“Normal? I don’t normally do this.”
Good Lord, I thought. “Act like you have since you’ve been here.”
“Oh, okay.”
As the sound of the car engine grew louder, I quickly helped Deuce back onto the floor in the bathroom. I tied his hands and feet and put the gag back on him.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ll be right here, I promise.”
He nodded but his eyes were filled with fear.
“Remember, act like you have since you’ve been here.”
He nodded again.
I doused the light as muted voices grew louder. I shoved the chair back under the doorknob and in two strides I was across the office. I ducked behind the desks just as the office door opened. I held my breath.
The glow from a powerful flashlight illuminated the center of the trailer, but it left me in deep shadows.
“Let’s get him and get out of here,” a deep, gravelly voice said.
“You know he can’t walk right away,” said a second, higher-pitched voice that I recognized. Lon Carlson.
“Well give him a minute, but let’s hurry.”
“I don’t like this,” Carlson said. “Murder was never part of the plan.”
“I don’t like it either,” said the deep voice. “But now we’ve got the cops poking around because of that scam Chuck cooked up, and that detective is still looking for Deuce. We can’t keep him here forever, and we can’t let him go or he’ll go straight to the cops. It’s time to get this taken care of. That section of flooring is being poured tomorrow so we put the body in a hole underneath tonight and it’s cemented over. No one ever finds the body.”
“You are an evil man, Byers,” Carlson said.
Byers! Must be from T.F. Byers, one of construction companies on Deuce’s list, I thought.
“Yeah, you’ll thank me when you’re not in prison,” Byers said.
Something scraped, then a thump, and the desk in front of me moved. I jumped. Then I heard the sound of the bathroom door opening. I peeked around the desks.
The folded chair was leaning against the desk, and Carlson and Byers were standing in front of the bathroom door. Carlson held the flashlight, shining it into the bathroom. Byers aimed a gun at Deuce. Deuce squinted as he gazed up at them, but he didn’t move. Either he was acting really well or he was too scared to do anything different. Probably the latter. Pretend like I was never here, I silently implored Deuce. And then I almost yelped. The water bottle I’d given him was still sitting next to the door! I breathed a noiseless prayer, hoping Deuce’s captors wouldn’t notice it.
“Let’s go,” Byers said. He was a big man, with broad shoulders and a bald spot on the back of his head. He reached down and yanked Deuce to his feet. Deuce let out a muffled cry, but he did a good job of acting weak. He leaned against the doorjamb with his eyes closed.
With one hand, Carlson untied the gag, then Deuce’s hands and feet. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he commanded.
Deuce staggered into the room. “Water,” he said, making his voice grate.
“You’ll get some when we decide,” Byers said.
They walked on either side of him, headed for the door. I had to act.
CHAPTER TWENTYNINE
I stood up and pulled the Glock out. “Stop right there.”
Byers and Carlson both jumped and stared in my direction.
“It’s the detective!” Carlson yelled.
Byers cursed and aimed his gun at me. “You better be ready to use that.”
“Reed!” Deuce hollered as he pitched himself into Byers. The gun went off and I ducked. Deuce and Byers dropped to the floor. Carlson was waving his hands wildly, the flashlight in one hand shining all over like a fast-moving spotlight. I dove to my left as Deuce and Byers wrestled.
I tried for a shot but all I saw in the shadows was arms and legs, so I moved toward Carlson. Then, to my horror, Deuce managed to get to his knees and he had Byers’ gun. He pointed it at Byers and Carlson …and me!
“Deuce, don’t!” we all shouted.
He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
“Argh!” Carlson dropped the flashlight as his right leg buckled and he dropped to the floor. “He shot me!” The flashlight winked out.
In the commotion that followed, Carlson moaned, Deuce shouted for me, and then a fist knocked me backward. A second later, the trailer door opened and Carlson and Byers dashed outside, Carlson limping as they ran. I darted after them, but tripped over Deuce. He let out an “oof!” and I hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of me.
When I could breathe again, I scrambled to my feet and hurled myself at the closed door. It budged, but just barely. Apparently, both men were pushing against it from the other side.
“Back off or I shoot through the door,” Byers’ deep voice boomed from the outside.
I backed up, sucking in deep breaths. “I’ve got a gun, too.”
“Damn, he got me,” Carlson moaned. “Ah, it hurts.”
“Shut up,” Byers said to him. “Hey, Mr. Detective,” he called to me. “Throw your gun and cell phone through the window on your right.”
My mind raced. Could I fool them and throw out something different? But even in the dark, they’d know if I didn’t throw out the Glock. If I could keep from surrendering my phone…I’d been in situations where I didn’t have my phone, and not having one stunk. I frantically looked around for something to chuck out instead of my phone. A tape measure lay on the desk. Would that work? Or maybe I should start firing through the door…but Byers seemed to be moving around, and I couldn’t pinpoint where he was. Could I hit him?
A loud pop interrupted my thoughts and I jumped. Byers had shot through the door!
“Throw your gun out! Now!”
I rushed to the window, staying off to the side, just in case Byers decided to take another shot at me. I put the safety on the Glock, then reached over, slid the window open, and tossed the gun out.
“Now the phone.” Byers’ voice came from a different place.
Without thinking, I grabbed the tape measure and hurled it out the window as far as I could, hoping Byers wouldn’t notice it wasn’t a phone. If I was even luckier, he’d go looking for it.
“You asshole,” he said.
I peeked out. In the faint moonlight a shadow moved underneath the window.
“Byers, I’ve got to go to the hospital,” Carlson said, his voice almost a whine.
“We can’t,” Byers spat at him. He was right below the window, reaching down for the Glock. “How are we going to explain it? They report gunshot wounds.”
“We’ll make something up,” Carlson said, groaning. “I can’t just leave this. Oh, I’m feeling lightheaded. I think I’m losing a lot of blood.”
I made a snap decision. I grabbed the folded chair leaning against the desk and hefted it up. I peeked back out the window. Byers was right below, still arguing with Carlson. I aimed, then hurled the chair out. It hit Byers squarely on top of his head. He collapsed in a heap.
“Byers!” Carlson yelled. He limped over and shook Byers. Nothing happened. Carlson cursed at me as he rolled Byers over.
I backed away from the window. “Deuce, where are you?” I whispered.
“Over here.”
He was backed up against the rear wall, his arms wrapped around his knees.
“I want to go home,” he murmured.
Carlson’s voice drifted inside. He was threatening to come inside, but the fear in his voice made me think this wouldn’t happen. If Deuce and I were going to escape, we had to act quickly.
I put my mouth to his ear. “Are your legs okay?”
He nodded.
“We’ll go out the back window and run. Be as quiet as you can.”
He nodded again as he pushed himself up.
Out front, Carlson worked to revive Byers, cursing at him and us. I went to the back window by the folding chairs. I grabbed one and opened it, positioning it under the w
indow. I motioned to Deuce. He got up on the chair, hoisted one leg through, then awkwardly pushed his head and torso out. He held onto the window frame, pulled the other leg through and dropped to the ground. I gave him a thumbs-up sign.
I stood up on the chair and climbed out. I was hanging from the ledge, about to drop, when Carlson called through the front window. “What’s going on in there?”
I let go and tumbled to the ground.
“Come on!” I pushed Deuce ahead of me and we struck out into the field behind the trailer. It was the opposite direction from the highway, but we needed distance from Carlson.
Behind us, he shouted.
“Oh no,” Deuce huffed.
“Keep running,” I said. “It’s dark and he’s hurt.”
We went a little farther and stopped. I peered back at the trailer, but didn’t see Carlson. I started to the north, wishing we were farther away from the trailer, but knowing that Deuce didn’t have a lot of stamina.
“My car’s parked on the highway,” I said in a low voice. I wanted to stop and call the police, but I didn’t want to take the time, and I didn’t know if Carlson would be able to see the light from my cell phone. “Stay low and follow me.”
“Okay,” Deuce whispered.
We slowed our pace, making it easier to move quietly. After a few moments, we were parallel with the trailer. Headlights suddenly split the blackness, and I ducked down, pulling Deuce with me. I glanced toward the trailer. It looked like Carlson was helping Byers into the SUV.
“He’s giving up on us,” I muttered.
Carlson got into the driver’s side and the SUV backed up, then started down the dirt road to the highway.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Deuce stood up and followed me. As we hurried on, the headlights dimmed and then went out. A few minutes later, we approached the highway.
“There’s the 4Runner,” I said.
We ran across the road and piled into the car. Deuce let out a huge sigh of relief. I locked the doors, and as I drove off, I glanced over at him, grateful he was all right.
CHAPTER THIRTY
On the way back to Denver, I called Bob and told him I’d found Deuce. I handed the phone to Deuce and he chatted with his brother, his voice breaking at times. He was excited, but mostly exhausted. When they’d finished talking, I took back the phone, called the police, and asked that someone get in touch with Detective Spillman. It took a few minutes and then she called back and I gave her the rundown. She told us to come to the station and give our statements, and her tone left no doubt that I was to follow her orders. As much as I wanted to take Deuce home, I drove to the police station, where Detective Spillman was waiting for us. Once there, Deuce assured us that he didn’t need to go to the hospital, so she’d taken him off somewhere to get his statement, and I was brought into another room and left sitting there by myself.
Now I was safely sitting in this room at the police station, contemplating my surroundings. The walls were dull white. There was the table with two chairs, and a video camera mounted up in the corner of the ceiling, and nothing else. And I was having an awful time staying awake. An inauspicious end to finding Deuce. After a while, I propped my elbows on the edge of the table, interlaced my hands, and rested my head on them. I closed my eyes and was on the verge of sleep when the door opened. I sat up and repressed a yawn.
“Are we boring you?” Detective Spillman said as she entered.
“Yes, you are,” I shot back. “Am I a suspect?”
She stared down at me. I locked eyes with her. Not the brightest move, maybe, but I just wanted to get Deuce home and go to bed.
Spillman pulled out the chair opposite me, sat down, and slapped a manila folder on the table. “I needed to check your story.”
“And it took this long?”
“And we’re getting the story from your friend.” Her lips curled into the hint of a smile. “Is he really that…naïve?”
I nodded. “It’s part of his charm.”
She tapped the folder for a moment. “We just picked up Lon Carlson. He’s got a gunshot wound to the leg, like you said.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He tried to lie, for about a second.” She let out a cynical laugh. “He’s a businessman, not a professional criminal. He’s talking.”
“Did he admit what he did to Deuce?”
“Yes, and how Deuce shot him.”
“Will you charge Deuce?”
“No, it was self-defense. But there are a lot of legal hoops with a situation like this.”
“And then we can go?”
She nodded. “Yes. We’re almost finished.” She stood up to go. “There’s one thing I don’t get.”
“Yeah?”
“How did you piece all this together? That’s a lot of research to get done so quickly.”
I tried to maintain a straight face. “I guess I’m good.” No way I could tell her about my sidekick.
She gave me a knowing look. “All right,” she finally said. “Sit tight for a few more minutes.” And she left.
***
‘A few minutes’ was more like an hour, but eventually she returned and I was able to take Deuce home.
“Deuce!” Ace said as we got out of the car. He ran up and hugged Deuce, grinning and crying at the same time.
“Hey,” Deuce said.
Bob hugged him, too, his voice choking as he tried to talk.
Ace was so excited he couldn’t complete a sentence. The two Goofball Brothers headed into their condo, but Bob held back.
“I really owe you,” he said, holding out his hand.
I shook it. “I wish I could’ve found him sooner.”
A smile spread across his face. “You did fine. Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”
I looked at my watch: three a.m. “Thanks, but I’m beat. I just want a shower and my bed.”
“Sure thing. I’ll give you a call in a day or two.”
“Sounds good.”
He hugged me and then followed Ace and Deuce into their condo.
I dragged myself up the stairs.
“Reed?”
I turned around. Deuce was staring up at me.
“What’s up?” I said as I trudged back down. “You should be with your brothers.”
“I will in a minute. They’re just so excited, but I’m tired.” He sat down and stared into space.
“You okay?”
He put his head in his hands and shook his head. “I was really scared,” he mumbled.
I sat down next to him. “I know. I would’ve been, too.”
“But you make it look so easy, being a detective.”
“It’s not,” I said. “It can be dangerous.” I thought about how Willie and I had talked at the hospital. Even though I’d tried to reassure her, I knew she was right. It was a dangerous job.
“Uh-huh.” He looked at me. “Sometimes it’s fun helping you, but…I don’t think I want to be a detective anymore.”
I nodded. “That’s probably a wise choice.”
Bob opened the door and looked out at us. “Everything okay?”
“It will be,” I said.
Bob hesitated, then disappeared back inside. Deuce and I sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Why don’t you tell them you’re tired and you want to sleep for while. They’ll understand.”
“Okay.” We stood up. Deuce gave me a hug. “Thank you,” he said, then went inside.
I climbed the stairs to my place and did exactly what I said. I took a long, hot shower, dried off, and crawled into bed. I was asleep in seconds.
***
Hours later, I stirred when I realized someone was sitting on the edge of the bed. I yawned, rubbed my eyes and looked up. Willie was smiling down at me.
“Hey, how’d you get in?” I grinned.
“Cal taught me how to pick locks.”
“Really?”
She laughed. “Of course not. Deuce gave me a key.”
“I’m glad he did,” I said. “Man, I’m tired.”
“Maybe I should go home.”
“Are you kidding? It’s been too long since I’ve had you to myself.” I reached out and pulled her close. “So…”
My cell phone rang.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“Bogie.” I said, referring to the ringtone. I stared at the number. “It’s my mother.”
“You better get it.”
“Nah.”
“Reed!” She grabbed the phone and handed it to me.
“You’re bad!” I mouthed at her.
“It’s your mother,” she mouthed back.
“Hi, Mom,” I answered, stifling another yawn.
“Hello, dear. Are you okay? Did you just get up? It’s after ten. You’re sleeping late, and you don’t sound good. You’re not doing drugs, are you?”
“No, Mother,” I sighed. “I keep telling you I’m not doing drugs.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know? You don’t tell me anything and we only see you at holidays.”
Okay, she asked for it. “Mother, I’m not doing drugs,” I repeated. “I didn’t get to bed until three this morning because I was at the police station.”
She sucked in a breath. “Were you arrested? What kind of trouble are you in? What am I going to tell your father?”
“I’m not in any trouble. I found Deuce and also got the bad guys. That’s what a detective does.”
“I know about Deuce because Mrs. Smith called me. Your father and I wanted to say thank you. We’re proud of you, dear.” Mother giveth. “But I wish you’d choose a better profession. It’s so dangerous.” And Mother taketh away.
“Yes, being a detective is dangerous,” I said. “I’ve been shot, and beat up, bitten by a dog, and the only drugs I’ve been on are pain killers. And you have a knack for calling when I’m on pain killers or tired from being up all night working. That’s why I sound the way I do.”
“Now you’re being fresh.”
“I give up,” I said. “Mother, I love you…can we talk later?”
“I suppose. I love you, too, dear.”
I hung up and tossed the phone in the nightstand drawer. Then I pulled Willie into the bed.
Farewell, My Deuce: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 4) Page 14
