust me, I understand.”
“I don’t have much trust in you or anyone else, Ray, but I do believe you understand. I will see you soon.”
“Goodbye,” Guzman said to the already disconnected call.
