The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  “Governor Bell, I think it would be wise to calm down and think this through.” Bob Shaklee’s tone was mild but firm. He had no real purpose in the meeting other than to provide moral support for Andy, and the moment had definitely arrived for a little moral support.

  “Why are you even here, Shaklee? You’ve been relieved of your position pending the outcome of the trial, and if Mackey’s behavior and Barnes’ impudence are any indicators of your judgment, you won’t be back. I’ll shut the goddamned OSI down before I tolerate this kind of contempt for…” He stopped, his finger still pointing in midair, and looked at Towers who cleared her throat. “…contempt for the office of the governor. It’s bullshit!”

  “Governor, sit down and let me explain.” Shaklee looked the governor in the eye. “You might consider that your appointment of me and my replacement, Mr. Barnes, will be subject to more criticism if you fire us outright.” He paused while Bell sat down, still glaring at Andy, but considering Bob’s words.

  “All right, Shaklee, what is there to think through?”

  “Good.” Bob nodded. “First, George Mackey is not a flight risk.” He looked at Peele. “He will be there for trial. As for his principles, I suggest that you consider them a strength, rather than an obstacle to his defense.”

  “How so?” Peele sat back, ready to contemplate Shaklee’s explanation, looking like a judge considering an argument from an articulate attorney.

  Bob looked up at the ceiling, in thought, and spoke as if he were a film director describing a scene in a movie. “George Mackey, man of honor in a world where honorable men are not easily discovered. He refuses to excuse what he did. He stands before the world, submitting to the judgment of his peers. Stated in the right way, it is a compelling argument in his defense.” Shaklee raised an eyebrow, looking into Peele’s eyes. “An articulate attorney ought to be able to take that and make a powerful statement, if not an argument. Powerful enough to win the hearts of jury members who have loved ones...loved ones who could have been the killer’s next victim.”

  “I see your point.” Peele nodded. “I’m not sure I’m convinced, but there is some merit to what you say. Perhaps we’ve been too concerned with Colton Swain’s press conferences and positioning of the case, instead of creating our own image of the man on trial.”

  “Perhaps so.” Bob nodded his agreement.

  “That’s it?” Bell had watched the exchange with a look of disdain on his face. “Make a better argument in Mackey’s defense? Just a load of horse shit in my opinion.”

  “Maybe not,” Peele said thoughtfully.

  “What about him leaving Macon? With the trial a week away, he is supposed to remain there until the trial. Judge Downes made that clear.”

  “I can speak to the judge.” Still considering Bob’s suggested characterization of Mackey’s principles, Peele was warming to the idea. “He allowed George to go home after posting bail. Considering his current state of mind on the matter of his defense, having him here now to help prepare is of minimal value.” Peele leaned back in the leather chair, took his glasses off and stared at the ceiling, covered with painted moldings and panels. “Having him here now is not that important, I think…” He looked at Shaklee. “As long as he is present when jury selection starts.”

  Bob and Andy nodded and spoke in unison. “He’ll be there.”

  They walked quietly from the Executive Office Building a few minutes later. A state employee was mowing the grass on the capitol lawn. Andy breathed the clean green smell in deeply. “Gotta hand it to you, Bob. I’m not very good at dealing with that kind of bullshit. You are a pro.”

  Standing at his side, Bob Shaklee shrugged. “Years of practice. That’s all.”

  92. Time To Make A Call

  “Goddamnit! This is not over!”

  Roy Budroe paced the family room of the house in Heron Run like the tiger back and forth in his cage. His frustration grew with every step, his rage becoming a burning coal, searing into his soul, consuming all rational thought. Watching from the door leading outside to the patio, Ramón Guzman knew that it was his great weakness, his need to win at all costs.

  “We must withdraw for now.” Calm as always, Marques Peña sat with his legs crossed in a chair beside the sofa watching Budroe, the tiger, pace.

  “Withdraw! Fuck no we’re not going to withdraw!” Budroe stopped, pointing a beefy finger at Peña. “I told you. This is a war. They owe me…Mackey owes me and they’re gonna pay in blood!"

  “Another time, then.” Peña remained unruffled by Budroe’s tirade. “We will withdraw to a safe place, develop another plan and return to renew the...war...as you say.”

  “I said no.” Budroe continued his pacing, shaking his head. “No. We’ve started this thing. We finish it.”

  “Perhaps you should consider that if you do this, you will do it without my assistance.”

  Budroe turned to stare at Peña. “You’re pulling out?” His eyes narrowed. “Nobody walks out on me.”

  “No, not pulling out, as you say. My job is to provide for your security and assist with…other arrangements.”

  “Yeah, well those other arrangements didn’t work out so good did they?”

  “I told you. There were unforeseen factors. In any event, they cannot be changed now.”

  “Well, I paid you to foresee them. Now we’re gonna finish it!”

  Unperturbed, Peña continued. “My job…my contract…is to provide for your security. I have arranged for a boat. It will be here in the morning to take us back to Puerto Rico, or some other destination, as you wish.” Peña’s stony face looked up at Budroe standing over him and for an instant, there flashed something. Resolution. Determination. Understanding. “We will finish it…later. You have my assurance that the other elements of the contract will be fulfilled.”

  Budroe dropped heavily onto the sofa, spent for the moment from the torrent of emotion and anger flooding out from him. “All right.” He nodded. “We pull out. Get it all together again, then come back and finish it. I want your word on that.”

  Peña nodded. “You have my word.”

  Budroe looked at Guzman, still standing by the patio door. “Get ready. We’re leaving.”

  Guzman nodded and walked outside. It was time to make a call.

  93. Promise Fulfilled

  A narrow strip of white beach and then the blue-green Atlantic passed beneath the Cessna’s wings. Rince banked sharply over the water and brought the plane around on approach into Herlong Airport, a general aviation facility on the southwest side of Jacksonville. Without consulting George, he had decided to avoid the congested airspace and taxiways of Jacksonville International Airport in favor of the smaller airport where it would be easier to come and go as necessity might require. He had the feeling that there might, in fact, be a necessity.

  It wouldn’t have mattered if he had been consulted. George was silent, staring blankly out of the window the entire flight, not exchanging more than two words with Rince since boarding the plane in Macon.

  Touching down lightly, Rince let the Cessna rollout and then made a gentle turn onto the taxiway. Fifteen minutes later, he had arranged for the plane to be secured and refueled and had loaded George into the passenger seat of a rental car.

  While Rince used a map app on his cell phone to find the trauma center, George remained uncommunicative, staring, this time, out of the car window at ground level. It took twenty minutes to locate the hospital. They parked and stepped out into the late morning glare of the Florida sun.

  The information desk receptionist in the lobby smiled a pretty, white-toothed smile. The smile said that, despite a visit to the hospital, all was right with the world on this sunny Florida morning.

  “May I help you?”

  George looked at her as if trying to understand a foreign language. Rince spoke up.

  “Could you tell us where Felton Tobin’s room is. He should be in ICU.”

  “Certainly.” The receptionist keyed a fe
w strokes on the keyboard before her and began scanning the patient directory on the screen. The smile on her face was obscured by thick auburn hair that fell loosely from the side as her head turned down slightly, leaning closer to the monitor, studying what was there. When she looked up, the smile remained rigidly frozen in place, but her eyes held a soft, question. “May I ask if you are friends or family of Mr. Tobin?”

  “Friends.” Rince looked at George. “Well, I’m a friend. George here is like a son to Mr. Tobin, even if he’s not a blood relation.”

  “I see. And this is George Mackey?”

  “Right, George Mackey. I’m Johnny Rincefield. We’re here to see Mr. Tobin. Sharon Price should be with him.”

  “Yes, Ms. Price is with him.” The receptionist nodded, the ever-present smile contrasting with the slightly furrowed wrinkles on her brow that had appeared after her examination of the computer monitor. “One moment, then.”

  She turned and lifted the receiver of the phone on the desk, punched four digits in and spoke softly. Rince was becoming uncomfortable. George’s face had changed from complete disassociation with events around him to stony concentration, watching every move the receptionist made. When she had said her few words into the phone, he spoke for the first time.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The receptionist looked up from the desk, the smile not quite so broad as before. “Nothing sir. Just calling someone to take you up.”

  “Just give us the room number.”

  “Yes sir, it’s just that Doctor Salinas…he’s the treating physician…wanted to be advised when you arrived. He would like to review Mr. Tobin’s condition with you.”

  “Where is he then. We flew from Macon. I want to see Fel Tobin…now.”

  “I’m right here.”

  George turned to see a man in a white lab jacket standing behind him. He smiled too, but it was not as practiced as the receptionist’s was. Doctor Salinas put a hand out.

  George returned the handshake briskly. “Where’s Fel…Mr. Tobin.”

  Salinas nodded. “Come with me and I’ll fill you in. We should join Ms. Price upstairs first.”

  Salinas led the way to the bank of elevators at the back of the lobby. The receptionist’s face looked hugely relieved and then the smile returned, greeting the next visitor.

  On the elevator, Salinas was silent, studying the chart on the clipboard in his hand. George stared at their blurred reflections in the stainless steel doors. Rince watched both, trying to think of something to say. He had lived long enough to know that there was nothing to say.

  The doors parted and Doctor Salinas led the way down a brightly lit hallway. A Pickham County sheriff’s deputy and a Jacksonville police officer stood talking outside a room at the far end of the hall. George realized that they were providing security, in case Budroe’s men decided to finish their work.

  Halfway down the hall, Salinas turned into a room on the right. There were no officers outside the door. It was dark inside. Sharon sat on a plastic chair and looked up when they walked in, then stood, tears streaming down her face.

  “He’s gone. They killed him Mackey…he’s gone.”

  Frozen in place, unable to move, George’s head turned to the left. Fel Tobin’s thin frame lay covered by a sheet. George stepped to the bed. Briefed by Sharon on George’s relationship with Fel, Salinas stayed at his side, not sure what the deputy’s reaction would be. He pulled the sheet back gently so that George could see the old man.

  “There was nothing we could do. There was too much trauma, too much blood loss. We tried to get him into surgery, but he died before we could stop the bleeding. We brought him up here at Ms. Price’s request, waiting for you, Deputy.”

  George stared into Fel’s empty, half-open eyes. It was surreal. He knew every line of the old man’s face, every contour, the creases where he smiled and those from his frowns. They were all there, the lines, the wrinkles, the thin hawkish nose, but they no longer belonged to Fel. They were plastered on a pale, waxen face that looked more like a clay model than the friend he had shared so much of his life with.

  Sharon came to George, burying her face in his chest, wetting his shirt with her tears as he wet her hair with his. Rince stood quietly by the door. He had fulfilled one promise to Sharon. He had brought George to her. There was the other now…to keep him safe.

  94. End This

  “It is time.”

  “Good. My men are ready.”

  “They will have to be.”

  It was a short call. Ramón Guzman disconnected from Armando Soto, hoping that his men truly were ready and up to the task before them. As for himself, Guzman was committed, all in. There were no other options now.

  Seated on his stone patio at the Heron Run house, he looked towards the dock. Peña’s guard stood with a cell phone to his ear. His voice carried across the yard from the water and Guzman could tell he was having problems with his girlfriend in San Juan.

  He lifted his own phone up so that he could see the screen and brought up the internet, searching for a number in Jacksonville. It only took a minute. Guzman memorized the number and then punched it into the phone and waited.

  Eyes wet, Meera Davies lifted her bruised face and looked up as George and Sharon entered the room at the end of the hall where the deputy and police officer still stood guard. Her left arm bandaged heavily, she rose to embrace Sharon with the right. The two held onto each other, as if they might fall over if they released from the grasping hug. George watched without speaking, Rince at his side. The fluorescent lights made the women seem paler and their eyes redder.

  George turned to the bed. Sandy Davies lay unconscious, battered, bruised and swollen. George stared at the empty spot under the sheet. The doctors had stopped the bleeding, repaired torn tissues and arteries where they could and then cleaned and bandaged the stump of Sandy’s leg. There was nothing left to save.

  Meera turned to George, wiping her eyes with her good hand, half-sobbing as she spoke. “Do you know who did this, George?”

  He nodded. “I have an idea.”

  “Sandy wanted this done right. I heard him say it to Mike Darlington just before…” She looked George in the eyes. “I just want it to end, George, and the person…” She shook her head and wiped her eyes again with the back of her hand, stopping short of saying what she wanted to happen to the person responsible for the attacks on her husband and Fel Tobin. Meera was not the type of person to say such a thing. She didn’t have to say it.

  George nodded. He had every intention of ending it.

  They had been in Sandy’s room with Meera for thirty minutes when the announcement came over the public address system.

  “Deputy Mackey. Deputy George Mackey. Please go to the nearest nurse’s station for an urgent call.”

  George turned and nearly ran down the hall to the ICU nurse’s station. Rince looked into Sharon’s eyes, nodded and followed. Now was the time to keep that second promise…keep George safe.

  “I’m George Mackey.”

  The nurse nodded and turned the phone on her desk around and punched a button. She lifted the receiver and handed it to the big Deputy leaning anxiously over the counter as Rince walked up.

  “This is Mackey.”

  “You do not know me, but I know who you are.”

  “What do you want?” George’s brow furrowed, detecting the slight, almost imperceptible accent.

  “I think I have what you want.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The man who had your friend killed and the sheriff in Pickham County.”

  “You have Roy Budroe?” The fist that was not holding the phone clenched at his side.

  The caller laughed softly. “Not precisely. We both know Mr. Budroe. He is not an easy man to have.” The laughter disappeared and the caller’s voice became serious. “No, to lay hands on Budroe is a task for a man like you, Deputy.”

  “Then what…precisely?” Face like stone, George’s voice was a low, th
reatening whisper.

  “I have his location.”

  “You know where he is? How?”

  Again, the soft laughter was audible over the phone. “Because I am with him.”

  “And why would you want to tell me?”

  “Let us say that you have an interest in finding him. I have an interest in seeing him found.”

  “You were with him last year, weren’t you? Part of what he was setting up to sell the girls…slaves.”

  “Such an ugly word…slave…but yes, I was part of the…business…we had planned to initiate. You and your friends ended that. Perhaps that was for the best.”

  There was a pause. George could hear the sound of Guzman puffing on his cigar and exhaling loudly.

  Rince watched closely. George took a deep breath, working hard to control his emotions. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

  “Tell me where he is, or get off the phone.”

  “Do you know Heron Run, a small town in Florida.”

  “No.”

  “No matter. You can find it on a map. It is on the Gulf side, south of Sarasota. How quickly do you think you can be here?”

  “Quickly.”

  “Good.”

  “Where? Tell me that now or hang up, and I will hunt you both down.”

  The laughter over the line was slightly louder this time. “As I said, Deputy. I am with him. It would not be very wise of me to tell you exactly where we are…just yet. You could alert the local authorities. I could end up in the same predicament as Mr. Budroe.”

  “When?”

  “You come to Heron Run. Alert whomever you will, but I will not give you the exact location until I am safely away.”

  “All right. I’ll be there, and for the record I will be notifying the Florida police.”

  Fine. Do as you wish, as long as they do not interfere with my departure. If they do, you will not learn the location of Mr. Budroe.”

  “When do I get the exact location?”

  “When I am safely away, I will call you again. Please give me your cell phone number.”