A Capital Offense

by Gary Parker

  “I’ll take care of Katie,” she assured Daniel. “But I’ll do it without a gun.”

  She faced Sandra again. “You’ll take care of him . . . if anything happens to me . . . ”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” said Sandra, slipping the gun into her jeans. “Just go. I’ll take care of Daniel.”

  Connie kissed Daniel on the forehead. “Pray,” she repeated. “I’ll see you soon.”

  *****

  Fifteen miles away, Lennie kept one hand on the steering wheel, flipped open his cell phone, and hit the autodial button.

  Within ten seconds, Brit picked up on the other side.

  “You in place?” asked Lennie.

  “Not quite, but almost. Had to pick up a couple of things at her place first.”

  “What things?”

  “Oh, you know, the listening devices, a few pictures, a couple of canceled airline tickets.”

  Lennie nodded and buttoned his suit. Brit had removed the bugs and taken the pictures of Morrison and Richards as well as Connie’s ticket stubs to Vegas from her house. After they finished this, they didn’t want any odds and ends floating around to make the cops curious.

  “Good work,” he said.

  “How far out are you?”

  “Ten minutes, no more than fifteen.”

  “The Man coming?”

  “Don’t know, he didn’t say.”

  “You think he’ll come?”

  Lennie unbuttoned his suit coat. He really didn’t know.

  “He might,” he said.

  “You tell him where?”

  “Absolutely, he always knows where.”

  “Anything else?”

  Lennie buttoned his coat. “Don’t do the deed until I give the go-ahead.”

  The line fell silent. Brit had hung up on him. That cowboy!

  Lennie cursed and unbuttoned his coat. A lot rode on tonight.

  He just hoped Brit didn’t slop it up for everyone.

  Lennie touched the Glock pistol he kept holstered to his left hip. If Brit got out of line, The Man had given him permission to put him out of business. Permanently out of business.

  *****

  Her heartbeat notching higher, Connie pulled her van onto the gravel surface of the parking area of the Katy Trail and rolled it to a stop. Overhead, she saw a bank of clouds climb over the moon. The night became darker, and she breathed a touch easier. What she planned needed as black a night as possible.

  Slowly, she scanned the scene. To her right, probably a hundred yards away, she saw the dim outline of the Highway 54 overpass, the bridge where the mysterious caller had said to meet him. Somewhere over there, the man held Katie.

  Her face flushed, and she noted her body heating up. Her heartbeat revved up even more. Steady yourself, she thought. “Beanxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication,with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.” Steady.

  She focused again on the overpass. Though she couldn’t see it, she knew that another section of trail rolled on from there, the section that ran toward St. Louis. Nearer to her, she noted a square building, no larger than a double phone booth with windows halfway up and on all four sides. Though she didn’t know the purpose of the building, she did know it had come in handy once when she, Jack, and the kids got caught on the trail during a thunderstorm. Just across from that building, a bathroom building sat empty of customers. By the bathrooms, a small ditch ran parallel with the gravel trail, and a number of huge trees lined the parking lot behind her. Grateful she knew the area so well, she told herself to stay calm.

  Then, moving before she changed her mind, she grabbed the door latch and snapped it open. Dropping her feet onto the trail, she heard gravel crunch under her shoes. She took a deep breath, then stood still for a second. In the darkness, she felt so small, so alone. A shudder racked her body. Everything boiled down to this.

  One woman. One gamble. One chance. One plan she hoped came from God.

  Biting her lip, she stepped away from the van and began walking toward the bridge.

  *****

  Lennie leaned against one of the concrete pillars that supported the overpass and peered through the inky night toward the parking lot where a van had just driven up. Katie sat on the gravel beside him, her eyes blindfolded and her ears stuffed with plugs. Two steps ahead of them, Brit cupped his forehead with his right hand as if shading his eyes from too much sun.

  “I can’t see her, Len,” he complained. “But that had to be her van.”

  “Relax, Brit. Sure it’s her van. She’s getting up her courage.

  Give her a minute.”

  A light suddenly glowed in the dark, and Lennie recognized it as the interior light of a vehicle. He heard a door slam, and the light blinked off.

  “She’s coming, Len,” whispered Brit.

  “She said she would.” Lennie reached for the top button on his coat and unbuttoned it. Behind the button, he touched the handle of his Glock. Though planning to use other means for this business, the touch of the weapon gave him comfort. If worse came to worst, he had the gun available. Buttoning his coat again, he turned and glanced over his shoulder at The Man hiding in the shadows. Unusual for him to show up, but everything about this case was unusual.

  Lennie heard feet scratching gravel, and he twisted back toward the sound and saw Connie Brandon emerging from the shadows, her head erect, her posture steady.

  For several seconds, Lennie studied the woman. He’d only seen her the one time in Vegas when she showed up at Morrison’s house. Though that episode had been brief, he felt like he knew her pretty well. Everything she had done since then only verified what that one encounter suggested. She demonstrated a number of qualities he admired—resourcefulness, persistence, bravery, compassion. A heck of a woman. Not bad-looking either. Too petite for his taste, but hair so bright you could cook on it and eyes that created dreams.

  Watching her stride his way in her denim jeans, knit top, and tennis shoes, a touch of regret ran through him. Tough he had to do a job on her. He touched the breast pocket of his suit.

  The needle, encased in a plastic bag, rested against his chest.

  Enough cocaine to kill her five times waited in his car, less than a hundred yards away. At least she would die like her husband.

  Connie Brandon walked within speaking distance now, and Brit slithered out of the shadows and appeared like an apparition before her. Lennie stayed hidden under the bridge.

  “That’s far enough, Red,” said Brit.

  Connie stopped in her tracks. Lennie heard her breathing.

  It was rushed, panting, but her body stayed still.

  “Where’s my daughter?”

  Her voice, though a bit forced, sounded pretty strong, considering the circumstances. Lennie wondered if she had a weapon hidden somewhere on her body. He hoped she did. A weapon would at least give him an excuse. If she drew a pistol on him or Brit, he could do her and claim self-defense to his conscience. Otherwise it became cold, hard killing, and his stomach churned at that.

  Brit twisted halfway around and flipped his thumb toward the darkness under the overpass. “She’s back there.”

  “I want to see her!”

  Brit laughed, and Lennie decided he never wanted to work with him again. Brit took too much pleasure in his work. Lennie, though successful at what he did, never truly enjoyed it. He did it because that’s what he was, but it pained him every time, especially when it meant hurting someone as innocent as Connie Brandon.

  *****

  Hearing the man’s high-pitched laughter, Connie’s heart fluttered, and a sense of doom ran through her. The man lived for this kind of experience! He had no intention of letting her leave with Katie!

  Connie locked her knees and gritted her teeth. If everything unfolded as planned, she and Katie would survive this.

  “You’re in no position to make any demands,” said Brit, his voice devoid of emotion.

  “You said y
ou’d give me my daughter.”

  “So I will.” He turned halfway around but kept his eyes on Connie.

  Five seconds later, a blindfolded Katie popped out of the darkness under the bridge, her little body struggling to stay upright as she stumbled forward. Someone had evidently pushed her away from the bridge. Noting the presence of the second person, Connie reached for Katie and gathered her into her arms.

  “Mommy!” Katie cried, burying her head into Connie’s shoulder.

  “It’s OK, Katie.” Squeezing her baby, Connie felt a twinge of fear. Whoever pushed Katie could cause problems in the next few minutes.

  Concentrating on the unseen person in the darkness, Connie almost missed it as Brit lifted a pistol from the waistband of his slacks and pointed it at her.

  For a moment, she didn’t say a word, but her breathing became even faster. In the night’s silence, it sounded like someone inflating and deflating a tire, up down, in out, breathing it in, breathing it out. Her legs quivered, but she refused to give in to her fear.

  “You’re not going to let us go, are you?” she asked, her voice holding.

  Brit laughed again. Connie almost choked. This guy sounded one step short of going over the edge.

  “Your girl, sure. No reason to hurt her. I’m not an animal.

  But you, Red . . . you’re a different story. You know too much.”

  “I know you killed my husband.”

  “See, that’s what I mean.”

  “I know you work for the gamblers.”

  Brit laughed again, but with less energy. “You think you’re a smart woman. Well, maybe you’re not so smart as you think.”

  Connie hesitated. Brit’s words made her wonder. Did everything add up here or not? Brit didn’t give her time to settle it.

  “Leave the girl,” he said. “It’s time for us to move.”

  Connie studied his face but kept her hands on Katie’s shoulders. How tragic to see a man end up so evil, so far from what God wanted. He appeared so normal, but in a few minutes she might be dead at his hands.

  “Hold it, Brit!” A deep male voice erupted from the shadows, and Brit turned toward the noise. Connie looked, too, squinting to see the speaker. Her eyes widened as big as saucers as she saw him step away from the bridge and walk toward her.

  Brit stepped to the side to let him pass. He stopped no more than four feet away from Connie. Though she knew Brit still had his gun trained on her, she completely ignored him. The man in front of her demanded her whole concentration.

  “I want you to know I’ll take care of your children,” the man said.

  Connie started to speak, but her voice deserted her. She stammered, but nothing came out. Her thoughts, though, jammed rapidly ahead. This made no sense at all! Why— what—?

  “I don’t want you to die worried about your children. I’m not a vicious man.”

  Her astonishment passing, Connie found her tongue and choked out a response. “I don’t understand!” she said. “What are you—?”

  “This isn’t about gambling, Connie.”

  She bit her lip, her hands still on Katie. “Then what is it about?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out? You’ve done so well with everything else. This is about my son.”

  “But how? I don’t understand . . . How does he—?”

  “Think about it.”

  Her mind twirled as she tried to put it all together. Bits and scraps of the days since the funeral jumbled up like so many pieces of a mixed-up puzzle. She twisted and jammed the pieces into each other, trying to find some that fit together.

  If she had to die, she at least wanted to know why. Why did Jack die? With the man’s promise to keep Katie and Daniel safe, that’s the only other thing she wanted. Just let her see the whole picture before he sent her to heaven.

  Her head hurt from thinking, and she couldn’t figure it out.

  She gave up and closed her eyes. Okay, if she had only a few seconds more, she would use them to pray for her family. Daniel and Katie, God bless their sweet souls. And now Justin and Sandra, God give them joy in the days ahead— Wait a minute! Sandra.

  A picture suddenly popped into her mind, and it fell into place all at once, the obvious answer. Jack and Sandra at Miller High. Sandra in the picture of the “Best Couple” standing arm in arm with a handsome boy. Something happened during high school between Sandra and a young Wilt Carver. It all made sense. Sandra’s intense dislike for Wilt. The scar on Wilt’s chin that no one ever explained.

  Connie opened her eyes. “What happened with Wilt and Sandra?” she asked, staring hard at Robert Carver, his thick torso standing sturdy as a refrigerator on the road. “Something Jack found out, planned to tell?”

  “Bingo. Sorry about the term.” He smiled lightly.

  “What happened between them that you couldn’t let the public know?”

  “You can imagine.”

  Connie’s mind clicked through the possibilities. Only one thing made sense, explained Sandra’s hostility toward him.

  “Wilt did something to her, something no boy should do.”

  Carver shrugged, and his voice dropped a notch. Connie leaned forward to hear him better.

  “Wilt loved her, at least as much as an eighteen-year-old can love. Wanted to marry her, told her they would get married some day. One night, after dating for almost a year, he became a bit . . . well . . . overexuberant, shall I say. He got carried away.

  She told him to stop. He didn’t. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone saying no to him. She fought him, scratched him badly.

  You’ve seen the scar. He lost control. Hit her. Knocked her out, or she fainted . . . I don’t know. Then he . . . well, he . . . ”

  “You don’t have to say anything else,” said Connie. “I know what happened.”

  Carver took a deep breath. “I regret it has come to this. But you leave me no choice. Just like Jack.”

  Connie moved Katie around behind her legs, talking as she did so. “But all that happened a long time ago. Why should any of that matter now? Sandra hasn’t said anything all these years.”

  “I made that exact point with your husband the night I met him out here. I said to him, ‘Let it go.’ But he couldn’t. He said he ‘had to do the right thing.’”

  “How did he find out about it?”

  Carver shrugged again. “I suppose his grandfather told him. Or Sandra. I don’t really know. I just know he couldn’t let it rest. He came to Wilt several months ago. Told him to drop out of politics and he would let that end it, punishment enough, that sort of thing.”

  “But if Wilt refused?”

  “Jack said he would have to report it, let the public decide it from there. I couldn’t let him do that. I had to deal with it. A father’s love for a son, you can understand that . . . ”

  Carver’s voice dropped even lower, and he seemed to lose track of his surroundings. He mumbled as if talking to himself, and Connie strained to hear the rest of what he said.

  “ . . . My boy might make it all the way, someday. I couldn’t let something that happened so long ago keep him from his destiny. If Jack had just practiced some of that forgiveness he talked so much about, everything would have been fine. But no, he couldn’t do that. He had to do the right thing. Too bad . . . too bad for all of us. Too bad for him . . . for you . . . for all . . . of us.”

  His head down, he turned away and sighed. “Do her, Brit,” he said. “But don’t make her suffer.”

  Connie’s heart thundered and her knees shook. Her plan seemed so stupid now, so out of place and impossible. Hoping to forestall the moment of testing, she shouted at Carver. “What about my children? You said you would take care of my children!” Carver faced her once more. “That’s right. I’m not a spiteful man. I’ll take care of them, like I said. That’s why I came here tonight, to let you know that. I’ll send Wilt to provide for them.

  A friend giving financial support to his dead friend’s children.

  It’ll
make wonderful copy for the papers.”

  One final question dawned on Connie. “Does Wilt know?” she asked.

  Carver stared at her. “No,” he said. “He’s not involved. I set up the meeting with Jack, you see. Told him to meet me. I wanted to talk to him, make a deal. But your husband didn’t make deals. Too bad. But Wilt had nothing to do with it, too risky for him.”

  “But not for you.”

  Carver smiled, then began backing away. “Nothing is too risky for me to protect my boy’s destiny. Do her, Brit.”

  Carver walked toward the bridge. “Make sure, Lennie.”

  Lennie stepped away from the bridge, hurrying down the path, his right hand holding his pistol at chest level.

  “Hold it, Carver!”

  From the ditch three feet below the trail to her left, Connie heard the voice of Reverend Wallace cutting through the darkness. Carver froze in place, and Brit and Lennie stopped too. But neither man lowered his gun.

  “Drop the guns,” called a second man, his voice coming from Connie’s right. She turned to the square building where she and her family had once waited out a summer storm. Tick Garner emerged from the building, a pistol in his hand. Connie’s heart skipped a beat. Reverend Wallace had called him at the lake!

  Brit shifted his feet and pointed his gun at Tick. For a split second, Connie thought he was going to shoot, but then a third voice rang out, stopping him.

  “I wouldn’t do that!”

  Luke Tyler stepped from behind a hickory tree twenty feet from the building, his massive form standing sideways to Brit, the largest gun Connie had ever seen steady in his huge hands.

  “We’re here,” yelled a fourth man’s voice.

  “And here,” called another.

  From every side, Connie heard the voices, the voices of the elders of the River City Community Church, the voices of the people Reverend Wallace had called after she called him. From the ditch that ran along the trail to her left, from the trees that bordered the bridge just ahead, from the bathrooms near her car, person after person appeared from the darkness, apparitions of rescue, human angels, willing to risk their lives for their friend. Connie’s heart rose up in her throat as she saw what her simple scheme had created—a wave of people surrounding her, supporting her, protecting her. That’s what she planned all along, an army of God facing down one lone kidnapper. Yes, now they had to face three, but even three couldn’t stop them all. Seeing the odds against them, surely the killers would give up! They couldn’t shoot them all, so why shoot even one? Any reasonable person would understand that.