by Edwin Dasso
Jack traced his finger absently along a crack in the top of the table. “Will you help me expose this?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like there are some high-powered people involved—could be risky. Even dangerous.”
“I know. This drug is a killer, though. I can’t stand by and watch it get turned loose on the public. I just can’t.”
Jack nodded. “Yeah…I know the sentiment,” he said glumly.
“I’ll give you some documents that I think you’ll find very useful.” Martin wrung his hands as he looked nervously around the interior of the old cabin. “But I can’t help you in any public setting—I think I’m already being watched. I’ve been hiding at my fishing cabin along the Minnesota border waters since I left Pharmadosh.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I came down here hoping you’d show after getting my note. I want to show you the Pharmadosh facility…tell you how I think they’re shipping it illegally. Once I’ve given you everything I have, though, I’ll be going back north.” He shrugged, an apologetic look on his face. “My wife is really scared.”
Jack smiled and leaned across to clap Martin on the shoulder. “Not a problem, Martin. I don’t want you to be associated with me, anyway.” Jack stared solemnly at floor. “There’s a tendency for bad things to happen to the people around me…”
“There’s one more thing you should know about supracentyl,” Martin interjected quickly.
“What’s that?”
“There’s no known reversal agent yet. Naloxone may work but usually won’t, especially if only a single dose is given. We were working on a reversal agent, but it was proving far more difficult to develop than my research team had expected.” He grimaced. “All the versions we tried had some very bad side-effects—some people went a little nuts…some just died suddenly.”
Jack locked his gaze on Martin’s face. “Yeah, I think I’ve dug up some evidence that supports that.” He sighed loudly. “I also have some first-hand experience…unfortunately.”
“Carvin Schanlon is pushing supracentyl for one purpose—to create addicts,” Martin said. “That’s his plan for guaranteeing sales. Create a country—a world—of junkies! There’s no real reversal agent, and the one that’s currently available for other opiate-based drugs can have horrible side-effects.” Martin grabbed Jack’s forearm and clung to it. “People are dying, Dr. Bass! Please, help me stop Schanlon and his cronies.” Martin suddenly slumped in his chair and began sobbing. “This is not what I wanted as a legacy for my R&D team.”
Jack set his jaw. “All right. I’m all in.”
Chapter 38
Next Morning
Jack again peeked impatiently at his watch.
“Shit! What’s keeping him?”
Jack was anxious to grab the stuff from Martin and get the hell out of the small town. He pressed his face against the smudged glass of the small diner, peering up and down the road outside. A police cruiser with the words “Austrial Police” emblazoned in large, gold letters on its side slowed as it approached the diner. Dammit! Now what? Jack slinked back from the window and slouched, trying desperately to look inconspicuous, shooting occasional quick glances toward the cruiser. It had slowed almost to a stop. Jack locked eyes with the deputy driving it, and the cop pointed his index finger at Jack, making a motion with his thumb as if he was cocking and shooting a pistol. Jack frowned, his mouth falling open then gritted his teeth and jumped from his seat. Just as he reached the door, the police car shot off down the road. Jack stood in the doorway, watching as it disappeared around a curve.
“Asshole!” he groused. Whole goddam town is the unfriendliest place I’ve ever been to! He threw some money on his table and rushed out the door.
* * *
Forty-Five Minutes Later
Jack hated rubber-neckers at car accident scenes and tried never to look but, for some reason, slowed his car as he approached the wreck site. In spite of the mangled car now being just a burned-out hulk, he recognized the vehicle as the one he’d ridden in last night with Martin. He whipped his car onto the shoulder and screeched to a halt. He jumped from his car, pulling his old military ID from his wallet as he approached the state cop, hoping it might lend him some credibility. He groaned when he noticed a body lying under a blanket next to the car, the stench of burned flesh stinging in his nostrils.
The cop glanced fleetingly at the ID. “You need to move on, sir.”
“But…I think this,” he pointed at the body, “is the man I was supposed to meet with this morning.”
The cop slowly arched an eyebrow as he stared at Jack. “Well, if it is, you won’t be meeting with him this morning—or ever. He’s crispy-crittered.”
“But—”
The cop scowled. “Beat it! I’m busy.”
Jack growled as he slowly turned and shuffled back to his car. He got in, slammed the door hard, and sat thinking for a couple of minutes. He suddenly spun the steering wheel hard and stomped on the gas, aiming the car back in the direction of Austrial. He recalled seeing a small police station when he drove through the village yesterday.
“You sonofabitches! You attack me, your cops threaten me, and now the guy who was going to help me is dead! Somebody needs to give me a few answers about what the hell is going on in this town!”
His car kicked up a cloud of dust as Jack sped down the sleepy main street toward the police station. He skidded into a parking spot, one of the front tires hopping onto the curb before the car stopped completely. Jack leaped out and dashed into the small building, stopping short when he ran into a small gaggle of people milling in the lobby. A woman was crying into a policeman’s chest as he clumsily consoled her, a look of awkward discomfort on his face as he patted her shoulder softly.
“There, there, Mrs. Lankin. I know it’s tough news, but…there’s got to be somebody who will come and help you with his remains.” A frown crept onto the cop’s face when his gaze fell on Jack. “I don’t need any more bad news right now…why do I think you’ve got some, mister?”
“Bass. Jack Bass. You the chief?”
“Yes—”
Both men startled when Mrs. Lankin suddenly spun and lunged toward Jack, pounding her fists on his chest when she reached him.
“You bastard! This is all your fault!”
“What the hell?” Jack and the Chief said in unison.
Jack grabbed the woman’s wrists and restrained her as she fought against him.
“Lady, who the hell are you?”
“Sherry Lankin!” She squirmed and almost got one hand free.
Jack shrugged. “Not ringing a bell.”
“Martin Lankin’s wife!”
“Martin?” The connection suddenly clicked in Jack’s head. “Oh…Martin. But why in the world would you say his death is my fault? You don’t even know me!” Jack looked pleadingly at the chief as she wriggled wildly. “Can you get her off of me, please?”
The chief stepped forward and gently pulled Mrs. Lankin away from Jack. She continued to glare hatefully at him. The chief pushed Mrs. Lankin behind him then turned a tired gaze toward Jack.
“Who did you say you are?”
“Dr. Jack Bass.”
“I know who you are!” Mrs. Lankin screamed from behind the cop.
Jack held his arms up at his side, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at her.
The chief turned his head toward the lady. “How do you know him?”
“My husband came here to meet him—if he even showed. This man was at our cesspool of a cabin last night!”
“I didn’t see you there last night.”
“He told me to stay in the bedroom—but I saw you! I heard you two talking in the kitchen.”
She dove at him, swinging a fist at his face. Jack ducked away from the blow.
“Why did you have to come here? Now my husband’s dead because of you!”
Jack scowled at her. “Look, I came here because your husband asked me to! Hell, h
e wouldn’t even tell me his name! Trust me, I’d have been fine if I’d gone my whole life without ever knowing this shithole of a town existed, let alone come here!”
The chief frowned at Jack.
Jack shrugged. “Sorry, Chief—no offense.”
The cop rolled his eyes. “Now, why on Earth would that offend me?” he asked sarcastically.
Jack turned back to Mrs. Lankin. “Look, Mrs. Lankin, I’m sorry for your loss—I truly am. But it wasn’t my idea to meet your husband here—he’s the one who sent me a note, suggesting I come here and take a look around.”
“Take a look around for what?” the cop asked.
He shot a quick glance at the chief. “Before I answer that, I’ve got a few questions for you, Chief. One of the reasons I came to the police station was to complain about the beating I got last night at the Hillbilly Hangout.” He pointed at Sherry Lankin. “And I was supposed to meet her husband this morning. When he didn’t show, I started driving toward his cabin and came across his wrecked car.” He turned his eyes to the floor. “I guess that body under the sheet was him…” he mumbled.
“Yes! That ‘body under the sheet’ was him, you bastard! He’s dead! All because of you!” Mrs. Lankin sobbed loudly. “H-he told me we’d only be here a day or two…then we could go back to Minnesota.”
Jack glanced at her then turned his gaze to the cop. “What the hell’s going on in this town of yours, Chief? I’m here twenty-four hours and get thrashed at a restaurant, one of your deputies threatens me, and now, the guy I was supposed to meet is dead!”
Mrs. Lankin leaned around from behind the cop. “Then why don’t you leave? Just go!”
The cop shrugged, and his eyes locked warily onto Jack’s. “That might be a good idea, Dr. Bass. You’ve been here a day, and I’ve heard nothing but bad reports about you. Go!” He nodded toward the door. “While you still can.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open as he glowered at the chief. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Jack huffed loudly. “I will leave…before I get any more Welcome Wagon visits.”
“I assume your number is in the book if I need to ask you questions?” the chief called after Jack.
Jack stopped in his tracks and sighed loudly. “Yes. Dr. Jack Bass—like the fish,” he grumbled. “But don’t expect to ever see me in this shithole again.”
As Jack turned to leave, he almost bumped into the deputy who had driven by the diner when Jack was waiting for Lankin that morning. The deputy narrowed his eyes as he stood in the doorway and glared at Jack.
“Aw, jeez! I can’t get outta here fast enough,” Jack growled then shouldered past the deputy.
Chapter 39
One Week Later
Jack fumed as he sat at his kitchen table, sipping on coffee. He was getting fed up with the continued harassment aimed at him. There was no doubt in his mind that Schanlon and his cronies were behind the repeated pestering. In addition to the continued Twitter onslaught against Jack, he found the occasional dead rodent in his mailbox or a slashed tire on his car when he’d been parked at a mall or some other establishment.
His paranoia had grown to a point where he refused to let Amanda travel anywhere with him. He’d asked Hank to increase his vigilance over Amanda and to intervene first and ask questions later if he felt she was in any danger at all. As always, Hank was more than happy to oblige but also expressed his concerns about Jack’s safety. To appease Hank, Jack had taken to carrying Lori’s Model 1911 Colt with him whenever he left the house, though he despised being armed.
He sighed loudly. “I’m ready to concede—this just isn’t worth it. I want to help protect people, but…”
Jack startled when his phone chirped, signifying he’d received a text. He licked off the coffee he’d spilled on his hand then snatched up his phone. He recognized the number of the sender by now.
“Speak of the devil. Now what do you want, Schanlon?”
He opened the text.
Dr. Bass. I want to call a truce. Will you meet w/ me to bury the hatchet?
“Yeah, I’ll bet you’d like to bury a hatchet—in the back of my head, you asshole.”
Jack threw the phone aside and took another sip of coffee as he debated whether to respond. After a few minutes, he picked up his phone and slowly pecked in a response with a single finger.
What’ve u got up your sleeve Schanlon?
Nothing. Ur just being paranoid. Will u meet?
Where?
someplace discrete
You mean w/ no witnesses?
I’m holding out an olive branch here!
K. Where and when?
Brazos Bend SP. Observatory lot. 8 AM tomorrow
I’ll be armed.
Whatever – so will my assistant. Don’t b late.
“Probably not the smartest thing you’ve ever done, Bass.”
Chapter 40
7:45 a.m. the Next Day
Jack swiveled his head constantly as he drove his car slowly into Brazos Bend State Park, southwest of Houston, looking for a sign with directions to the observatory…and any possible ambush sites. He didn’t trust Schanlon as far as he could throw him. He followed the signs to the observatory, slowing to inspect the parking lot when he found it. As he expected, there was only one car in sight—a large black limo with darkened windows.
“Of course,” Jack grumbled as he neared the car. “Can’t just drive any little, old, ordinary car, eh?”
He pulled up next to the limo on the driver’s side and sat, his car idling as he inspected the other vehicle. Eventually, a rear window lowered, and Schanlon impatiently waved Jack over. He opened his door and stood, adjusting the Colt .45 tucked into the rear of his waistband, then walked slowly around to the other car. The driver’s door suddenly flew open, and Schanlon’s security assistant jumped out.
“Give me your gun.” Chip held an open hand out toward Jack.
Jack stared blankly at him for several seconds then smiled wryly and took a step back. “I’ll give you mine if you give me yours.”
Chip looked over his sunglasses at Jack then slowly turned his gaze toward Schanlon, who was peering through his open window. Schanlon rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively at his assistant then looked at Jack.
“Just get in the damn car!”
Chip scowled at Jack then opened the door to the rear of the limo, holding it as Jack climbed in. Schanlon slid clumsily across the seat to make room for Jack, but Jack crowded right over against him.
Schanlon huffed. “Have you ever heard of personal space?”
Jack smiled dryly then slowly turned his head toward Schanlon. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Right?”
Schanlon rolled his eyes. “You watch too many movies.” He squirmed against his door but could only separate himself from Jack by a couple of inches. “Look, Bass, you may not have planned on making an enemy of me, but you have. I haven’t gotten where I am at my age by pussyfooting around with PITAs like you.”
“Wow! Cut right to the chase, again, eh? If you weren’t such an asshole, I’d like that about you.”
“Well, I don’t have time for nonsense.”
“Me, either.” Jack turned his head and shoulders to Schanlon, pressing his weight firmly against him and putting his mouth near Schanlon’s ear. “And you’re wearing on my last nerve.” He straightened in the seat. “You called the meeting. What do you want?”
Schanlon held his hand out to Chip, who’d seated himself behind the steering wheel. “Give me the packet.”
Chip handed a manila envelope to Schanlon then faced forward again, closely scrutinizing Jack in the rearview mirror. Schanlon tore open the sachet and hurriedly pulled out the contents. He smirked as he gazed at various pieces of the materials he extracted.
“I think you’ll find this stuff very interesting, Bass,” he said without looking at Jack. “For instance, take a look at this.” He held out an eight-by-ten, glossy photo.
> Jack huffed then snatched it from Schanlon, instantly wrinkling his brow deeply when he looked at it. Jack growled. The picture showed Amanda with several of her friends at an area mall. Chip was standing against a wall behind them, smirking at the camera as he held his jacket tail aside just enough to display the butt of a pistol tucked in a waist holster.
Jack spun toward Schanlon. “You motherfucker!” He froze when he heard the click of the hammer on the pistol Chip had trained on him.
“That’s better—I’m glad to see you can be reasonable,” Schanlon chided. “Just sit back and hold still a minute while I show you a little more.”
Jack slowly turned his head toward Chip, locking eyes with him. He just sneered at Jack.
“I don’t want to see any more—I get it.”
“But wait,” Schanlon said mockingly as he sorted through several pictures, holding each up in front of Jack’s face. “Here’s another one of your daughter. One of that old fart general who lives with you. Man, is he ancient! Shit, I bet I could drop him!”
Jack squeezed his eyes tightly closed. “Enough!” he roared. “I get it—you’re taking this to a whole new level. Is that the message?”
Schanlon cackled derisively. “Message? There’s no message. I don’t need to tell you anything. I think you’re smart enough to figure this out on your own—question is, are you wise enough to know when you’re beat?”
Jack slowly opened his eyes. “You know, I was ready to walk away from this.” He shot quick glances at both men. “Now, you’ve threatened my family. There are several men who have done that before.” He turned and locked gazes with Schanlon. “They can’t tell you how I responded…because they’re all dead!”
Chip’s gaze darted toward Schanlon, an expectant look on Chip’s face.
Jack slowly slid across the seat, reaching behind him to open the door, his eyes glued on the gun being held on him. He opened the door and backed out, edging around the door. When he was on the far side of the door, he suddenly threw his weight against the driver’s door. He whipped his gun from his waistband and brought it to bear on Schanlon.
