“Now, where were we?” he asked as he patted the mattress for her to come and join him on the bed.
The clip was loaded in the weapon but Dwight didn’t know the first round was a rubber bullet. Saxton had taught her that trick. Even if he fired, he would only slow her, and not kill her. She bolted for the door.
“Shit!” he said as he jumped off the bed to run after her. She almost made it out the front door when a heavy hand hit her again upside her head, sending her careening across the floor. “Stop being so difficult, Ryanne,” Dwight said to her.
He moved like a panther coming towards her. The man was taking pride in watching his wife scramble backwards on the floor to get away from him. It was probably a wise thing on her part considering what he was about to do to her. “Now, come to Daddy, and let’s get this over with it.”
Her face was without emotion as she pulled the .380 out her pocket. “You ain’t my damn daddy!” She was sliding backwards as she pulled the trigger three times. One shot went wild and lodged into the ceiling as he ducked low, still charging at her. The second shot wedged in the door as he grabbed at her leg, trying to pull her close enough to get the gun from her hand. The last shot landed in flesh as Dwight collapsed on the floor.
Chapter 3. A cry in the darkness …
Dallas, TX
The burgeoning rays of a new morning penetrated over the horizon and peeked into the window of the Blakemore home signaling Saxton’s body that it was time to rise. It would be nearly an hour before his wife, Odessa, would awaken, but a kicking fetus had its own hours. When dawn broke through the darkness, slapping at night’s oppressing hand, it too wanted others to awaken. It appeared that someone else desired the same thing.
Saxton’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. Almost in stealth mode, he grabbed at the spot where he thought he had laid the black item, which was on the corner of a dark table in a near pitch-black room. Grab it before it wakes her. Odessa had slept little in the past two weeks because no matter how hard she tried, either her mind or their son would not let her rest. Initially, they had believed she would be having twins, but it turned out the second heartbeat was only gas. She still had nearly three months to go before the pregnancy came full term, but the way the little fella was carrying on, you would have thought he was with his grandmother Dora at a towel sale.
The phone buzzed again as he located the mini idiot box and slipped out of bed. In the bathroom he slid his finger across the screen and jammed the phone to his right ear.
“Blakemore,” he said in a hushed tone.
The voice on the other end was muffled through the sound of tears. Saxton pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the caller information. It was Ryanne.
“Ryanne, are you okay?” Fear flooded his heart as he had a flashback to getting a similar call many years ago from his sister. A call from Belva that also came in the wee hours of the morning. A cry in the darkness for help.… He changed his tactics and chose his next words carefully.
“Are you in immediate danger?”
The sobbing voice mumbled, “No.”
“Are you hurt, Ryanne?” He wanted to know. Yes and no answers were easy, even to a person entering into the early stages of shock.
“I’m not hurt, but he is.…”
Saxton inhaled deeply, his mind slapping about ideas, scenarios, answers, and what ifs as he thought about flight times. It would take his brother, Connard, at least an hour and a half to get the plane to Dallas. The flight from Dallas to Corpus Christie was another hour and some odd minutes. It would take the police that long to stop scratching their asses.
The next question was critical. “Ryanne, is Dwight dead?”
More sobs. A gasp of air. “No …” she mumbled into the phone. “He is bleeding a lot....”
Saxton the big brother went into overdrive like he had when Belva had called him years ago with a similar plight. He spoke slowly. “When you hang up, take the chip out of the phone and crush it. Call 911 from the house phone and try to stop the bleeding. Do not open your mouth when the police arrive and pretend like you are in shock. Do not say a word until we get there. We’ll be there in three or four hours.”
She was still sobbing. Saxton’s tone was firm. “Ryanne, repeat what I just told you.”
Odessa was standing in the doorway listening to his voice as her sister mumbled back the words in the phone.
“Ryanne, three hours, we will be there in four hours max,” he told her.
The muted rays of November light broke through the curtains in the bedroom, shining fresh new light into the room and the current situation. Odessa was scrambling to find a pair of pants, shoes, and throw some water on her face. Saxton was calling his brother.
“Connard, I need the plane sent to Dallas with a continuing flight on to Corpus Christie. Four going out, five returning,” he told his very groggy little brother. Connard did not ask any questions as he could count on two fingers the number of times Saxton had requested the use of his private plane.
As he dressed he asked Odessa, “Have you awakened your parents? They need to be dressed with full bellies and ready to go in 45 minutes.” He looked at her stomach. “The same goes for you two. Food, water, snacks in a bag. We have wheels up in less than two hours.”
Odessa wanted to ask questions, but if Saxton was calling for the plane, it had to be bad. How bad, she didn’t know and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. However, in her condition, surprises were not welcomed.
Curiosity and fear for her sister pushed her to ask the question, “Saxton, is Dwight dead?”
“Not to my knowledge,” he responded to his wife. He gave the same response again fifteen minutes later after he spoke with his friend and lead agent in the CIA, Marecus Roget.
“What do you need from me, Blakemore?” Agent Roget asked into the line.
Saxton understood how the justice system worked. The more money you had the better lawyer you could afford. The better lawyer you could afford, the less likely your chances were of ending up in a dark cell fighting off predators in the wee hours of the morning. Dark cells filled with greedy predators who intentionally sought to abuse and destroy your self-esteem, reducing the strongest being to a pile of nothing.
“I need the best defense lawyer you can get for me in Corpus Christie. I need them up, dressed and headed over to the house to meet Ryanne,” he told him before swallowing a cup of decaf, gnawing into a whole wheat bagel with reduced fat cream cheese, as he stuck the keys into the ignition, turned over the engine, and backed out of the driveway. Odessa was riding shotgun and holding on to the oh shit bar as he yanked at the gearshift, putting the truck into drive and heading towards her parents’ home. He slowed the truck for a minute and placed his hand over her belly. His son was awake and moving about. “Everything is going to be okay,” he said to his wife and it also calmed the child.
After only two years and six months of marriage, Odessa’s parents, Big Sarge and Dora Trodat, understood the type of man their daughter, Odessa, had married. Saxton Blakemore was a stand up type of man who fought for the little person and enjoyed taking out the bad guy. Their eldest daughter, Ryanne, they were certain, had married everything that Saxton Blakemore was against. A bad guy pretending to be a loving husband. As much as they wanted to scream at the top of their lungs that something wasn’t right about Dwight, time, patience, and the choices of their children were things over which they had no control.
Only six months into the marriage and they all dreaded the worse – that Ryanne had killed her husband; something each member in the family feared would happen. It really wouldn’t be that big of a shocker because changes in Ryanne’s behavior became noticeable after only two months of marriage. Her phone calls became fewer. Face time ceased after Dora commented on how haggard she was looking. The fire that used to be in her eyes was a dull gaze. Four months into the marriage, a concerned Odessa traveled to Corpus Christie to spend a weekend with her big sister, but had to leave early. It was too uncomfortable
for everyone involved. Ryanne was on pins and needles and Dwight was rolling up the welcome mat.
“She’s my sister and I will visit any damn time I feel like it, Dwight,” she told him and sat firmly in the chair. Even pregnant, Odessa dared him to make a move towards her. She knew the man was a cunning snake, but Big Sarge had taught his daughters well.
No man was going to rule them, least of all a weak one like Dwight.
Chapter 4. Buckle up …
There were so many changes and challenges occurring with Odessa’s family. As Big Sarge secured the front door, she watched her father’s movements, which had begun to get slower over the past few months as the pain in his right hip increased. Her mother, however, had not lost a step. It still confounded her to no end how the woman had an outfit for every occasion.
Dora was dressed smartly in camouflaged pants, black boots, and a black pea coat. The true eye catcher was the scarf she wore around her neck. Before she could comment on it, Dora slid into the backseat of the truck, pelting Saxton with a million questions.
“Saxton, what has happened? Is my baby okay? Did she shoot Dwight?” Dora asked.
Big Sarge was struggling to climb up into the truck as Saxton’s eyes went to the rearview mirror. On the steering wheel he pressed a button, and an extra step lowered from the running board, giving Big Sarge some additional footing to climb up and prop his good hip on the seat. Odessa’s hand went to her husband’s arm. “So that’s what that button does.”
Saxton winked at her as Dora turned to her husband, grabbed him by the back of the coat, and pulled hard. Big Sarge landed on his back in the seat, his face almost in Dora’s lap, as she looked down at her husband. “Would you stop playing around, man, our baby may be in jail! Saxton, is she in jail?”
“We don’t know that, Ms. Dora,” he told her.
“Well, did she kill the bastard?” Dora implored.
“I have no knowledge of the status of Dwight,” Saxton told her as he kept his eye on Big Sarge, waiting for the rear truck door to close.
Dora was trying to remain cool. “Has she been arrested, Saxton?” she asked, her voice rising an octave.
Big Sarge was secured in the seat as Saxton put the big Ford into gear. “I am not aware if she has been arrested.”
He remained cool as his mother-in-law formed a face he had never seen before on the woman. Dora’s brow was furrowed, her mouth was tight, and she stared him down through his rearview mirror. “Well, what the hell do you know, Saxton?”
Saxton mumbled under his breath, “Now I know why Ryanne called me.” Odessa rubbed at his arm, while her other hand rubbed her belly trying to calm his son that was either turning in her womb or playing soccer.
Big Sarge was doing his best to calm his wife. “Dora, compose yourself. I am certain that when she called Saxton, he made some calls and she is going to be okay until we get there.” He patted his wife’s hand as he made eye contact with Saxton through the rearview mirror. Saxton nodded his head in agreement. Understandably, he too was worried and Dora wanted more details.
Saxton had none. She opened her mouth to say something that Big Sarge was certain would make Saxton want to climb in the backseat and throttle the woman, so he held his wife’s hand. “Dora, she will be safe until we get there.”
With his other hand, Big Sarge reached along the side of the seat to nudge Odessa’s arm. She picked up on his cue and turned in her seat, as much as she could with a small watermelon-sized belly restricting her movements. “Mom, that is an interesting scarf,” she said. This of course changed the subject a bit. “Are those little dots on it?”
Dora used one hand to free the scarf from her neck so she could take a closer look at it. “No, those are Army ants.”
“You have a scarf with Army ants on it …” Odessa said and then she thought about where it could have come from and she got quiet. Her mother would do the rest.
“Mary Jean sent me this for my birthday last month. It is rather warm and of course it matched my outfit,” Dora said with pride.
Saxton’s eyes went to the rearview and looked at his in-laws in the backseat. They were exceptionally loving people and even better parents. Some Saturdays, Saxton felt guilty for enjoying his fishing time alone with his father-in-law, because he could not remember the last time he had fished with his own father. As he drove to the airstrip, his eyes would periodically glance into the rearview mirror as Odessa soothed and occupied her mother by talking fashion. A pang shot through him as he got a flash of a memory of his mom helping him pick out a tie for Easter morning service for church. When this is all settled, I am going to head home for a few days.
“That’s nice, Saxton. But it would be nicer if you could tell us where we are heading now. You missed both exits to the airport,” Dora said loudly.
He had not realized he’d spoken the words aloud. Then Big Sarge wanted to know the same thing as Saxton turned the truck down a dark road entering a landing field that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. “Saxton, son, where are we going?”
The crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled as he smiled into the rearview at Big Sarge. “We are going to meet our ride.”
Odessa remained cool as the truck bumped along an unevenly paved road. Big Sarge’s mind was in overdrive. “Who are we meeting in a back field, some drug dealers?” A wayward thought struck him as he grabbed the back of Odessa’s seat and leaned forward. “Awww, hell naw! Are we using your Mexican drug dealer friend’s plane?”
“His name was Rentería, honey,” Dora chimed in.
Big Sarge wasn’t hearing any of it. “I don’t care if his name is Pancho Villa. What if we get shot down flying over US airspace?”
“Daddy, stop overreacting,” Odessa said softly.
“I don’t care if he borrowed the plane from Kay Zee, as long as we get to my baby,” Dora said with an uncharacteristic neck roll.
Saxton chuckled, giving his wife a sideways glance, “Odessa is she trying to say Jay Z?”
Odessa stared out the window as if she didn’t hear any of them. In the distance, the bright lights of the runway seemed to be cranked up. In the early sun of the morning, the lights of a plane could be seen as Saxton maneuvered the pick up to a small office. In less than five minutes the plane was on the ground and turning. It did not escape anyone’s notice that the side of the plane read Blakemore Oil.
“Saxton? You have your own plane?” Dora asked with her eyes wide.
He shook his head as he opened his door, then his mother-in-law’s to help her out of the vehicle. “No, ma’am, it’s my brother’s plane.”
Big Sarge was mumbling as he opened his door and watched Saxton walk around the truck to assist Odessa. “You mean to tell me I bought all those commercial tickets to Puerto Rico when we could have been flying all high class like Kay Zee?” Big Sarge said.
“Daddy, we flew commercial to Puerto Rico as well. This is a favor Saxton called in for us … for Ryanne,” Odessa said as she took her husband’s hand.
The past hour and a half flew by so fast that the plane was not really the main issue; not knowing is what was bubbling to the surface. As close as the Trodats were to Saxton, this was a part of his life that he never spoke about. The plane proved it and raised more questions; none of which he was ready to discuss or answer.
The stewardess opened the door to welcome them aboard the plane. The carpeting held the Blakemore logo with the oil rig in the center. The leather seats of the plane were embossed with the same logo; so was the stewardess outfit. The whole scene reeked of Blakemore money and pride. Saxton seemed uncomfortable with all of it. The pilot came across the loudspeaker to offer an early morning greeting as the plane taxied and was back in the air. “We are airborne to Corpus Christie. Our flight time is a little over an hour. Jeanine is back there to make you breakfast, get you coffee, and make sure you folks are comfortable during the flight.”
Big Sarge shifted in the seat but his eyes remained focused on his son-in-law. “A
t some point, Saxton, when you are ready, I would like to know why you gave all of this up.”
Saxton’s hand was interlaced with Odessa’s as he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. Over the years he had given up a lot. He, too, knew it was time to reclaim a great deal of it, not just for himself, but also for his son.
Chapter 5. Broken toes and broken spirits …
Puente Piedra, Colombia
When the call came in, Mariana wanted to turn the phone off and pretend she had not heard it ring. This was not good news. Further, it was going to put her boss in a really bad mood for the remainder of the day. Yet he needed to know.
Eduardo was not a man prone to violence. In truth, it brought him more pleasure to be in his fields, checking his crops and caring for his workers. However, he liked power. He wanted a great deal of it, but he never could seem to get there. Each two steps he gained, he was knocked back four. Of the four Delgado brothers, only two were still alive, and Eduardo was without question the smartest of the lot.
Hugo, the eldest, a soldier for hire, was the one who craved power like an addict for chocolate. Each day, each minute of his life, he aligned himself with powerful men, waiting for an opportunity to take over their lives and steal what they had earned. Andres, the second oldest, was a fool. He supervised the production facilities for the farms that harvested the coffee and the coca. For some damned reason, Andres decided he knew a better method to extract the cocaine from the coca leaves. It is a delicate process of balancing the acids and solvents, but to test the product on himself was foolish. He was found in the production house with a grotesque smile on his face. Under Eduardo’s direction, Andres was given a closed casket funeral. Their mother did not need to remember her son in that way.
Eduardo was the third son. The keeper of the name. The carrier of the line. The father of the four children he was training to take over the family business. However, the business was not nearly enough to put four children through school and he needed to branch out. Initially, he had no qualms with Rentería, and he respected the man, until he decided to go legit. This cut Eduardo’s income by a fourth. It was a fourth too little. There were many branches in his business; he could not allow a single leaf to hit the ground without directing its path. Rentería had ventured from the footpath. Worse than venturing off, he didn’t take anyone with him on the new journey. This is what truly irritated Eduardo.
Dinner With the Blakemores (The Blakemore Files Book 5) Page 2
