by Matt Hilton
'No. But I'm on it.'
'You know better than anyone what will happen if she makes this public.'
'Don't concern yourself, Wallace,' Robert Huffman said. 'Just keep signing the papers and rubber-stamping them in the correct place and leave the rest to me.'
The man referred to as Wallace sat back in his chair and looked across his desk at Huffman; he knew not to argue. He scowled at the man's cigar hanging idly from the hand drooping over the arm of the chair, waiting for the overload of ash to drop to his hardwood floor. The image summed up Huffman's attitude to everything. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Leave it to me.
'We could lose everything, Huffman.'
Huffman waved down his accomplice with a gesture of the cigar. The ash still clung tenaciously to the tip. 'Stop whining. I've got the Bolans on it.'
A third man in the room snorted. 'The Bolans couldn't find their asses if you didn't give them directions.'
'They're doing more to find Ballard than your people,' Huffman pointed out.
'My hands are tied.'
'So leave the woman to me and keep your criticism to yourself.' Huffman aimed the cigar at the man. 'You do remember that I don't take criticism lightly? Or do I have to remind you?'
'I'm only saying, is all,' said the third man, folding his arms over his barrel chest like a petulant child. The colour drained from his face as Huffman stared at him.
'What about these others that have showed up?' Wallace asked. 'The Bolans didn't seem to handle them too well.'
'They were hampered by the fools he rounded up,' said Huffman, aiming the cigar at the third man. 'That's what comes of using amateurs. We should have left it to the Bolans.'
'If they'd handled things right in the first place, we wouldn't be in this position now,' said the barrel-chested man. 'They should have killed Devaney quietly; not tortured him to death so half the county could hear his screams.'
'That was necessary to our plans. Or have you forgotten that as well?'
'I remember. But I still think Trent's a goddamn liability.'
Huffman placed the cigar between his teeth. Then, moving so fast that he'd stood up before the barrel-chested man was aware of, he caught a handful of the man's tie. With his other hand he swiped up a cut-throat razor so it was a hair's breadth from the man's eyes. Huffman peered over the edge of the blade, chewing on the cigar. 'The way I see it, there's only one liability here.'
Wallace knew better than to stand up. 'Easy, Huffman. He's only voicing all our concerns.'
'No. He's sticking his nose in my business.' Huffman reversed the razor so the sharp edge touched the bridge of the man's nose. 'I've a good mind to cut the goddamn thing off.'
'We still need him.'
'Yeah, he's still a handy tool, I guess.'
He slowly released his grip on the tie and the man quickly backed away. His face was white and there was a smear of blood on his lip where he'd bitten through it.
Sitting down, Huffman replaced the razor with his cigar. The ash miraculously still clung to the tip. He seemed amused by that. Behind him, the barrel-chested man exhaled deeply, a finger searching his face for damage. Huffman ignored him. 'Just like our friend here, Larry Bolan is a handy tool. Without Trent, we don't have Larry; it's as simple as that.'
'You still trust Larry to get the job done?' Wallace asked. 'After what's just happened?'
'I do.' A smile grew. 'In fact, what happened to him is just the motivation he needs.' Huffman turned his head to regard the barrel-chested man again. 'Plus, I'm bringing in some extra help. All I ask is that you keep to our agreement and have your people looking the other way. Otherwise you – and your family – will be surplus to requirements.'
The man nodded quickly.
'Extra help?' Wallace's face turned sour. 'How much is that going to cost us?'
'Not a fraction of what it'll cost if we don't find Ballard.' Huffman reached lazily for the ashtray on Wallace's desk. He was inches short of it when the ash finally fell and landed on the prospectus Wallace had been studying prior to his arrival. Huffman smiled at Wallace's frown. He tapped the folder and the stylised image on its cover. 'Do you want to give up everything for the sake of a few bucks?'
Little Fork was a town in a state of re-emergence. Like a chrysalis, it was being transformed from within. It could turn out one of two ways: incredibly beautiful, or incredibly ugly.
The town had once been the abode of coal miners who worked the local pits. Their method was unusual, digging horizontally into the mountaintops in a way particular to this region. But the pits had died a generation ago, and Little Fork had barely resisted becoming an abandoned ghost town like so many others. Tourism had saved it. It was on the Kentucky Wild Rivers map, so had benefited from the holidaymakers swarming into the state in search of some white water action. At the end of the 1990s the population had barely reached two thousand, but now, a decade later, it was ten times that and growing. Hotels had sprung up, shopping malls, a multi-screen movie theatre, restaurants, and, to serve the growing population, huge tracts of land had been acquired in order to build new homes. In line with the magnitude of growth massive amounts of money could be made by those in a position to reap the bounty. And therein lay the ugly underbelly of Little Fork's transformation. Because where there was big money to be made, there was always the potential for violence. And murder. And a man like Huffman wan't averse to doling it out if anything got in his way.
Robert Huffman wasn't a native of Little Fork, Kentucky. He had been born and raised elsewhere. He had arrived here three years ago, an investor in the growing town. He had thrown millions of dollars into Little Fork's rejuvenation, but its return had already topped billions. He was sitting on a treasure trove and he certainly wasn't going to lose it all because of one interfering bitch. Or his accomplices' reluctance to spend a few bucks.
'My people will be here tomorrow,' he said, standing up and signifying that the meeting was over. To the barrel-chested man, he added, 'They'll be eager to get started, so make sure you keep out of their way. They don't like your type.'
Chapter 10
First order of the day was to find somewhere safe to hide while we decided our plan of action. When we arrived from Florida, we'd booked rooms at a hotel at the airport. We couldn't go back there: too obvious. Instead, we found a motel on the outskirts of Little Fork and I paid for a single room out of cash in my pocket. The small, greasy man who checked us in weighed up Kate, put two and two together and got his sums all wrong. He gave me a knowing look, then an exaggerated wink as I led Kate out.
'He thought I was a hooker,' Kate huffed as I unlocked the door to the room. She glanced down at her clothing, a small crease knitting her brows. 'Do I look like a whore to you, Joe?'
'I wouldn't know.'
She sniffed back a further complaint – probably at my ill-concealed lie – then pushed by me to go inside. There were a number of new motels and hotels in the area, but this one had been around for a while. It was just the kind of place you could rent by the hour. Our room was third along in a row of a dozen. I chose the place because it was off the beaten track, not for its star rating. It was small, little more than a box with a bathroom tacked on the side, but looked clean enough. The place would do for the few hours we'd be spending there.
'There's only one bed,' she announced. 'Where the hell are you going to sleep?'
'Didn't plan on sleeping,' I said, as I tucked the Magnum under the mattress for safe keeping.
Kate tilted one hip to the side and threw back her shoulders. Bit the tip of her tongue. 'We've only just met, Mr Hunter. I hope that jerk at the front counter hasn't given you any ideas?'
I didn't answer. Just stood there looking. Damn it if she didn't look great.
Kate came towards me and laid her hand on my arm. I could feel her warm fingers through the material of my jacket. Her eyes were sparkling. She'd just survived a terrifying ordeal, realised her life had been at risk, and it had been me who'd saved her. She was glad to
be alive. I could see that she wanted to share the feeling. I'd seen this response to life and death situations before; it was generally misguided. On tiptoes she reached up and kissed me on the lips.
When I didn't return the kiss, she retreated. I saw colour creep into her cheeks. I'd tried to save her from embarrassment later on down the line, but all I'd done was embarrass her now.
'We had to keep up appearances, Kate. I registered us as a couple. It would've looked odd if I'd then asked for separate rooms. But don't worry, once the door's closed we can drop the charade.'
'Charade?'
'This,' I said, touching a finger to my lips. 'There's no need.'
Her face lit up with humour. But it was an act. She was humiliated and wanted to cover the shame.
'It was only a kiss, Joe,' she said. 'Don't read anything into it. It was just to say thanks.'
I lifted a hand. 'There's no need.'
'Yes, you've already made that clear.' The playfulness fell off her like a discarded cloak. She sat down on the protesting bed, flung down her purse, and looked at me with fire in her eyes. 'It would do you good to lighten up and have a little fun, Joe. Instead of being so goddamn uptight all the time.'
Her comment took me back. Uptight?
'I'm trying to keep us alive, Kate.'
'Who'd want to live if they were as wound up as you are?' she snapped.
Dumbfounded, I turned slowly away. 'I'd best go and move the Dodge. Keep the door locked until I come back, OK?'
'Yes, sir,' she said, flicking me a salute. Then she stood quickly and walked to the bathroom. The door slammed. I could hear her muttering to herself right through the door.
What the hell is eating her? I wondered. I'd tried saying the honourable thing and for some reason it had backfired on me. It was so much like my married life that it actually brought a nostalgic smile to my face. Then I recalled what day it was and the smile slipped away.
I stepped out into a biting wind.
The motel was anonymous enough, but, as Kate had earlier pointed out, the Dodge Ram with its customised paint job would bring the bad guys down on us in no time. I fired it up then drove a mile through town to another motel. I parked the Dodge under some trees so that it was blocked from the highway – making it look like we'd attempted to conceal the vehicle – but not so well hidden that it wouldn't be discovered. It was better for us if the bad guys wasted time staking out that motel than searching for us at ours. Then I headed back to the first motel on foot. On the way, I stopped off at a convenience store and purchased some snacks and juice. At the last second I added a large bar of chocolate to my groceries – a peace offering for Kate.
Out of the shop I found myself an empty doorway. Pulling out my cell phone, I rang my friend Rink.
'What the hell have you said to Kate to piss her off so much?' he asked me.
'She's already called you, then?'
'Yup,' Rink said in his anomalous Arkansas drawl. 'Passed me details of a vehicle you want me to look at. Then she started in on me about you. What's got her all bowed up?'
'Beats me. I was just being my normal self.'
'Right. Nuff said.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Cool as ice is OK, but not all the time, Hunter.'
'I'm not always like that.'
'No, sometimes you're in a foul mood.' He chuckled. 'She's a fine-looking woman, don't you think?'
'For a cop?'
'Ah, she told you, then? Didn't think it would matter, buddy. Not seeing as who she is.'
'Can't believe she's Jake Piers' little sister.'
'Me neither. He was one ugly son of a bitch,' Rink said. 'I guess he got all the ugly genes and there was none left by the time Kate came along.'
'She's beautiful,' I agreed.
My silence afterwards was perhaps a beat too long.
'You got a thing for her, Hunter?'
'No.'
He laughed at my blatant lie. 'She likes you, buddy. There'd be nothin' wrong if you felt the same. You don't have to stay a monk the rest of your life.'
'I can't let things distract me, Rink. You know that. I start paying attention to her pretty face, I miss the gun pointing at her head.'
'Things getting out of hand up there?'
I told him what had happened at Imogen's house and on the drive back to town. Four men dead already and we still had no idea who we were fighting or what had become of Imogen.
'You want me to come up?'
'Not yet. You need to be in Tampa. If you fail to show up at court, the judge might throw the case out.'
Rink was tied up with the trial of Rupert Heavey. He had spent a month gathering evidence that showed Heavey was a key player in the acquisition and supply of underage girls to the porn movie industry. There was a suggestion that Heavey tried the girls out himself. Rink's good work had closed down Heavey's outfit, and was set to put the sick-minded bastard behind bars. We couldn't jeopardise the trial with a no-show of the key witness.
'I'm hopin' that I'll be called to the stand tomorrow. Soon as I'm done I'll head up your way.'
'I'll keep you posted. Don't know where we'll be this time tomorrow. If you can get me the name of the owner of the Dodge, it could lead us anywhere.'
'OK, leave it with me.'
'Thanks, Rink.'
'No problem, man. You keep safe, y'hear? An' take care of that pretty face of Kate's.'
'I get the message, Rink. It's OK to look when there are no guns pointing at her, right?'
'There's hope for you yet.'
I hung up and lifted my sack of groceries. When I set off walking again things seemed a little better. Rink was right – as usual. It did no harm to appreciate Kate for the beautiful woman she was. I was a free spirit now. It was two years since my divorce from Diane, so I wasn't beholden to her any more. The problem was, it was also eighteen years to the day since we'd married. Something like that takes some getting over.
I was mulling that thought over when I heard the roar of an engine. Instinct made me snatch at the SIG beneath my shirt-tails and I came close to drawing and firing at the clutch of men on the back of the pick-up truck. Instead I merely hung my head and concentrated on keeping hold of my grocery sack. Anyone who'd looked me in the face was already dead. I doubted any of the men on the back of the pick-up would see anything more than a guy on his way home from the store.
As they passed I took a look at the men on the back. They were young hot-bloods. If they weren't hunting me through the woods they'd likely be sitting round swilling beer and heckling the local cops. The two inside were older, but they had the same look as their younger friends, only a little more grizzled and world-weary. Not one of them looked my way.
The thought of following the vehicle to wherever they were heading skipped through my mind, but the feasibility of following on foot was laughable. The image they portrayed, I guessed that they were familiar faces in town, so I decided to wait. I could always ask around later.
Then I saw the two dark SUVs coming towards me.
The first SUV was banged and scraped all along the side: the one I'd barged out of the way when breaching their roadblock.
The second of the vehicles would still contain the blood and brain matter of the two I'd shot and I wondered who was so desperate that they'd drive such a vehicle back. Of course, there was at least one man who didn't have a ride: the big guy I'd pistol-whipped, then stolen his truck.
The second SUV was slowing as it neared me. The man had never seen my face, so I wasn't concerned that he was slowing down because he'd recognised me. Maybe he was simply looking for someone to vent his frustration on. Adjusting my bag of groceries, I quickly dipped a hand under my jacket and pulled free the SIG. Concealing the weapon behind the bag, I continued walking.
The SUV was almost parallel with me now. It was now travelling at a crawl and the driver had sent it over the central markings so that it headed directly for me. My pulse picked up exponentially. My finger tightened o
n the trigger.
'Hey, asshole!' a man shouted at me from the passenger window. 'You gonna move your fuckin' ass? Can't you see we're trying to pull in?'
Two things were apparent in the split second it took to relax the tension on my gun's trigger. I was standing at the entrance to an alleyway and the man shouting at me wasn't the same one as I'd brained with my gun barrel.
If it was possible, this man was even bigger and more powerfully built than the man in the woods. He had his hair shaved up the sides and back with a crest of hair on top like a grown-out Mohawk. He looked pissed at my inconsiderate blocking of the road and he'd twisted his face into a mask of rage. When he glared at me I saw that there was something unusual about his eyes. A touch of the David Bowie look.
'Don't make me get out this truck,' the giant shouted at me. 'Move your fuckin' ass!'
I gave him a weary nod, stepped up on to the kerb. I watched as the SUV swung into the alley, my eyes on the driver now. I'd only seen his face in darkness, and a relaxed state of unconsciousness, but there was no doubting that the driver and the man I'd knocked out were one and the same. Judging by the dark stain on his jacket the cut on his skull was still bleeding.
As he gave the SUV throttle and drove down the alley, I moved off the kerb and watched the vehicle's progress. The alley ran between two tall buildings. Even in the darkness I could make out a loading dock about a hundred yards down. The SUV stopped, brake lights flaring, and the big man with the mismatched eyes got out. He reached for something that I guessed was a padlock. His curses were discernible even at that distance. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a roller shutter forcefully thrust upwards.
Serendipity.
I put down the bag, held my SIG against my thigh, then walked along the alley.
Chapter 11
When he'd wakened from his enforced slumber, Larry Bolan should have been apoplectic with rage. However, surfacing from the thick cloud of confusion with his brother patting his cheeks, he found he was only mildly annoyed. Some of the turnaround in his mood had to be down to the fact he was still alive, but even more to the fact that he would get another chance at killing this man. A bullet in the dark would have been too painless. This way he got to do it with his hands.
