Driven Be Jack_A Jack Nolan Novel

by Robert Tarrant

  We were slowing, but it seemed as if the truck was accelerating. Now there was no doubt. The truck was headed straight for us. This is that split second when a driver must make a decision. You can swerve to the right onto the shoulder, hoping the oncoming driver will realize what is happening and swerve back into their lane. Your alternative choice is to swerve left into the oncoming lane in hopes of passing the vehicle on the wrong side. PJ chose the shoulder, what there was of it. Each side of the pavement was flanked by about three feet of level gravel before the edge of the roadway sloped steeply toward a wide ditch filled with water, and most likely alligators.

  PJ was fighting to retain control of the car by keeping the left two wheels on the pavement. The soft bank was sucking us toward the water and the truck was still rushing straight at us. PJ was standing on the brakes now and the car was making groaning sounds like a wild beast fighting to be freed from some unseen force as the anti-lock system fought to keep the wheels, all of which were on a different surface, from skidding. At the last second the truck swerved and shot past us like a big black whale breeching.

  PJ let up on the brakes and turned the wheel hard to the left. We jumped back onto the pavement and shot straight across to the bank on the other side. Our headlights momentarily reflected off the black water before PJ pulled hard right and we were once again on the pavement. We were now on a slalom course back and forth across the road. Our tires were squealing on each pass, but we were slowing and PJ was gaining more and more control. Finally, we came to a dead stop in our own lane, headed east as if nothing had happened, except for the hammering of my heart in my chest.

  I turned toward PJ and said, "Holy shit woman, that was some amazing driving. I'm glad you didn't let me drive, we'd be dead right now."

  PJ had both hands locked on the wheel and she was staring straight ahead as if in a trance. Slowly she released the wheel and flexed her fingers. She released her seat belt, opened the door and stepped out of the car without a word. I got out my side of the car, being careful not to lose my balance on the steep bank. I had just walked to the back of the car when PJ let out a blood curdling scream, "Damn you! Damn you, you idiot!" She was looking down the road where the truck had disappeared.

  I walked over and stood next to her. Even in the closing darkness you could see the skid marks of our tires on the pavement. I felt the bottom falling out of my stomach as I relived the ride that created those marks. Gradually, I noticed a light in the distance getting larger. A vehicle was approaching. I asked PJ, "Any chance that was intentional?"

  PJ replied, "What? Intentional? Could have been some idiot playing chicken with us. Most likely a drunk though."

  "Well, he passed us, turned around and came back, aiming right at us. Maybe it wasn't just a drunk?"

  "You think someone was after us specifically? How could they know this was us? We haven't talked to that many people around town. We've only been here one day. No, it was probably a drunk."

  I pointed down the road, "Well, either way, that could be them coming back. I think we better get out of here."

  PJ stared at the approaching lights and said, "I don't relish running on these roads at night. That truck can probably outrun this little six cylinder anyway, even if we don't end up drowning in the ditch. We'll stay and fight."

  "What . . . what are you talking about? We don't even know what we're up against."

  PJ turned and leaned into the open car door saying, "That's why we're going to get away from the car, so we can get a look at what we're up against. Now where the hell's my bag."

  A second later she came out of the car with her satchel in her hand. I recalled seeing her put her pistol back in the satchel as we started the drive home. She turned the car off, pulling the keys but leaving the lights on and said, "Follow me, let's get down the road a bit, out of view."

  The lights were closing as we trotted down the road about fifty yards. We crouched down on the sloping bank of the ditch, staying as close to the edge of the pavement as possible. The lights seemed to slow as they approached our car and then suddenly our whole car was illuminated. It took a second for me to realize it was a spotlight. The brightness was blinding and totally obscured the vehicle that had stopped directly behind ours. I was squinting, attempting to make out anything, when a blue strobe light came on. Blue light means police. Thank goodness.

  PJ and I stood and began walking toward the cars. We walked in the center of the road and kept our hands in plain sight. PJ's satchel was hanging by her side from the strap on her shoulder, but her hands were well in front of her body. We were about half way back to the vehicles when PJ called out, "Officer, that is our car."

  I could see a figure standing in the roadway near the police car, but with the blinding spotlight I couldn't discern much detail. We continued approaching, but the figure didn't speak. PJ called again, Officer, that is our car. We were run off the road. Lucky to be alive."

  Now we were abreast of our car and the figure stepped forward from behind the blinding light. It was Chief Davies. He said casually, "Really, run off the road you say? Where's the other car?"

  PJ pointed in the direction we had last seen the truck. "Last seen headed west. You must have passed it on your way here. Large black pickup with oversized tires."

  Davies laughed and said, "You just described half the vehicles in this county, little lady. Besides, I didn't meet any vehicles all the way from town. Nothing. You sure you didn't just doze off? Happens all the time out here. Been a long day for you two." He paused and then cocked his head slightly, "Now, you haven't been drinking have you?"

  I heard a tone in PJ's voice I'd seldom heard in my life, and certainly not from her. She spoke slowly, "Don't screw with us Chief. We haven't been drinking and I didn't doze off. That black pickup passed us like a bat out of hell, turned around and came back, forcing us off the road. The only thing I don't know is if it was intentional or not, but it sure as hell happened." She paused and then continued, the tone only slightly less pronounced, "There is no way you didn't meet the truck, there aren't any crossroads between here and town."

  The mirth left his eyes and Davies regarded PJ with a coldness, "I told you I didn't see any truck. I'm not used to having my word questioned. You're not in Hollywood. This is my beat and I expect you to remember that." He paused and his eyes warmed the slightest, "It was probably a crack-smoking Indian lost out here. We're not that far from the Seminole Brighten Reservation, you know. They get drunk, or all doped up, and can't find their way back. Hell, sometimes they'll cut cross county until they drive off into a canal and drown. That's probably why I didn't meet him. He probably turned into one of the drives leading into a field and headed cross country."

  PJ said, "That's possible, I suppose." Her voice lacked conviction, but she had obviously decided not to push things any further with the chief.

  Chief Davies hooked his thumbs in his belt and leaned back on his heels reverting to his John Wayne impression. "So, any luck with your little investigation?"

  PJ's mouth turned up in a smirk that said, "You'd be the last I'd tell." She answered, "No. Not really." Then followed a long period of silence, the chief obviously waiting for the additional comments that were never coming. Finally, PJ turned to me and said, "Let's get going Jack, we've got a long drive back."

  Without another word, we got into PJ's car and drove off. The chief was still standing in the lights in front of his car when we rounded the next curve. After a couple of minutes, I looked over at PJ and said, "You think that was a drunk or druggie?"

  "Not in a million years. I think it was someone delivering a message." She paused and then finished, "And, I think we just left the guy who sent it."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  We'd stopped and eaten dinner on the way back Thursday night, so we didn't get back until nearly 11:00. We rehashed what we'd learned, and what we hadn't learned, the entire drive home. When PJ dropped me off, I went up the outside stairs to my apartment. It's not often that I do
n't at least make an appearance in the bar when I get home, but I was so focused on the investigation I didn't want the distraction.

  When I got upstairs, I glanced at my phone and was relieved to see no messages from Elena. I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat down at my table and began jotting random observations and questions on a legal pad. Looking at my notes I found myself saying out loud, "This kid really got railroaded." Two more beers and additional notes did nothing to dispel that opinion.

  I tossed and turned most of the night and what sleep I had was filled with troubling dreams. The next morning, I couldn't remember much detail of any of them, but the consistent theme was of me prosecuting innocent people. I had finally fallen into a semblance of deep sleep in the early morning hours and didn't wake until 9:30 a.m. As I cleared the cobwebs from my head, I realized that there had been no early morning construction activity today. Thank God for small favors.

  I went into the kitchen to make coffee before remembering I had run out. I splashed some water on my face, dressed, and stumbled downstairs hoping Marge or Moe had already arrived and put a pot on. Again, I was blessed. Marge was walking down the hallway, headed for the office, when I entered from the inside stairs. She was carrying a mug of coffee. The corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk, "Late night Jack?"

  "Not really. My alarm didn't go off. Where is the construction crew this morning?"

  Marge replied, "Don't know exactly. I did hear one of them telling Moe yesterday that they wouldn't be here this morning, but I don't know why."

  "No matter. Actually, the quiet was much appreciated. I didn't sleep very well until about the time they would have started their sawing and hammering, so at least I got a little decent sleep."

  Marge chided, "Conscience bothering you again?"

  "No, my conscience isn't bothering me." Although I guess maybe somehow it was my conscience driving my nightmares.

  "So, how did your day of detective work with PJ go?"

  "Not that productive. The whole case seems like a real mess to me. I don't know how PJ's going to be able to help that guy in the short time left. The trail's just too cold."

  She asked, "You think he's innocent?"

  I thought about her question and then replied, "I guess I do."

  "Then you're going to help her?"

  I hesitated, so she repeated, "You're going to give PJ all of the help you can, right Jack?"

  "I guess I hadn't really thought about it. You know, helping her. She really hasn't asked."

  "Of course she asked. She wouldn't have even mentioned the investigation to you, much less have brought all of her files here to review with you, if she didn't want your help." She paused, but only momentarily, before locking eyes with me and saying, "Jack, I've known you for a while now. In that time, I've never seen you as mentally engaged as you've been the past few days discussing this investigation with PJ. At first I chalked it up to the fact that it involved PJ, but I don't think that's your only motivation. I think you really believe in the justice system and you can't stand to see a situation where you think the system has failed so dramatically. It's the boy scout in you."

  I've been referred to in many ways since arriving here at Cap's Place, but boy scout was never one of them. She was correct though. I'd felt more alive mentally this week than any time recently. I nodded, "You're probably right. It does trouble me that the system failed this guy so badly. I know it happens, I've just never had to face it so directly before. I guess if PJ wants my help, I should do everything I can to help her. Of course, that'll take me away from here quite a bit."

  Marge patted me on the shoulder, as she walked by on her way to the office, and said, "We'll get by somehow." Damn, complimented and mocked in one short exchange. I would have had a witty comeback, but I hadn't even had my first cup of coffee yet.

  Mid-morning I gave PJ a call and asked her what her next steps were going to be. She said she was spending today doing additional background inquiries on the people we'd met and the names we had to see what she could find. If she learned anything productive she was planning another visit to Pineywoods on Saturday. I mentioned that if she'd like company I'd be glad to ride along. I barely had the words out of my mouth when she replied, "Absolutely."

  After hanging up, it dawned on me that Lorenzo Mancuso's birthday party was tonight and that I would likely be staying with Elena in Miami Beach afterwards. That could pose a problem in meeting up with PJ at a reasonable time Saturday morning. I'd need to come up with a strategic exit plan.

  Friday evaporated with me running errands and bantering with Moe. He seemed in especially good spirits and I couldn't help but think part of his levity with me was based on the fact that he knew I was helping PJ out with her investigation. Moe obviously has very strong feelings about the failures of the criminal justice system, and not without good reason.

  Moe also mentioned that he had understood yesterday that the construction guys were going to be later coming in this morning, but when they didn't show up at all he called them. Rudy told him that Elena had told them to hold off for a few days, that the project was too disrupting to the bar and we needed a few days as a breather. Moe called Elena and she told him that Rudy must have misunderstood her comments. I could tell that Moe was inclined to believe Rudy's version. At any rate, he had gotten the project back on track. I scratched my head wondering what purpose it would serve for Elena to slow down the project.

  Promptly at 9:00 p.m. I was standing in front of the door to Elena's condo dressed in the second of my two suits, the other being my funeral suit. She opened the door wearing a short lavender dress consisting of a flared skirt and form fitting bodice. Her heels matched the dress. My face obviously reflected my approval and she spun in a circle for me revealing a very low open back. She cooed, "You like?"

  "Do I like? Yes, I like. In fact I can feel a sinus headache coming on. It may well necessitate us leaving the party early."

  "Well then let me get my purse, we don't want to arrive late and leave early. People will talk."

  I said, "Oh, people are going to talk, that's for certain."

  We took a taxi to the site of the party. It was an old warehouse building that had been converted into a plush party hall. The center of the main area had a raised circular stage with a six-piece ensemble playing a mix of dance music spanning several decades. A dance floor circled the stage and cocktail tables ringed the entire space. Looking around at the furnishings it was obvious that no expense had been spared in creating this venue, nor in putting on tonight's party. Light reflecting off the huge mirrored ball hanging high above the center of the stage was bouncing around the room like a thousand fireflies. From where I stood I could see four open bars with bartenders mixing drinks at a fevered pace. Tuxedoed waiters and waitresses were making their way around the room with large silver trays laden with decadent looking hors d'oeuvres. I'm not a good judge of crowds, but there must have been at least three hundred people milling about with a steady stream following us in. Obviously, Lorenzo Mancuso is a popular man, or one who commands the type of respect that requires attendance at his birthday party.

  We hadn't even made it to the first bar when the crowds parted and Lorenzo came striding toward us with his arms spread wide. He was wearing a tailored gray suit with a pale blue checked shirt and lively patterned tie. I had often seen him in a suit and nearly every one had been one shade of gray or another. Giving Elena a gentle hug he gushed, "You look beautiful, my dear." Turning to me he thrust out his hand and said, "Jack, I am so pleased that you are here."

  I shook his hand and said, "Happy Birthday, Enzo." Gesturing around the room, "Great party."

  He leaned in and in a low baritone said, "Throw a nice party with an open bar and three to four hundred of your closest friends are bound to turn up." He slapped me on the back and linked arms with Elena and me, "Let's get you two drinks. Then, there are some people I want you to meet."

  The drink sounded great, meeting his friends, I was
n't so sure about, but when in Rome . . . I replied, "Sounds like a plan."

  An hour later we were on our second drink and hundredth introduction. I had detected a couple of eye rolls from Elena when Mancuso mentioned the name of someone he wanted us to meet. Actually, I was meeting people for the first time, it was obvious Elena already knew most of the people in attendance. Mancuso's vigor in introducing me to so many of his friends and associates wasn't putting me at ease for a couple of reasons. One, it was obvious that he had decided I was a significant enough part of Elena's life that I should be meeting people in their circles. He wasn't referring to me with any label, like boyfriend, but the implication was obvious as Elena linked her arm in mine as we mingled. Given Elena's recent erratic behavior I wasn't certain how long I wanted to be a significant part of her life. Yet, embarrassing Lorenzo Mancuso by shunning his daughter after he had introduced me to so many friends and associates didn't seem like a wise, or healthy, thing to do. Secondly, I wasn't certain I wanted to be known by some of his associates. Everyone was friendly enough and seemed unthreatening in their fancy suits, but more than once as I was introduced I gazed into cold, unflinching, eyes.

  Finally, Elena pulled us away from Lorenzo saying that she wanted to dance. At this point the group was playing a series of slow numbers befitting good old fashioned cheek to cheek dancing. It felt good to finally quit shaking hands and smiling, to say nothing of how good Elena's body felt nestled against mine. While we danced she whispered into my ear that I had been a great sport in allowing her dad to show us off to his friends like he had. I didn't know that I had a choice, but I took the compliment with, "You can show your appreciation properly later."

  It was a little after midnight when we left the party and headed back to Elena's condo. I'd told her on the ride to the party that I needed to leave early enough in the morning to be at Cap's to open the building for the construction crew by 8:00 a.m. I told her that now that the exterior work was complete they needed access to the building and, since I live there, that task had fallen to me. It was a very plausible excuse and even partially true. They did need access to the building, but Moe had said he would make certain he was always there to open things for them. The truth was that PJ was going to pick me up at 9:00 a.m. Elena hadn't mentioned the misunderstanding with Rudy regarding her stop work order and I didn't either.