by Jess Walker
Jess Walker
Black Gold Deception
By Jess Walker
Copyright 2018 by Jess Walker
Book Design by Morning Rain Publishing
Cover design copyright 2018 Joanne Kasunic
Print ISBN: 978-1-9994258-4-5
ePub ISBN: 978-1-9994258-2-1
MOBI ISBN: 978-1-9994258-1-4
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work.
Acknowledgements
A special thanks goes out to Morning Rain Publishing for their support and assistance.
Dedication
To my mom: Your unwavering love and support has been a constant in my life, unmovable and forever present.
PROLOGUE
October 1, 2000—Detroit Michigan…
It was almost five p.m., and Donnie and Daryl hadn’t come home yet. Only a year apart, it wasn’t like them not to call if they were going to be late. Something was wrong; they were an hour late.
They were hard-working boys. Whether moving stuff, cleaning, painting, or delivering miscellaneous items, they did well to support the family. Jobs were a rarity in cash-strapped Detroit, so she was thankful for the money they brought home. There were many desperate people out there trying to make a living by any means necessary, and Dorothy Fairfax had been one of them.
Dorothy gazed out the window of her two-bedroom apartment. Located on the fifth floor of a beat-up apartment building, it was one of a handful surrounding a communal courtyard riddled with trash, overgrown weeds, and a run-down basketball court. She glanced toward the sky and noticed the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The dark rolling rainclouds looked ominous. A sense of foreboding nagged at her, pulling at her nerves with an unrelenting tension. She felt on edge, ready to snap.
The basketball court—usually occupied by the local drug dealer and a mixed ensemble of the usual suspects—vacated quickly at the first sign of rain. The light speckling of rain quickly grew into raging torrents so thick the sky looked like a massive revolving waterfall. Dorothy opened the window and breathed in deep gulps of air, trying to calm her nerves.
As a single mother, with no education or money she barely got by. But get by, she did. Desperation was her driving force. She sold her body for cash, working the streets to make enough money to care for her three boys. She gave them what they needed: clothing, food, and a roof over their heads.
When Donnie and Daryl had reached the ages of twelve and thirteen, they had set out to find jobs, assuring her she didn’t have to work anymore. They would provide for the family. True to their word, they brought home more than enough money—a not-so-honest month’s wage in one shot.
Dorothy’s thoughts were interrupted by the phone. On the second ring, she picked it up.
“Hello.”
“Where Donnie and Daryl at?” the voice on the other end boomed.
“Who am I speaking to?”
She was taken aback by the rude man on the other end of the line. His question sounded like a threat.
“They have something that belongs to me, and I want it back. I know where you live, and I’m coming to get it.”
Before Dorothy could respond, the phone went dead. With sweaty palms, she placed the phone back on its base. She walked back to the kitchen and sat down on a wooden chair. The fresh air streaming through the open window, mixed with the sound of the rain, helped to ease her anxiety.
She wondered what the man wanted. What kind of trouble had the boys gotten themselves into?
She took a cigarette from the carton, pressed it to her lips, and lit it.
Her youngest son, Dexter, came out of his bedroom.
“Mama, who was that?”
She inhaled the cigarette deeply. “I don’t know honey, but don’t worry about it—it’s nothing.”
Eight-year-old Dexter walked over and gave his mother a big hug. “Everything is going to be okay Mama, I love you.”
He turned around and walked back to his bedroom.
She blew him a kiss. “I love you, too.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched her blond, blue-eyed angel walk back to his bedroom: a place where he spent the majority of his time reading, finding comfort in books rather than kids his own age. She found it odd but never pushed him to play with the neighborhood kids, as she knew it was much safer inside her own home. Outside the house, crime was rampant—drugs, assault, gang violence, homicides, and a host of other felonies were as common as potholes on the decaying roads leading into and out of Detroit. A day wouldn’t go by that she didn’t hear gunshots ringing out in the distance or the sounds of police sirens. Stubbing the cigarette out, she walked back to the window. The rain had let up slightly but was still coming down hard.
Where are they? She scanned the courtyard for their blue windbreaker jackets and black ball caps. Deep down, Dorothy knew they had been living a lie. She turned a blind eye to her boys’ actual line of work. They had to be involved in drugs—selling, buying, or both. She had never seen the drugs on them or found any in the apartment but knew they were involved somehow. The money they brought home was not from an honest day’s work. The belligerent man on the phone had to be their boss or a pissed-off customer.
Her concentration was broken again as the door swung wide open, almost flying off its hinges from the sudden force. Donnie and Daryl barged inside, fear and desperation showing in their eyes.
“What have you done?” she stammered.
“Mama, it’s okay. We got this,” Without making eye contact, Donnie shrugged out of his rain-soaked jacket and tossed in onto a chair.
“A man called and said you have something that belongs to him. What do you owe him? What does he want?”
Hands on hips, trying to remain calm, she stood directly in front of them.
“It don’t concern you, Mama,” Daryl replied tersely. He gently pushed her aside as they walked past her.
“Damned right it concerns me. If a man calls my house looking for the two of you, it concerns me. I have every right to be worried. Don’t walk away from me, get back here!”
Her plea went unanswered as the boys disappeared into their bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them.
Dorothy walked to their bedroom door and stood behind it. She heard the closet door slide open followed by the sound of metal scraping against wood. Imagining the worst, she leaned in to listen.
“I told you he would find out!” Donnie hissed.
The words were followed by a slap, presumably Daryl’s hand on Donnie’s shoulder, as he said,” “Relax, little bro. We’ll get this sorted out. Tell him it was an honest mistake, you know, that we miscounted the money or something. We’ll be okay.”
“That’s a lot of money to miscount,” Daryl replied.
Dorothy couldn’t remain silent. “He said that he would be coming here.”
The door swung open, and both boys stood in front of their mother, stunned at what they had just heard.
“Mama, say again,” Donnie replied. “Did you just say he is coming here?”
“Yes,” she cried.
Awkward silence filled the air before Donnie broke it.
“We got to go. We got to fix this!”
“How does he know where we live?” Daryl asked.
“I don’t know. He could have had somebody follow us.”
“Maybe… or it could just be an idle threat,” Daryl retorted.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell not going to hang around to find out!”
Upon exiting the bedroom, Daryl had a wad of money clenched in his hand.
“Where did you get that cash? I knew you were into drugs!”
“We’re runners, Mama. Did you really think we were able to support you with our so-called jobs? ” Donnie pushed past his mother, making his way to the door. “But we messed up big-time, and now we’re gonna pay for it if we don’t get outta here.”
They were within ten feet of the front door when it was kicked open. The boys stopped dead in their tracks. at the sight of his gun, which was aimed squarely at Daryl’s heads. The corner of his mouth twitched as the veins in his neck bulged.
Donnie and Daryl raised their hands in the air.
“We can explain,” Daryl croaked. “You see—”
The gunman cut him off, his lazy southern drawl out of place in the city. “Save it, kid. Don’t try to lie to me. You stole from me, and now you’re going to pay.”
“The money is here—we have it.” Daryl tossed the wad of cash toward the man; it landed three feet short of its mark.
There would be no negotiating. This man was as ruthless as they came, and if history was any indicator, they would be six feet under in a wooden box if they didn’t do something about it.
The gunman took a step forward, keeping his gun trained on them as he bent down to grab the money. Daryl took a sideways glance at his brother. His brother knew what was to happen next. When the man’s eyes diverted from the gun to the money, the boys sprang into action. In an act of desperation, they bolted forward, trying to close the gap to take him down. Time stood stand still. The distance they had to close was enormous, almost insurmountable.
Ten minutes earlier…
Dexter was reading a book when he heard the front door open followed by a brief but intense exchange of words between his mom and his two older brothers. Thinking nothing of it, he continued to read. An argument between his mom and older brothers was a recurring theme in the Fairfax residence.
A little while later, he heard the door crash open followed by an unfamiliar voice. It sounded angry. Getting up from his bed, he tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack to look out. What he saw put him into panic mode. A stranger was pointing a gun at his brothers. His mother was hiding around the corner, listening to the unfolding confrontation.
Without having to think, his survival instincts kicked in. He scampered to his bed and crawled underneath to hide. He then heard three distinct gunshots echo through the apartment. Fear and shock surged through Dexter’s small body. His heart pumped hard and deep, each beat reverberating through him like a bass drum. He no longer heard voices, only a pair of solo footsteps walking from room to room.
The door to his room eventually creaked open. Footsteps approached the side of his bed. Opening his eyes, Dexter saw a pair of black leather shoes covered in smears of blood. The bed skirt was lifted, and he locked eyes with the stranger. A crooked grin crossed the man’s face as he grabbed Dexter’s arm and pulled him out. Dexter did the only thing he knew how to do: bite.
He bit the stranger’s hand—hard. His teeth penetrated the man’s flesh with purpose and resolve. Releasing his grasp, the man screamed and recoiled back. Dexter ran for the door.
“You’re dead meat, kid! I’m coming to get you.”
Dexter ran toward the kitchen but slowed down halfway when something caught his attention. He saw his two brothers and his mom on the floor. They lay frozen, their bodies contorted in unnatural positions. At only eight, he was smart enough to know they weren’t asleep. They were dead. Rage boiled over him. Adrenaline coursed through his body and made him act without thinking. He was no longer scared. Anger consumed him. This man, this intruder, this murderer, was going to pay.
Dexter grabbed a pot of water that was boiling on the stovetop, waiting for the pasta his mother had started to prepare, and a sharp knife off the nearby countertop. He hid behind the entranceway to the kitchen and waited. Seconds later, the man walked in the room, failing to see him pressed up against the wall.
Clenching the pot of boiling hot water, Dexter sprang forward. He threw it on the man’s back. The effect was instantaneous. The man fell to his knees and let out a hoarse scream. He clawed at his back with both hands. Consumed with pain, he didn’t see the boy charging at him with a knife until it was too late.
Dexter rammed the knife in deep into the murderer’s back. The blade remained lodged in his flesh as the man spun around, crying out in pain.
The man lunged forward, grabbed Dexter around the neck, and tossed him across the kitchen. As Dexter somersaulted through the air, he tensed his body in anticipation for the impending collision against the wall, but no collision came. He catapulted out the window!
When he came to, Dexter was surrounded by paramedics and police officers. A slew of curious bystanders huddled around the perimeter of the police tape. Miraculously, he had landed on a small section of grass, instead of the hard asphalt. The water from the rainfall had turned the grass into a sponge thick enough to absorb his fall. Miraculously, the only injury he sustained was a broken ankle. Dexter Fairfax’s life had been spared that day. His mother and brothers were not so lucky. Before the police arrived on the scene, the man—known on the streets as Andy—had escaped with the money in hand.
PART 1
CHAPTER 1
November 6, 2016, Late Morning—Whitebush, Michigan…
Sam West stared out the window of the rustic old wood-framed house he shared with Lawrence. Situated in the woods of Northern Michigan, their home blended in with the surroundings, camouflaged amongst the pine trees and century-old maples. Their house was nicknamed the ‘Hideaway’ as it was next to impossible to see it from a distance. Today was different, though. Thick plumes of white smoke drifted from the chimney into the crisp autumn air, where it hovered above the cabin, a beacon transmitting its location.
Sam fixed his gaze on a pair of squirrels darting across the leaf-covered ground. Their lightning-quick movements and boundless energy put a smile on his face as they foraged the forest floor, competing with each other for the elusive grub. A large wood-burning stove with a pile of logs stacked neatly beside it occupied the center of the room. He felt warm and safe inside the confines of his home on an otherwise cold, wet, and miserable day.
A light drizzle of rain sprinkled the surroundings, adding to the thin mist floating a couple feet above the ground. He knew the rolling fog all too well, it always penetrated right through him, the cold and the dampness rooting itself deep inside his bones.
Lawrence and his group must have run into some snow up in the mountains, Sam thought. He should have been back by now, unless he had made other plans, but Lawrence would have let Sam know. Sam’s thoughts were interrupted by droplets of water trickling down in slow succession from the vaulted ceiling, striking the top of the wood stove, sizzling and dissolving into thin air.
Two years had passed since his rescue from the woods of Northern Ontario. After spending months surviving the harsh elements, he had come out on top, a little banged up and twenty pounds lighter, but alive, nonetheless. The kettle began to whistle. Sam took it off the stovetop and carefully poured hot water into his mug before depositing a fresh tea bag inside. He sipped the tea, letting the hot liquid roll down his throat.
Visions suddenly tumbled back to him—of the plane crash and of the ensuing wreckage, of the carnage and the wolves mauling over the dead pilot’s body. How could he forget the smell? It was the stink of jet fuel, death, fear and panic all rolled up as one—an entity onto itself. It still haunted
him like the unforgiving stench of roadkill on a hot summer’s day. He felt like he was there again.
Sam walked over to the window ledge and sat down, clasping both hands around the mug while letting the steam caress his face before taking another sip. Looking out the window, he noticed that the squirrels were gone, no sign of them. Presumably, they were back in the comfort of their own tree, stashing away nuts for the winter. A thin film of moisture clung to the surface of the window. He placed the palm of his hand against the cool surface, feeling the dampness numb his skin as rivulets of water streamed down either side. Removing his hand, he gazed at the print left behind.
The sounds of paws clomping across the old wood floorboards, scratching the surface with each step caught his attention. He turned around and saw their old trusted companion sauntering over to him. Silver was a wolf. He had the temperament of a family dog, but the instincts of a wolf—instincts that had saved his and Lawrence’s life on more than one occasion while in the woods of Northern Ontario. Silver had made it out with them and was very much a part of their life.
By sheer luck, Sam had crossed paths with Lawrence while stranded in the woods of Northern Ontario. The chances of meeting another person in a land so desolate, so barren, and so far removed from any town or city for hundreds of miles in any direction was, in Sam’s opinion, like getting struck by lightning inside an underground bunker. In other words, next to impossible. He had survived and thanked his lucky stars. No longer was he living in foster homes, as he did prior to his Northern Ontario adventure. He felt accepted and loved. His life had meaning and purpose.
Sam always wondered what would have happened to him had Lawrence not found him. After all, Lawrence was the one who had taught him much of what he knew about survival. He was the one who had found the survival kit and the inflatable raft at the crash-site. The raft had been their saving grace. It had transported them many miles downstream where they stumbled upon a mineral exploration site with workers present.
