Noble Beginnings: A Jack Noble Thriller

by L. T. Ryan

  “No,” I said. “I need to take a walk.”

  * * *

  The wind picked up during my walk and the cold night air bit at my face. It stung. It felt good. The country air and peaceful surroundings gave way to the sound of vehicles traveling on I-95. Families on vacation for spring break, business people driving overnight for their morning meetings, and truckers making the long haul from Florida to New York then back again. I filtered the sound of the traffic in my mind and allowed my brain to distort it. It reverberated through the air like waves at the beach. That calm feeling washed over me again. I laughed at myself for being able to relax with everything that had occurred in the last few days and the probable consequences hanging over me.

  I followed the winding road through a stretch of woods. A tall bright signpost appeared front and center as I stepped past the wooded stretch. Two cars were parked next to gas pumps. A middle-aged man walked a golden retriever in the patch of grass between the gas station’s parking lot and a closed diner.

  I crossed the street and stopped in front of the store entrance to think for a minute, using the time to acclimate myself to the store’s surroundings.

  The man with the golden retriever returned to his mini-van and opened the back door. The dog jumped in the back seat, cuddling up to a little girl. The man nodded at me and jogged to the driver’s side of the car. A minute later the car turned left out of the parking lot and turned right onto the interstate on-ramp, disappearing from site.

  I opened the door to the store, a single chime greeting me as I walked through the open doorway.

  “Hello,” a cheerful young woman said from behind her register. She was dressed in black pants, a white button up shirt, and wore a red and white checkered vest. A red tag had the name Michelle printed on it in white lettering with a black outline. She wore her dark hair in a ponytail and wore too much make-up, perhaps to cover the ever present dark circles under her eyes and the premature lines on her face from a lifetime of working odd shifts at places like this. Or maybe places even worse.

  I nodded and looked away.

  “Looking for anything specific?”

  “No. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  She put her hands on the counter, slumped over and frowned, all the while nodding her head. “Okies. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  She must live for moments when someone would come into the store in the middle of the night and carry on a conversation with her.

  I grabbed a hand basket and wove my way up and down the aisles, grabbing various items as I went. I had no idea what I wanted. Just needed to pass the time and clear my head. Jessie had thrown me for a loop at the motel. Now wasn’t the time for me to think about relationships and life after the military. And not just because of the current predicament I found myself in. It went beyond that. The life I led, and the life I foresaw myself leading for some time to come, left no room for love and relationships. Those things were liabilities in my world, not assets.

  The basket grew heavy. I looked down and saw I had filled it to the top. That was my cue that I’d grabbed enough off the stocked shelves. I walked to the counter and placed the basket on it.

  “Anything else?”

  I looked around at the display to the side and shook my head. “No, this’ll be all.”

  She babbled on, but her words didn’t register in my head. I stared out the window at a group of four men cutting through the parking lot to the store. A couple of them yelled at an elderly man filling his car with gas. The old man cut it short, hung the nozzle up at the pump and got in his car, driving off in a hurry. The men laughed and slapped hands and pointed at the store.

  “—and so I’m only doing this until I have enough saved to go back to college and then I’ll—”

  “You know those men?” I gestured with my head toward the window.

  Michelle bit her lip and nodded.

  “Troublemakers?”

  “One of them’s my ex,” she said. “And he’s not a nice guy. Ex-con.”

  “What’d he do?”

  She looked up from her scanner and the item in her hand. Her eyes watered over. “Tried to kill me.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “You should go. Just take the stuff and go. Those guys are bad news, especially if they’ve been drinking.”

  “Keep ringing this stuff up. Don’t say anything to them. Don’t acknowledge them. Got it?”

  She said nothing.

  The electronic chime rang when one of the men pulled the front door open. They stepped through one at a time and cut to the left, behind me, laughing as they walked down the aisle. I got a good glimpse at them as they came through. All dressed the same, old jeans, black Doc Martin combat boots, and heavy flannel shirts worn as jackets. Two had long hair, one had a shaved head, and the fourth kept his cut close on the side and spiked four inches on top. Only the bald man came close to matching me in size, but that didn’t mean I’d underestimate any of them. You never knew what a man was capable of until the moment of impact.

  “This your new boyfriend, Michelle?”

  She looked at me and said nothing then glanced down at the empty basket on the counter.

  I looked up at the small TV fed by the security camera. The group of men approached from behind.

  I turned around, held my arms out the side, resting my elbows on the counter. I made eye contact with the bald man leading the group.

  He stopped six feet away from me. Far enough away that he could escape if I made a move. His guys fanned out, two toward the door, one on the other side. The bald man leaned to the side, looking around me. “Michelle, you hear me?”

  Her breathing picked up. She said nothing.

  “Bitch,” he said. “You better answer me.” He looked at me and then at her. He started to redden, first his neck and cheeks, then the rest of his pale face.

  “I think,” I straightened up, “you should apologize and then leave.”

  “Screw you, Jarhead.”

  Jarhead? How could he tell? I looked nothing like a Marine. “I’m not looking for any trouble tonight—”

  “Yeah, well you just found some.” He took a step forward.

  Keep it coming, baldy.

  “—I think you should turn around and go home. Sleep it off. Hell, go down to the highway and play Frogger with the semis for all I care. Probably do the world a favor.”

  His eyes narrowed as he processed what I said. He looked to the side, toward the door, and laughed. Two seconds later he was in my face.

  I didn’t flinch.

  He did his best scary guy impersonation, shoulders back, face inches from mine. He exhaled heavily through his mouth. I could have gotten drunk on his hot alcohol stained breath if he stayed there long enough.

  “What you got to say now?” he said.

  My hand moved to the one of the displays on the counter. I fingered a few items until I felt that I had the item I wanted. I smiled then brought my hand forward. “I think you could use a breath mint.”

  One of the guys behind him laughed. The bald man turned. “Shut the hell up.” He took a few steps back, never taking his eyes off of me. He started to shift from his left to his right foot and back. Was he contemplating his next move? Preparing to hit me? Turn and run? He probably didn’t expect me to stand my ground like I had, with no sign of fear on my face. Sure the feeling was there, but I’d learned to control fear a long time ago.

  “Mike, let’s go,” the one with spiky hair said. “Cameras in here, man. You ain’t s’posed to be near Michelle, anyway.”

  Mike took a few more steps back and went to the door. Stopped and turned to face me again. “This ain’t over. Got it?”

  “Yeah it is, Mike,” I said. “Now get the hell out of here before I mop the floor with your face.”

  The men left the store. Mike stopped in the open doorway, pointed at me then pounded his chest twice with his fist. The door slammed shut behind him. He jogged across the parking lot, holding his pants up with one hand,
and caught up with his friends. They walked past the glow of the gas station lights and the night swallowed them whole.

  “I-I’m sorry about that,” Michelle said.

  I waved her off. “Don’t be. I’m not worried about those guys.” I leaned over the counter. “I am worried about you though. You should probably lock up and leave.”

  She shook her head. “They won’t be back. Besides, I’d get fired if I did that.”

  “They could be. And fired is better than dead.”

  “They’re just drunk. He’ll apologize in the morning. He’s,” she paused and turned toward the front of the store. “He’s not supposed to get within one hundred yards of me. One call and he’ll go to jail. He knows that. He’ll apologize in the morning.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  I shook my head. Was there any point in trying? She’d made up her mind about the guy. I knew then that she eventually planned to go back to him. And one day, she’d likely pay with her life.

  “Keep your eye out. Call 9-1-1 the moment you see them.”

  She nodded then looked away.

  I dropped a hundred dollar bill on the counter, picked up the bag she’d filled with my items, and started toward the door.

  “Hey,” she said.

  I turned back to her.

  “Don’t you want your change?”

  “Keep it.”

  I pushed through the door. The cold air hit me like a baseball bat. Beads of sweat felt like tiny icicles as they dried on my skin. I crossed the parking lot diagonally and continued across the street. Five minutes later the roar of a diesel engine filled the air. It wasn’t until the engine idled lower that I became concerned. The truck slowed to a near stop next to me.

  “Yep, that’s him,” a voice said from inside the cab.

  The truck lurched forward. Red taillights illuminated the immediate area as the truck jerked sideways and screeched to a stop in front of me. Four doors opened. Four men stepped out. The two longhaired rednecks were the first to approach. One held a shotgun. Mike stepped around the one on the driver’s side of the truck.

  “Hello, again,” Mike said. “Remember us?”

  Chapter 13

  Mike stood at the back of the truck, seven or eight feet away from me. His eyes were wide, his body slightly hunched over. He clenched and unclenched his fists a dozen times. A wide smile spread over his face. The man with the gun was to his left, on the shoulder of the road. The other two men moved toward the field. I expected one to stop when even with me and the other to continue behind me. Of course, these guys were amateurs, which meant anything was possible.

  I stood my ground. I wouldn’t make the first move unless forced to. Something told me that wouldn’t be an issue, though.

  The gunman shifted side to side. He was jumpy and sweat beaded on his forehead even though a nice breeze blew cool air into his face. Was this his first time pointing a gun at someone? Or the first time he did so with the intention of pulling the trigger? Either way, it concerned me. I had to take him out first.

  The heft of my Beretta pressing against my side felt reassuring. I preferred to not use it, though. Not for those guys. I only had twelve bullets left and the way this day was going, I was sure I’d need them before the sun came up.

  “Well?” Mike said.

  I said nothing, keeping my focus on him and the gunman.

  “Aw, c’mon, Jarhead,” Mike said. “Ain’t you got nothing funny to say?”

  “No,” I said. “You just said it for me.”

  “Huh?”

  His smile faded and he squinted at me. It looked like he struggled to make sense of what I said.

  The gunman didn’t. A wry smile formed on his face and his eyes shifted between me and Mike.

  “By the time you figure it out, you’ll be unconscious. So it might benefit you to concentrate on the task at hand.”

  The gunman threw his head back and laughed.

  At least one of them had a sense of humor, or maybe he had smoked enough pot that I could say anything and he would laugh. I thought about testing this theory out by throwing some nonsense at him, but it made more sense to throw a shoulder into his gut. I had two seconds, maybe three, before his senses would return and he’d take aim. Another second at the most between him aiming and pulling the trigger. Unless he really was stoned, in which case, double those times.

  The width of the truck separated Mike and the gunman. Mike stood slightly behind the bumper and the gunman near the corner.

  I lunged at the gunman. One hand aimed at this throat, the other at the barrel of the gun. I needed to disable and disarm him at the same time. I took two steps before he opened his eyes. My left fist crashed into the soft spot of his throat about the same time recognition flashed in his eyes. I grabbed the barrel of the gun and twisted it so that his wrist bent unnaturally backward.

  The gunman gasped and gargled for air. He steadied himself by placing his free arm on the lip of the truck bed.

  I struck again with my left arm, driving my elbow into his nose. I delivered a swift kick to his kneecap. He went down and let go of the shotgun. I spun and stepped back toward the road, aiming the gun at the group of men approaching me.

  Mike stood in the middle flanked by the other two men. The gunman rolled on the ground next to me, clutching his throat and sucking in whatever bits of air he squeeze into his shriveling lungs.

  “Don’t move,” I said.

  The moon glinted off the blade of the serrated edge hunting knife in Mike’s hand.

  “Drop the knife or lose your hand,” I said.

  “Screw you,” he said.

  I studied his face. His upper lip curled and his cheek quivered. He looked crazy enough to charge me with the knife extended. I had a decision to make. Take the truck and haul ass, or shoot and add to my already inflated murder count. I aimed the shotgun and fired into the air over their heads.

  The knife fell to the ground.

  I emptied the gun and moved toward the men. Mike stepped up. I drove the butt of the gun into his stomach and followed it up with a smack across his head. He fell to the ground. The other two men came at me together. I kicked the spiky haired man in the gut. He doubled over. I smashed the butt of the gun into the back of his head. The fourth man pulled a knife. I tossed the gun into the bed of the truck. The odds were already against the longhaired man.

  “I’m going to cut you, man,” he said. “Then I’m going to slice your gut open.”

  His words sounded tough. But his twitching and shaking revealed how scared he was.

  I didn’t waste any time. I took a step toward him. Blocked his swipe at me and took control of his wrist. I spun inward and drove my elbow into the bridge of his nose.

  He grunted and went limp. The knife dropped to the ground. I darted toward it and scooped it up.

  I heard a voice speak up from behind me. “You and me.”

  I spun around and saw Mike standing six feet away, knife in his hand. Blood covered his forehead and split into three lines at his eyebrows. The streams of blood poured down his face. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. Blood smeared across his cheeks.

  “You don’t want to do this,” I said.

  “Scared?”

  “For you.”

  He laughed then spit. “You don’t know me man.”

  “Sure I do,” I said. “I know all about you. I’ve run into bitches like you every place I’ve ever been.”

  He said nothing. He stuck his arm out and lunged toward me.

  I stepped to the side and watched him slip by and fall to the ground.

  Mike got to his knees and turned as he stood. He approached again, this time slowly and cautiously.

  He brought his hands up and flipped the knife around in his hand to a tactical fighting position. The kind of position they teach in advanced combat training. Had he been a Marine or in the Army? Is that how he pegged me so easily? He stepped in and took a swipe at me.

  I countered and played defense while he att
acked. He’d already taken a couple heavy blows from me. He might have a few broken ribs and a concussion. All I had to do was wear him down and then knock him out.

  I kept an eye on his friends in between his attacks. Only one stirred, but he wasn’t a threat, yet.

  “Attack me,” Mike said. “C’mon.”

  I said nothing. His attack was weak and easy to counter. He might have had training but it had either been a long time ago, or it had not been very advanced.

  He broke pattern and swung wildly, opening himself up to a counterattack. I took advantage of the opening and sliced then stabbed, first into his side and then his shoulder. I took care to avoid any major organs and arteries. Despite this guy’s overwhelming sense of asshole, I didn’t want his death hanging over me.

  The strike to his shoulder did enough damage to cause him to drop the knife.

  I kicked him from behind. He crashed head first into the truck’s liftgate. Fell to the ground. He got to his hands and knees and then, using the truck to help him, stood. He was shaky at first and slowly steadied.

  Cars had passed during the fight. A few slowed down, but none stopped to help or intervene. One of them must have notified the police, because I heard sirens approaching.

  Mike turned his head at the sound. He looked back at me and smiled.

  “What the hell are you smiling at?” I said.

  “You’re going down, Jarhead. I’m untouchable here.”

  I hiked my shoulders up an inch and let out a quick laugh before taking a step forward and whipping my right fist across his face. The thud of my fist connecting with his head coincided with the snapping sound of his jaw breaking. He fell back onto the truck. His head rolled forward. His eyes rolled backward. He collapsed on the ground in front of me.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw blue lights reflecting off the sky. My cue to leave. I cut through the field and sprinted toward the trees. I ran blind until I was hidden in the cover of the woods, and even then my pace didn’t slow down.

  * * *

  “Jack,” Jessie said as I burst through the door. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I looked in the mirror mounted over the dresser and noticed four cuts on my face and several on my arms. My adrenaline had been pumping so high, I didn’t realize I had received the injuries while running through the woods.