by Roger Weston
CHAPTER 62
Leaving Starbuck’s by the side door, Ken Grant walked half a block to where he’d parked his truck. He was putting his key into the lock when a white van pulled up behind him. As he turned around, the van’s side door slid open. He froze—a reaction to having a pistol aimed at him by a man clad in black clothes. As two masked men stepped out and escorted him into the van, he noticed that the decal on the side of the van read, Cal’s Plumbing Service.
Once inside, they shoved him into a seat. Before they gagged him, he managed to say, “This is a mistake. What do you want?”
In answer, they handcuffed him and shoved a gun up under his chin. As Ken sat there, he watched the men peel off their masks and somehow that seemed like a bad omen. He studied their faces and tried to remember where he had seen them before. Had he busted them for poaching, for fishing without a license? He’d pissed off a lot of people, but he couldn’t remember anyone that he’d gotten this mad. You never knew though. The driver kept to a normal speed.
An hour later the van began to rattle, and Ken knew they were on a dirt road. When they hustled him out of the van, Ken knew where they were since they’d parked by a bridge. This was Grinder Creek. There were plenty of more isolated places than this, but then on a weekday, cars only passed by every thirty or forty minutes. They hustled him down the path and under the bridge. He felt something stirring in his gut and thought he might get sick.
A big guy with a broad forehead pushed him to his knees and pulled off his gag. A white-haired guy with an aristocratic face put a gun under his chin.
“Who the hell are you?” Ken said.
“I’m known as Robert, and this is my right-hand man Joe Parcher.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to live. To make that happen, you’re going to have to stop asking questions and start answering them.”
Ken thought about his wife and their adopted sons from South Africa. “Okay.”
“Why were you meeting with Brandt?”
“You mean the guy at Starbucks? I don’t even know him. He just called me up and said he wanted to ask me some questions about the history of Boise County. I’ve never seen him before today, and I’m sure I’ll never see him again.”
“What questions?”
“It was stupid, nothing important at all. He wanted to know if I knew of a place called Jin Mountain. I’ve never heard of it, and that’s what I told him.”
“What else did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure about that?”
Ken thought about it. “There’s one other thing. I told him that I didn’t know, but maybe Ethan Buhl did. Only problem is that Ethan is in prison outside of Boise.”
Robert smiled, looked almost relieved. He lowered the gun from underneath Ken’s chin, but rested it against his chest.
“You tell him anything else?”
“No, that’s it. I’m positive.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ken Grant.”
“Mr. Grant. I want thank you for your help . . . and I want to say good-bye.”
The first shot ripped through Ken, sending a lighting bolt through his nerve centers. His ears rang loudly. The shock was enough to stiffen his entire body. The second shot burst through his heart, and at that moment he knew that he would never see his wife and his sons again. He fell over backwards and he found himself staring at cobwebs running between the beams under the bridge. He saw movement and saw that blood was squirting out of a hole in his chest. Robert stood over him.
Robert turned to Parcher. “I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I can’t stand to see a man suffer. Parcher, you’ve let Brandt come this far. I know you feel terrible about it, and I hate to see you suffer in shame. So your suffering ends now.” Robert shot Parcher once in the chest and that did the job. Then he turned to Ken, squeezed the trigger and shot him in the head.
CHAPTER 63
Next Day, Boise
At exactly 3:45 p.m., Curtis drove into the Texaco gas station on Apple Street. At the same moment, a suburban pulled up on the other side of the same pump. A young man got out and began filling up. His driver door was open, and Neil Young music played on his stereo. He was small and wiry and wore sunglasses.
“Howdy,” Curtis said.
“The price of gas is high,” the stranger said back to him, except it wasn’t really a stranger.
“Yes. We need to eliminate the competition. I’ll have a location within hours.”
“Great.”
“I like your music.”
“Boys are ready to rock-and-roll.”
“Have a good one,” Curtis said.
“Will do.”
CHAPTER 64
Idaho State Prison
The minister told the guard that he wanted to visit a prisoner on an official call. It’s was an urgent family matter, and he’d come from out of state to calm an old lady’s grief.
“May I see your I.D.?”
Stretching his arm out of the car window, the minister handed over his driver’s license. It showed a picture of Chuck Brandt with a priest’s collar. The name given was Father Brad Crane.
Father Brad noticed the deepening of wrinkles on the man’s forehead. The guard looked up. “Prisoner name?”
“Ethan Buhl.”
The guard slid the window of the guard shack shut, and Chuck saw him making a phone call, looking at the identification as he talked. A couple of times he looked over at Father Brad in a slightly skeptical way. He frowned, hung up, and slid open the glass.
Almost reluctantly, the guard passed the driver’s license back. “Waste a time, Father. Ethan, he—” The guard smiled.
Father Brad shrugged.
“Nothin’ personal, Father. Good luck.”
CHAPTER 65
Robert passed through the prison’s guard station with no trouble. It was visiting day, and he was just another embarrassed relative doing what they didn’t want to do but did out of a sense of guilt and pain. Robert slowly cruised the parking lot until he saw Chuck Brandt’s rental car. He parked next to it.
CHAPTER 66
The visiting room was a bleak and cold place, dingy and institutional, a long, narrow room with cement floors and thirty-two acrylic glass stalls. Chuck sat down at the glass partition where Ethan was waiting for him. He was big man with thick arms and a barrel chest. His beard was short and neatly trimmed. Evidently he had some time on his hands for primping.
A glazed expression overtook Ethan’s face. He looked away, and Chuck thought he saw him make a silent curse before he made eye contact again. “They didn’t tell me
that …”
“That I’m a man of the cloth,” Chuck said in a soft voice. “Well, I’m not here for the good of your soul. That’s between you and God. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
Ethan looked puzzled. “Why are you here?”
“Let me tell you something, friend. I’m a sinner and these clothes only make me more of one. Maybe I should be in there with you because I’m just as much a sinner as you are—in fact a lot worse.”
Ethan’s mouth dropped half open.
“I’m here cause you and I need each other’s help.”
Ethan raised his eyebrows. “How the hell could I …?”
“Shut up and listen. I come to you as one sinner asking another sinner for help.”
Ethan looked around as if embarrassed and hoping that nobody else could hear this. “I don’t know. What is it you want anyway?”
“Real simple. Nobody knows the Boise National Forest better than you do. All I want is to know the location of Jin Mountain.”
“Sorry, Father.”
“Come on, Ethan. You’re the only one who can help me.”
Ethan sat up straight. His eyes shifted to the left as if he were remembering something. “Sorry, I …” He shook his head.
“You know something. I can see it on your face. Why won’t you help me?”
<
br /> Ethan shrugged as if he’d categorized Father Brad as being part of the system that had imprisoned him. He started to get up.
“Sit,” Father Chuck said. “We’re not done yet.”
“We’re not?”
“No, you need me even more than I need you.”
Ethan sat down. “How’s that?”
“Here it is. I’ve also got a past I can’t go into. Bottom line is that the government wants to get rid of me. They took my woman, and I need your help to get her back.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’ll set up a twenty-thousand dollar scholarship for your daughter, so she can go to community college.”
“Then she’ll just be part of the system.”
“No, sir. She’s part of the system now. She’s the part that’s been ground up and spit out. I talked her an hour ago. She had two black eyes from the dirt bag she’s living with in the mobile home park. The good news is she isn’t hooked on drugs yet, but her boyfriend has been pressuring her to try some. A couple more months and a couple more fat lips and she’ll have a weak moment and she’ll make a bad decision. You know she will. A scholarship will give her a chance to move out of there and into a dorm. To create a whole new destiny. It’s not too late for her, but it will be very soon.”
Chuck noticed that Ethan’s face was bright red with rage. “You tell me who the bastard is she’s with and I’ll help you, Father.”
“No, that’ll just get you into more trouble. I’ll do you one better. I’ll get her out of there, and I’ll make certain that he’ll never go near her again. I personally guarantee it.”
“What? How could you ...?”
“I’ll put the fear of God into him … or at least the fear of man.”
“You’re a crazy bastard, you know that?”
Chuck lowered his gaze for a moment. “Sometimes that’s what’s needed.”
“And you can guarantee her safety?” Ethan said.
“I guarantee her current boyfriend will avoid her more vigorously than he avoids the church. He won’t dare go near her. I guarantee it.”
“Alright.” Ethan tore a sheet from the note pad on the counter and wrote something. He pushed it through the slot. “That’s a GPS position. It’s in the Boise National Forest. You’ll come to a remote canyon. A guy named Dean Harris lives there in a cabin. Just tell him that Ethan sent you. He’ll give you the help you need and maybe even keep you alive, too. Tell him Ethan says this is payback. He’ll help you. I put my address down there. Make sure you write me about my daughter. And don’t forget your promise.”
“I won’t,” Chuck said.
CHAPTER 67
Robert got out of his car and slipped a bird dog under the bumper of Chuck’s car. He stood up straight as a guard approached.
“Can I help you?” the guard said.
“Lost a damn silver dollar under there,” Robert said.
“That stinks,” the guard said. “Who you here to see?”
“With the ministry of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints,” Robert said. “I’d like to set up a meeting with you to tell you what we’re all about.”
The guard backed away. “Not interested,” he said. “Are you coming or going?”
“Going.”
“Have a nice day.” The guard continued his stroll through the lot, walking bow-legged by the cars.
“You sure,” Robert said. “If you want to think it over, I could give you a call next week.”
“Not necessary,” the guard said.
Robert got into his car and headed for the gate.
CHAPTER 68
Garden City Mobile Home Park, Boise, Idaho
Dressed in black pants and a black Dead Kennedy’s t-shirt, Chuck pulled his car over within sight of the Garden City Mobile Home Park. He checked his hair in the mirror. It was greased up into a lot of little spikes, and his bangs were pasted to his forehead.
Chuck got out and walked toward the mobile home. He lit up a cigar and blew smoke out of his nose.
The windows were covered with drooping towels. Empty beer cans and rusted motorcycle parts littered the ground outside. The door opened an inch and a pair of cat eyes peered out of the darkness at him.
Lifting the folded newspaper, he poked the silencer of his pistol out far enough to be seen by someone close up, but not by any nosy neighbors.
“Open the door and let me in or I’ll air out your guts with hollow-point bullets.”
Cat-eyes cursed and let Chuck in. The place reeked like pot, and Chuck saw Meth paraphernalia on the coffee table.
“I’m here to get Becky.”
“She ain’t here.”
Chuck raised his boot and kicked Cat-eyes in his chest. The dirt bag stumbled backwards and fell, crashing through a glass coffee table. He lay there for a moment dazed, shattered glass all around him, blood oozing from his forehead. Chuck grabbed his shirt and hauled him up, smashing him against the wall. Picture frames with dragon illustrations clattered to the filthy floor.
“Think again,” Chuck said.
“She’s in the back room. What do you want her for?”
Chuck escorted the scrawny cat down the hall and shoved the door open. She sat on the bed, fear in her eyes, an ice pack in her hand.
“You’re coming with me,” Chuck said. “I’ll explain later.”
Her gaze shifted to the cat. She stiffened with fear.
Cat-eyes spit. “Just go with him, you damn whore.”
Chuck rammed his face against the door jam. Cat-eyes groaned in pain. Blood poured out of his nose.
“What’s your name?” Chuck said.
“Leonard.”
“You ever go near this girl again, you’re dead. You understand that?”
“Yeah, man, I got it.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Chuck turned and then slammed his elbow against Leonard’s spine. He let out a shrill cry and dropped to his knees. Chuck grabbed his hair and rammed the pistol into his eye. “It’s time for you to die, scumbag. You don’t need to hurt any more people.”
Leonard made some whining noises.
“I think your wall will look nice with your brains splattered all across it. Call it modern art.”
“No.” Leonard shook his head vigorously. “She fell down.”
Chuck’s boot slammed into Leonard’s gut. He buckled over and curled up on the floor. Chuck kicked his face hard, and blood flowed from his upper lip. “Don’t forget what I said, Leonard. I have a real thing for modern art. If you even go near this girl, I guarantee that I’m going to get real creative with you.”
Leonard groaned, but managed to say. “I won’t.”
Chuck looked at Becky and nodded. “Time to go.”
She stood.
He was driving down Chinden Avenue with Becky in the passenger seat.
“He’ll come after me,” she said, beginning to cry. “But this time he’ll kill me.”
“Your father cares about you,” Chuck said. “He sent me to keep you safe. There are bad people who are after me. Dangerous people.” He held up the newspaper so that she could see the headline about the murdered game warden. He was the last person I visited. The people who are after me are taking a hard line against people I visit. I have a bad feeling that they may soon be visiting Leonard to find out what he and I were talking about. Leonard will never hurt you again.”
She shook with tears. Finally she said, “Where are you taking me?”
“You’re going to start a new life in a new city. For now I’m going to put you somewhere safe.”
They drove downtown to the WinCo grocery store and parked next to a big 4x4 Chevy truck. Chuck jimmied the lock and hotwired the ignition. He gestured to Becky to join him. They drove away, leaving the other car in the lot. Chuck registered Becky into a small hotel that took cash and didn’t ask questions. “I’m going to help you start over,” he said when they were in her room. “You’re going to get another chance and you’ve got a s
cholarship to go to college.”
“A scholarship? Me?” She began to cry. “Me?”
Chuck hugged her. “Don’t call anybody while I’m gone. Calls can be traced. I’ll be back within a week. Here’s some money for food. Good-bye, Becky. There really are people who care about you.”
These words somehow cut through to her soul, and she began to cry even more. Chuck held her for a couple of more minutes, then closed her door and returned to the truck.
CHAPTER 69
Garden City Mobile Home Park
Leonard sat back in his recliner and took a hit off his joint. He’d always supported medical marijuana and he was hurting in many different ways right now. The smoke expanded in his lungs and next thing he knew he was coughing up black tissue from his charred lungs. He spat the slimy stuff into his cereal bowl. When his bout calmed down, he finished his joint. He vegged out for a while and then shook more cereal into his bowl while he pulled back the towel a little so he could peak out the window. He watched a few cars come and go from the complex, just neighbors. Then he noticed a beater Corvette he’d never seen. Probably someone making a score. A white van was crawling down the street when he let the towel fall and poured milk into his bowl. He eased back into his recliner and turned up the music until it shook every cell in his body. He began laughing.
When he saw two men dressed in black with black stocking caps covering their faces, he thought it must be a bad trip. But only for a couple of seconds. After that guy stole Becky, Leonard had put his gun in a better place under the couch pillow. He knew the men in black were after his stash and he went for his gun, drawing it up and firing. A flash from his muzzle lit up the dark room. Then another. His aim was bad, but he still took down one of them before they opened up with their automatic pistols. Leonard felt his body spawn a wave of jerks and spasms as bullets riddled his torso.
