by Edwin Dasso
“No, Sara! No ‘maybes’! Promise me! Promise me on Sasha’s life!”
“You seem very serious.”
“Damn straight, I am! And you need to listen to me! Now, promise me on Sasha’s life!”
“Okay…I promise.”
“Good.” Jack turned to his computer and brought up the Expedia travel site. “And Sara…”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. You are kind-hearted and…my telling you to stay away from me is not personal. I think you’re a very neat person. I-it’s just that I-I…can’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to you or Sasha. I hope you two have a safe and wonderful life together. Good-bye.”
He disconnected without waiting for a response then started searching for flights to Knoxville, Tennessee.
Chapter 35
Two Days Later
Jack had driven for a couple of hours through the Appalachian foothills to find Austrial, Tennessee. Dust blew on a hot wind through the car windows as he drove the rental down what there was of the main street of the small town, surveying the storefronts and the people. Whenever he met a pedestrian’s gaze, he’d wave, but his greetings were largely ignored, and people just gawked at him as he cruised slowly past them.
“Bass, what the hell are you doing here?” he grumbled. “You’ve really got to learn to ignore those anonymous letters…leave well-enough alone.”
He’d been unable to locate an address for any Pharmadosh plant in the area, finally just using Google maps satellite shots to locate buildings that might be manufacturing facilities. He drove out of the town, following a winding, narrow, two-lane, blacktop road that ran alongside the Hiwassee River. He constantly swiveled his head as he surveyed the surroundings, looking for the building he sought…and for any potential trouble. He slid a hand beneath his jacket that was sitting on the front passenger seat, reassured when his fingers touched the metal of Lori’s 1911 Colt .45 hidden beneath it.
He came around a bend in the road, slowing as the heavy woodland that had surrounded the road gave way to a clearing. His gaze locked on the large building that sat on the far side of the clearing, right on the bank of the Hiwassee River. He slowed as he passed the facility, looking for any sign identifying what it was. There was only a small sign at the security gate, but he couldn’t read it from the road. Jack stared back at the security guard stationed there as the man leered at Jack’s car, locking his eyes on it as it passed his station. Jack accelerated slightly, driving around a bend in the road then pulling into a drive and stopping once he was out of sight of the guard.
“Okay—that place looks a little suspicious. An isolated facility with a razor wire fence around it and a security checkpoint.” He shrugged. “Isolated location…yet not far from a major interstate. Also, right on the river if they wanted to move illegal stuff by that route.” He stared out the windshield, gazing absently at the mailbox on it’s leaned-over post at the end of the driveway. “Could be nothing, but…I think I’ll take a closer look.”
Jack backed out and drove back toward the site, pulling into the entrance and stopping at the security gate. He lowered his window and smiled at the guard, who slowly slid the door on his small hut open and gazed warily at Jack.
“Hello, sir,” Jack said cordially.
The guard just nodded at Jack.
“I’m Dr. Jack Bass, and I’m looking for the Pharmadosh facility. Is this it?”
The guard reached back inside his shelter and grabbed a clipboard.
“What’d you say your name was?”
“Jack Bass. Doctor Jack Bass.”
The guard focused on his clipboard, his gaze following his fingertip as he ran it down the sheet of paper attached to it.
“How do you spell that.”
“Just like the fish,” Jack quipped and smiled again.
The guard shot him a poker-face look, nodding without so much as a twitch of his lips in response. He wrote something on his clipboard then turned his eyes from his paperwork to Jack.
“You’re not on the approved visitor’s list.”
Jack shrugged and smiled clumsily. “Well…I’m probably not on any list. I don’t want to go in—I was just wondering if this is the Pharmadosh manufacturing facility.
The guard took a step closer to Jack’s car, placing a hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. He leaned down and surveyed inside of Jack’s car then stood straight.
“None of your business—now leave the premises, or I’ll be forced to remove you.” He stepped back a step and unsnapped the leather strap securing his pistol.
Jack threw his hands up. “Whoa! No need for that—I’m outta here. Seemed like a pretty innocent question, though.”
“Leave. Now!”
“Okay. Have a good day,” Jack replied sarcastically.
He threw the car into reverse and slowly backed away. As he pulled back onto the road, he looked in his rearview mirror and saw the guard standing near the roadside, a camera held pointed at Jack’s car.
Jack sighed. “Well, I either hit pay dirt or these are the unfriendliest people I’ve ever met.” He grunted. “And that’s saying something.
Chapter 36
That Evening
The clerk at the hotel desk had appraised Jack suspiciously when he’d checked in and hadn’t warmed up one bit now that Jack was back asking for some advice.
“So, where’s a good place to grab a beer and dinner?”
The lanky, young man with a few scraggly whiskers sprouting on his chin regarded Jack silently for several seconds then looked at his laptop, pecking at some keys.
“Hillbilly Hangout is a couple miles up the road. Probably your best bet,” he said without looking up from his keyboard. He turned his back to Jack and started to dig through some folders.
Jack stared at him a few seconds, debating whether to respond with some smartass comment about the local hospitality but thought better of it. He grunted and shook his head slowly.
“Thanks.” He stopped at the door, turning his head partially back toward the desk. “By the way, nice beard.” I tried, he thought as he left the building, but some things are just bigger than me.
“Wow!” Jack muttered as he approached the Hillbilly Hangout a short while later.
It was a building constructed of weathered logs and had a sign made of old barn siding with lettering that hadn’t see a fresh coat of paint in years. They sure named this place aptly, he mused as he pulled into the gravel parking lot. He parked and walked inside, stopping just inside the door to survey the décor. The place was dark and had the musty smell of rotting wood. A number of the guests turned and gawked at him.
“You ain’t from around here, are you, boy?” Jack mumbled under his breath as he returned their gazes. Almost in unison, they all looked away. You people sure know how to make a visitor welcome, he thought as he worked his way to the bar.
Jack sat on a bar stool with torn vinyl—the only one without crumbs on it. He thought it may have been red at one time but was now a grimy rusty-brown. He grabbed a grease-stained, one-page menu, glancing at it as he discretely scrutinized the crowd in the large mirror behind the bar. His brows shot up when he noticed the security guard he’d met out at the facility he’d visited earlier that day. The man was glaring blatantly at Jack, occasionally leaning over to one of the other men sitting with him and saying something as he pointed at Jack.
“I’d better make this a quick meal,” Jack groaned.
He glanced at the guard again, nodding when they made eye contact. The man didn’t respond in any way, just staring at Jack. Jack ordered a sandwich and chomped hungrily on it as he continued to observe the crowd. He set his sandwich down when the guard and his buddies pushed their chairs back and stood. They sauntered across the dining room and stood shoulder-to-shoulder behind Jack. He tried to ignore them, but one of them tapped him on the shoulder. Jack casually picked up his glass of iced tea, slowly twisting on his stool to face the three men. He took a sip as he appraise
d them.
“Evening, gentlemen. What can I do for you.”
“You can get the hell out of our town,” the guard said, flexing his hands into fists.
Jack smirked. “You three must be the Chamber of Commerce Tourist Committee, eh?”
The guard drew his arm back and threw a ham-fisted, round-house punch at Jack’s head. Jack ducked the blow and threw his iced tea into the face of the man to the right of the guard. He hurdled from his stool, driving his shoulder up into the chin of the guard, knocking him backward.
As he spun toward the third assailant he was met by a fist smashing against his jaw. The blow dazed Jack and knocked him to his hands and knees on the dirty plank floor. Before he could even start to rise, the man who’d gotten the iced tea in his face kicked Jack in the ribs. His breath gushed from his lungs as he fell onto his side. Every time Jack tried to rise, a rain of punches and kicks drove him back to the floor. He lay on there in the fetal position, his arms covering his head, his gaze darting about the room, searching for someone who might come to his aid. A male patron, who’d been seated alone in a corner booth, jumped up and bolted out the rear entrance.
Realizing this was going to be an old-fashioned schoolyard beating, Jack just covered up as best he could, trying desperately to protect his head. After a couple of minutes of pummeling, Jack felt a couple of pairs of hands roughly grab his shirt and collar, and he was dragged toward the door. While the third man held the door, the other two lifted Jack and threw him through the opening onto the sidewalk. He hit the pavement with a thump and rolled.
“You’re not from here.” The guard shook a fist at Jack. “We don’t like outsiders coming in and disrupting the peace.”
Jack wiped at the blood on his lips and glared up at the men. “Peace? I haven’t seen anything peaceful about this place since I got here!”
The guard stepped forward and kicked Jack in the ribs. “Don’t get smart, boy! We know where you’re staying—if you’re still there in the morning, you just might never leave our little town.”
The men turned and strutted back into the bar. Jack wiped blood from his face and groaned as he lay on the sidewalk. He jumped when he felt someone touch his shoulder, rolling quickly to face the person, his arms held over his face.
“What—you want some of me, too?” Jack yelled at him.
An image flashed into Jack’s mind, elbowing reality aside like an impatient, Manhattan subway commuter trying to get to the front of the line.
* * *
Jack’s Senior Year of High School
Jack heard his mother’s screams and sobbing as he stepped through the front door of his house upon arriving home after football practice. He then heard his father’s voice, raised in anger, as usual. He dropped his gym bag on the floor and raced to his parents’ bedroom, sliding on the waxed wooden floor, grabbing the doorframe to their room to slow himself.
Jack’s mother was squatted on the floor, crying as she held a hand over her bleeding nose, the other arm raised to shield her head. Jack’s father drew his arm back, preparing to deliver another punch. Jack jumped forward and hooked his arm through the crook of his father’s. His father was thrown off balance as he swung against the resistance, stumbling. He twisted around and glared at Jack. Their gazes locked.
“Don’t hit my mother,” Jack said flatly.
Jack had been a sickly child, and his father had always called him a runt because of his slight build, but he’d had an explosive growth spurt during his last summer in high school. He now loomed over his father by several inches and outweighed him by forty pounds, most of which was sinewy muscle.
Jack kept his father’s arm locked in his grip.
“Get the fuck outta my room, you little shit!”
Jack could smell the alcohol as his father’s breath wafted across Jack’s face.
“No! Not without Mom.”
His father lunged toward his wife. Jack tightened his grip on his father’s arm then threw a hip into him and pulled on his arm, hurling him through the air. His father thudded on the floor and bounced, immediately raising himself on an elbow. He stared up at Jack with a mixture of fear and loathing on his face.
Jack knew that look well—he’d given it to his father many times after his father had slapped him to the floor whenever Jack had tried to stop his father from beating his mother. Jack had cried many times as a child as he’d tried to push his father away from his mother while the man pounded on her. She’d always shake her head at Jack and mouth the words “Go hide” to him. Jack wasn’t going to hide—ever again.
“You want some of me, too?” his father boomed.
Jack stepped between his parents then glowered at his father, jabbing a finger at him. “If that’s what it takes, yes.”
Jack recalled the many times when his mother had uttered the same thing to his father when she was protecting Jack as he’d grown up.
“But you’re not hurting my mother anymore.”
“Fuck you, you little bastard!” He shook a fist at Jack. “That’s right—I know you’re a bastard. You’re not my son! Now, get the hell outta my house! Fuckin’ jackass!”
Jack glared silently at his father a few seconds. “Fine! But Mom’s going with me.”
Jack turned to his mother, gently lifting her from the floor. “C’mon, Mom. Let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll go grab a burger.”
His father lurched to his feet and hobbled to the doorway, blocking it. Their eyes locked fleetingly then Jack threw a shoulder into him, knocking him aside.
His father yelled at him all the way down the hall. “You’re a bastard! Yeah—Jack Bass the jack ass bastard!” His father laughed uproariously as Jack carried his mother toward the bathroom, cradling her tightly in his arms.
She buried her face in his chest, sobbing softly.
“You’re a good boy, Jack. I-I’m…sorry about your father.”
“I know, Mom.” He sighed softly. “I know.”
* * *
Current
“Be quiet, Dr. Bass. I’m here to help.”
Jack snapped out of his reverie. “What?” He eyed the man skeptically. “How the hell do you know who I am?”
The man shushed Jack. He grabbed Jack’s arm and helped him to his feet then rushed into the dark alleyway alongside the building. Jack could barely see him in the shadows as the man waved for Jack to follow.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who wants to help you. Be quiet and follow me.”
Limping as quickly as he could on his bruised and battered legs, Jack gaped at his Good Samaritan as he inched toward him. Jack stopped several feet away, squinting at the man, trying to see his face in the murk.
“Where we going?”
“To my car—they’ll be watching yours.”
“Then where?” Jack asked warily.
“To my little shack up in the hills.” The man glanced fleetingly at Jack. “There are some things I need to tell you.”
“About what?” Jack asked skeptically.
“About the note I sent you about this town.”
“What?”
“The note about Pharmadosh!” he hissed.
“You?”
The man stopped at a car and pointed at it. “Get in.”
“You sent that to me?” Jack stood next to the passenger door, leaning an elbow on the car roof as the other man hurried around to the driver’s door.
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you all about it. Now get in!” His gaze darted nervously around the dark lot. “I need to get you out of here before somebody spots us together. That would not be good—for either of us…”
Jack had barely slid into his seat when the man stomped on the accelerator, and the old car shot out of the dark, careening onto the street. The driver kept sneaking glances over his shoulder at the road behind them. Jack propped himself against his door as the car sped down narrow, windy roads, the pessimist in him telling him this wasn�
�t a good idea, in spite of the man’s assistance.
“What about my car?”
The man shot a quick glance at Jack. “I’ll take you back for it later,” he replied impatiently. “You just needed to get the hell outta there before they had a few more beers…and became really emboldened.”
Chapter 37
The man slid a towel across a rickety wooden table to Jack.
“Thanks.” Jack dabbed at his bloody lips and brow as he looked around the dank kitchen of the old, corrugated iron shack that his benefactor had brought him to. Jack could swear the walls were leaning. “Nice place,” he said drily.
The man snorted. “It sucks…but we should be safe here. It’s well-hidden.”
“So, you were saying you were a director of an R&D group at Pharmadosh?”
“Yes. I worked there for twenty-five years. Was always proud of my work…until supracentyl—I just couldn’t allow myself to be involved in that.” He shrugged quickly. “So, I ended up getting fired.” He scowled. “Thank you, Carvin Schanlon.”
Jack’s gaze shot to the man at the mention of Schanlon. He set the bloody towel on the table. “Thanks for the help.” He offered his hand. “I didn’t catch your name…”
The man shook Jack’s hand. “It’s better if you don’t know. Just call me Martin.”
“Why me, Martin?” Jack asked. “Why did you reach out to me?”
Martin smiled. “I’ve been watching your blogs and tweets about Pharmadosh…” He suddenly frowned, looking down at the splintered, weathered boards covering the floor. “You seemed like someone who could,” he turned his eyes to Jack’s, “and would help.”
Jack silently surveyed Martin’s face for several seconds then exhaled loudly. “Shit!” he grumbled warily. “All right—what do you want to tell me?”
Martin relayed his story, Jack nodding occasionally as he listened.
“This is big!” Martin exclaimed. “I’ve heard the money trail leads all over Congress…supposedly, all the way up to the President’s Secretary of HHS appointee, too. He was a big pharma company exec before he accepted the appointment.”
