by Jack July
“Very well. What about Stone?”
“Been working on that, too. You know his son is bankrupt? He’s Stone’s beneficiary on insurance policies and stands to inherit millions in stocks, bonds, gold and land. He also likes liquor, drugs and beating his wife. Not a very sympathetic figure. I imagine he’s overcome by guilt after killing his own father. He may wander into the woods and shoot himself in the fuckin’ head.”
Bogus chuckled. “And they all lived happily ever after.”
“Yep, Charles Dickens doesn’t have shit on me. Tell our girl to lay low; I’ll handle it from this end.”
“Very well, thank you Adele. If there is anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Well, now that you mention it... I’ll be retiring soon and there’s this cute little bungalow on Maui I’ve had my eye on.”
“Oh really? I’ll see what I can do.”
“The address should be in your fax machine.”
Bogus looked across the room and saw the sheet of paper in the fax tray. He rolled his chair across the office and grabbed it. “Here it is. You know, if I didn’t know better, I would say I have just been played.”
“Bogus, Bogus, I’m just a simple public servant trying to do the best that I can for my people and my country.”
“Yes, of course. Goodbye Adele.”
“Goodbye Bogus.”
The NASCAR Official brought the paperwork to Joseph’s hauler to be signed. Over the course of testing, he had demonstrated the necessary skills to control the vehicle and run in a crowd. Josh nudged Joseph. “Hey, Joe, come on man, smile. You got your license. You did it. You are a NASCAR driver.”
Joe nodded and forced a little smile. “We’re five miles an hour off on speed; I won’t be able to hang with the draft. I’ll be running around by myself, trying to stay out of the way. We cain’t get any more power out of this engine without hurtin’ it.”
Josh stood looking around at all the money—car haulers that cost more than their entire operation. “Did Earl talk to his owner?”
Joe nodded while looking down. “Yeah, he said no. Cain’t blame him. There are lots of secrets in them motors. Lot a money.”
“Well then, you drive around the track, be a good citizen, and stay out of the way. You ain’t gonna finish last. They’ll be wrecks, you pick up some points, then we go to the short tracks where everybody shits between two shoes. We’ll pay em back then. Got me?”
“Gotcha.” He put Josh in a playful headlock. “Thanks man.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Off in the distance, Earl Spencer watched the whole thing go down. He dialed the phone. Jr. Gossett answered, “That you?”
“Granddaddy?”
“Boy, you got me a box seat yet?”
“Yes sir, you’ll be sittin’ with my owner.”
“Good boy.”
“Joe Braxton got his license. He’s gonna be able to attempt qualifying, but he’s way down on power.”
“Your boss won’t lease him an engine?”
“No sir, they’re particular ’bout it. You know anybody?”
“Not in that world... but, let me make a call. You need to get your ass home, we got deer to kill.”
“Yes sir. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Jr. Gossett called Jack and explained the situation. Jack thanked him and called Bogus. “I understand his dilemma, but Jack, I promised Amy I would not get involved and that he would make the first steps on his own.”
“That’s the way his daddy and I wanted it, too. But it’s a club, and he ain’t a member. Most of ’em lease engines from the top five NASCAR teams. I don’t want him to have anything special, just an equal shot.”
“Understood. I’ll see what I can do.”
Two hours later, Josh was hovering over an old gas grill, cooking burgers and hot dogs for the crew. A black Escalade with tinted widows pulled up. Josh’s eyes got big as Mr. Hendrick approached the back of the hauler. He smiled at Josh, held out his hand and said, “Joseph Braxton?”
Josh shook his hand. “No, sir, ah, no sir. Josh Denny, crew chief.”
Mr. Hendrick smiled. “You’re doing a fine job, son. It’s what racers have been doing since the beginning. You do a lot with a little; be proud of yourself.”
“Thank you, thank you sir.” Josh turned back toward the hauler and hollered, “Joseph. Joseph! Joe, get out here!”
The Final Chapter
Doctor John Earle sat on his back porch, drinking coffee. The woman he had met in town the night before was still peacefully sleeping. He wasn’t really the type to do a one-night stand, but he was lonely and his actions were easily rationalized. He cocked his head, as in the distance he heard the increasing whine of the SOAR Blackhawk coming in for landing. As he walked through the house on the way to the helipad, the young lady walked out of his bedroom wearing his oxford shirt. “What is that?”
He couldn’t remember her name. “My dear, I have company.” After slipping on his shoes, he walked out the front door.
The bird set down and a large man got out, carrying some kind of box with a handle. All business, the man marched up to Doctor Earle. Doc saw the Trident badge on his chest and the anchor insignia of a chief on his collar. With a familiar precision in his speech, the man announced, “Doctor Earle?”
Doc nodded.
“My name is Chief Samson. Under much duress, I have been instructed to offer this to you.” The chief opened the carrier and pulled out a three-month-old German Shepard puppy. “This is the daughter of Thor, highly decorated SEAL Team war dog, and her mother is Sage, also highly decorated. I have no idea who the fuck you know, or why you are privy to such a gift. However, should you take her, you are instructed to attend training at the Special Operations canine center in three months’ time. You will spend a week learning how to train and handle this dog. She is very special.”
Doc Earle smiled and reached for the puppy. He pulled her to his chest and snuggled her; she licked his nose and he laughed. “Thank you, Chief. I will be honored to accept this gift. I promise she will have a good home.”
The chief handed Doc a packet with feeding instructions and medical records, made a quick about-face and stomped away. “Hey, Chief!” Doc Earle called out. “What’s her name?”
Chief Samson turned and walked back. “She does not have one; you will give her one. Preferably one she can answer to quickly. Do not give such a fine animal a stupid fucking name. Are we clear?”
Doc Earle smiled; he was not easily intimidated. “Roger that, Chief.”
The chief turned and walked away yet again. Doc knew exactly who this came from. He was not used to receiving gifts, but he understood this was more than that. As the Blackhawk powered up, lifted off, and disappeared behind the trees, he held the puppy out and looked directly at her face. “Oh my, such bright eyes, so beautiful. I think...I think I’ll name you Amy. Welcome home, Amy.”
Amy had the SPEED network on cable TV. Sitting with her feet up on the ottoman, she was watching Daytona testing. She hoped to see her brother, but they were focused on the Cup series: Earnhardt Jr, Gordon, etc. Next to her on the couch sat two files. Each had a name of a dead man. She read them over carefully, shaking her head. Copies had already been delivered to Agent Bell. She was in disbelief at the genius of the lies, the crafting of the stories and the manufacturing of evidence. It was far too easy to destroy someone—to dismiss a life, whether they deserved it or not.
Micky opened the back door, kicked off his boots and yelled, “Ma!”
Amy smiled. “Yes, dear?”
“I’m hungry.”
She laughed. “You’re always hungry.”
He opened the refrigerator and began to rummage through it. “Aye, most always.”
“Throw one of those frozen pizzas in the oven; I’ll share it with you.”
Luther grunted. Amy looked over her shoulder and saw him reading a book. “Better make it two pizzas.”
“Y
es ma’am.”
Forty minutes later, Micky brought Amy a plate and sat down beside her on the couch. He glanced over at the files on the table, with their big red letters with government markings. He recognized name on the tab. She tried to casually flip them over but was too late.
Micky didn’t ask about the files. Instead he turned to her and asked, “Ma? Is it over?”
“What’s that, honey?”
“The whole thing with the Stones, Aunt Carla Jo and Uncle Jack.”
Amy thought a moment. “Just about.”
“So, what happened? I mean, why did people hurt Aunt Carla Jo?”
“Greed, corruption, lust for power, same stuff that always gets people hurt.”
“Who killed Congressman Stone?”
“Not sure, but it’ll come out eventually.”
“What about other two men that are missing?”
She bowed her head for a moment. The last thing she wanted to do was lie to him. “You do pay attention, don’t you? Okay, I’ll give you the official version. Lamont Hughes was skimming money from the Teamsters Union. Stealing thousands of dollars of payments that should have gone to Congressman Stone. Congressman Stone found out and now Mr. Hughes has disappeared. Paul Sitzberger made the mistake of hurting Aunt Carla Jo. Congressman Stone feared that would be traced back to him. Stone gave the orders to hurt people in your Uncle Joseph’s company. Now Mr. Sitzberger has disappeared.”
“Do you think they’re dead?”
Amy shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“So then, it was Congressman Stone?”
“I don’t know.”
“So, Uncle Jack is innocent?”
“As far as I’m concerned, he is.”
Micky nodded thoughtfully and took a bite of pizza. “Do all American unions attack people who disagree with them?”
“No, not really. There are many positive things that come from unions. Your Granddaddy retired from a union coal mine. They made it possible for him to make enough money to feed his family. He also has a good pension and health insurance. Before the unions far more miners were killed in accidents. It’s like everything else. You got your good and your bad. It’s up to you to sort out which is which.”
The phone rang and Amy answered. “Amy? It’s Gene. Stone’s son shot himself.”
“Oh my gosh. That’s terrible. Do you know why?”
“I think I do. We found a rifle in his garage that matched the caliber of the bullet that we think killed Congressman Stone.”
Amy feigned shock. “He shot his own daddy?”
“That’s what it looks like. The bullet that killed the Congressman was shattered so we can’t get ballistics from it, but I think we can safely say this crime is solved.”
Amy was relieved but she couldn’t be happy about it. She let out a heavy sigh. “Another chapter in the crazy history of Jackson County.”
“Yeah, I reckon. Agent Bell is packing up to leave. He’s convinced that Stone is responsible for the disappearance of Hughes and Sitzberger.”
“Wow, what a mess. I guess we can move on now.”
“Yep. Only I get to move on with one less Deputy. Skeeter left for Washington. You didn’t have anything to do with that, didja?”
Amy smiled. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
“Ah huh. Well, he’s a heck of a good man. He’s going to be an outstanding agent.”
“I’m sure of it. Thanks, Gene.”
She hung up the phone and reached for Micky, pulled him close and kissed him. “That was the sheriff. It’s over, it’s finally over.”
Three and a half months later
Katherine Claire Zielinski, nine pounds two ounces, was born on February 22. Two days later her mother sat in a rocking chair in the living room of her home. As she nursed her baby, she was overcome with joy and then tears. Bogus, Micky, Carla Jo, and Carol joined her.
Amy couldn’t tear her eyes away from the baby. “I have never felt anything like this. This is incredible.”
Bogus watched with pride. “Yes, my dear, you have done well. She is beautiful.”
Carla Jo started to get up. “I’m thirsty. What do you have to drink?”
Amy called out, “No, don’t get up, let Micky get it for you.”
Carla Jo grabbed her cane and steadied herself. Her right side was weak because of the blow to the left side of her head. “No, I have to get up and move around, it’s the only way I’ll get my strength back.”
“Okay, well, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. Is Uncle Jack coming over?”
Carla Jo shook her head. “Nope, I sent him to the VFW. I got tired of him hovering over me. Joseph’s company is throwing a party for the race. They’re going to watch it over there.”
Amy looked startled. “Oh yeah, it’s seven thirty. Bogus, turn it on.”
Across town at the VFW, all the televisions were tuned to SPEED channel. Jack, Brian and Parker sat at the bar with their eyes glued to the nearest screen. Brian elbowed Jack. “I cain’t believe you’re not there with him. Joseph’s racing at Daytona! Dang, man.”
Jack shook his head. “Nah, his daddy’s with him. That’s his son’s dream. He should be with him.”
“Yeah, I reckon. How’s Carla Jo?”
“Getting better every day. She won’t be kept down.”
“Yeah, she’s a hell of a woman.”
Parker pointed at the TV screen. “HEY! HEY! It’s Joe!”
The VFW fell silent as they all listened to the interview.
“Rick Allen back with Hermie Sadler on the grid with our surprising eighth place qualifier, Joe Braxton”
Joe was grinning like a fat kid in a candy store. I’m here with Joe Braxton, the self-funded rookie who put together an amazing qualifying lap. Joe, congratulations.”
“Thank you, Hermie. I’d like to congratulate my sister and her husband on the birth of their first child, Katherine Claire.” Joe looked into the camera. “I love you, Amy. Yes sir, the Braxton Trucking Chevrolet is running really good tonight. With the addition of Hendrick Motorsports power, we should be competitive.”
“Well, young man, you have done an amazing job.”
Joe wasn’t done. “And I’d like to thank my Aunt Carla Jo for helping me build my company so I could afford to do this, my Uncle Jack for teaching me about cars and letting me lose his tools, and my daddy for the whoopins.”
Hermie began to laugh. “Well, that covers it. Back to Phil Parsons, Rick Allen and Michael Waltrip in the booth.
Audible laughter came from the men in the booth. Phil mused, “‘Gotta thank your daddy for the whoopins.’”
Michael Waltrip retorted, “I don’t know about ya’ll, but I think the future of NASCAR is lookin’ mighty bright.”
In the VFW, Parker sat on the bar stool shaking his head. “I can’t believe he said that.”
Jack was chuckling. “Oh, I can.”
Parker looked over at Jack and Brian. “He’s gonna be on ESPN tonight. You know that right?”
Jack had a big smile on his face, bigger than it had been in a long time. His world was at peace. From across the bar Simon yelled, “Hey! Taco bar is open!”
Parker got up and turned to Jack and Brian. “Ooo, taco bar. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
Jack shook his head. “You boys go ahead. I’ll pick over what’s left.”
Brian nodded in agreement. As Parker walked away, Brian whispered to Jack, “I got something for you.”
“What?” Jack looked down at Brian’s closed fist. He slid his open hand under Brian’s fist. Brian opened his hand and dropped something in it. Then Brian used his fingers to close Jack’s hand before he could see what it was.
As Jack pulled his hand back Brian whispered, “Carla Jo said I was family. I don’t let people hurt my family.”
Jack opened his fist and stared at the .338 Winchester Magnum shell casing. He took a deep breath and slowly nodded while thinking son of a bitch, he shot Stone. Jack slipped
the shell in his pocket, lifted his beer and took a drink. He turned in his chair facing Brian, put his hand on Brian’s shoulder and with a little smile said, “Yeah, you’re family.”
The End
Thank you for reading Amy Lynn, Into the Fire.
Questions or comments? Contact Jack, AmyLynnBraxton@gmail. com. He answers all and would love to hear from you.
Business enquiries should be made to Scott Hoffman, [email protected]
Message from Jack.
I hope you enjoyed my latest novel. I am currently beginning #5 in the Amy Lynn series. As a self-published author, reviews on Amazon and Goodreads are everything. It is my sole source of marketing. I am not a professional writer. I am a local Truck Driver. My current level of success has been derived from word of mouth and social media. To tell you the truth, I like it that way. It seems every person I have met that likes my books, has a common thread that runs through them. God and Country. They love their God, and they love their country. Those are the type of people I am most proud to write for. God bless all of you.
Respectfully, Jack July
