Black Gold Deception

by Jess Walker

Chapter 6

  Sam reached the town limits without further incident. The sleepy town of Whitebush sat vacant. Stores lined the main street, each with closed signs perched on the front windows. No foot or vehicle traffic roamed the streets, not uncommon for a Sunday afternoon. The flashing four-way stop loomed ahead in the distance as Sam neared it. He made a left and drove under a large blue and white banner that read: Welcome to the Town of Whitebush.

  Ahead, on the right, he saw a lone police car parked in front of the police station, an outdated two-storey brick building. A rusted white sign clung to the crumbling brick exterior proclaiming: Whitebush Police: We Serve and Protect. Down the road from the police station sat Whitebush’s crown jewel: it’s only church. The parking lot was filled to capacity. An excess of vehicles spilled out along the street for over half a mile. The century old stone church was probably packed to the rafters with people standing in the aisles and at the back to listen to the Sunday sermon.

  Sam brought the van to a halt and gazed through the window of the police station. Sherriff Joe, a white haired, burly man with a handlebar mustache and olive-green eyes, wasn’t there. Sam found this unusual as he was always there, day in and day out. A new recruit, Johnny Evans, a blond, blue-eyed twenty-something hired only a few weeks ago, wasn’t there, either. The guy who sat behind the desk was somebody entirely different, somebody Sam had never seen before.

  A lump formed in his throat. His intuition was telling him something wasn’t adding up. Sam stared at the man who seemed oblivious to the van parked out front. His back was turned to Sam, and he was talking on his mobile. When the man turned sideways toward the prison cell, Sam got a better look at him.

  His heart went into overdrive. The man had a tattoo of a dragon sprawled down the side of his neck.

  Was this a coincidence? Hell no. They had infiltrated the police station. God only knows what they did with Sherriff Joe.

  When the man turned toward the window, Sam ducked his head, pulling Silver below the dash with him. A minute may have passed, perhaps two, when Sam poked his head back up. He wanted to reassure himself that he hadn’t been seen before getting the hell out of there.

  That was a mistake.

  The man stood as still as a statue in front of the window with both arms crossed, staring ahead. His eyes locked onto Sam and widened in surprise. Sam put the van into drive and hammered down on the accelerator, hoping he had enough of a head-start. Glancing at the driver’s side mirror as the van accelerated down the road toward the stoplights, he saw the man run into the middle of the road, gun in hand. He didn’t fire at him. He just stood there and watched.

  As Sam turned a sharp left, he heard the sound of the police sirens behind him. The imposter police officer, killer, a trained mercenary, hitman, Sam couldn’t decide what to call him, was after him. Sam had less than a minute head start. One hundred yards ahead on the left-hand side sat Jimmy’s Auto Repair Shop, a rundown garage with a yard full of beat-up cars and trucks. He eased his foot off the accelerator and cranked the wheel a hard left to turn into the garage parking lot which was littered with vehicles in various states of repair. Seconds later, the police car sped by. He had avoided detection so far but knew his luck wouldn’t last long. He had to switch vehicles.

  A rusted-out 1980 blue Buick Regal sat a couple yards away. The long-boxed hood of the car coupled with a trunk big enough to pack in ten dead bodies, had dimensions similar in size to a stretch limo. He had driven one before, one with less rust on it and a bumper that was still intact. He recalled it had an engine powerful enough to produce enough ‘G’ force to make the driver a permanent fixture in his seat.

  He got out of the van, Silver following close behind, and hustled over to the car to try the door. It opened with a sharp tug. No keys were in the ignition, but when he tried the sun visor, a set of keys fell down.

  “Get in, Silver!” The wolf jumped through the door and sat beside him on the red vinyl bucket seat.

  “Jimmy’s got to exercise a little more caution in safeguarding his vehicles,” Sam chuckled.

  He inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine coughed and sputtered but didn’t turn over. He tried again, this time applying his foot on the gas petal a little longer. It started with a throaty growl.

  He pulled the car out of the parking lot and onto the road, driving with an edge of caution and the knowledge he was being sought out. An oil stained ball cap sat on the dashboard. He grabbed it and put it on, pulling the visor low. The car cruised down the main street and turned onto the interstate highway.

  CHAPTER 7

  Back at the police station, Sherriff Joe paced back and forth in the cell, hollering at the top of his lungs.

  “Help! Somebody help me! Get me the hell out of here!”

  He didn’t know what had just happened. His assailant left almost as quickly as he had shown up, barging out the door with a gun in hand.

  The door to the police station flew open. Joe took a short, tense breath. He expected to see the assailant again, but was relieved when he saw Martha’s short, voluptuous figure appear in the door. She lived in the upstairs apartment.

  “Joe! Oh, my goodness, Joe! Are you okay?”

  “I’m alright, just get me out of here. The extra set of keys are in the top drawer of my desk.”

  Martha waddled over to the desk to retrieve the key before approaching the cell where Joe waited.

  “Thank you darlin’,” Joe said. Giving her a big hug, he buried his nose in her red hair that was cut into a stylish bob and sprinkled with grey.

  He glanced out the front window and saw that the police car was gone. Wanting to be ready for the intruder in case he came back, he dashed back to the gun-locker room to retrieve a revolver and pull on some extra clothes.

  “Martha, you best be getting upstairs. There’s a whole lot of danger in these parts right now.”

  Her freckled cheeks blushed as she gently brushed his arm. “What kind of danger?”

  “No time for that now. Best get going,” Joe replied with a stern look on his face.

  With a look of dejection, she turned around and walked out.

  Joe grabbed the phone and dialed a number. He was calling his friends up in Salmon Arm, a town of twenty thousand, located fifty miles south. He needed back-up. Something wasn’t right in his sleepy town, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

  “Hi Dave. It’s Joe calling from the Whitebush Police Department.”

  “Hey Joe. What can I do for you? How are things down in the booming metropolis of Whitebush?”

  “Dave, I don’t have time for small talk, so I’ll cut to the chase. I need back up, and I need it now! Can you send a cruiser down?”

  “I’ll come down myself. Are you okay?” Dave asked.

  “I’m fine, but this is urgent Dave. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

  “Well okay Joe, but—”

  Joe hung up, not waiting for him to finish. He dialed a second number. He needed the new kid.

  Johnny picked up after the second ring. “Jesus Joe. You couldn’t have picked a worse time to call me,” he whispered. “I’m at the church service. The minister right now looks like he wants to hang me from the rafters and stick my mobile where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Church is going to have to wait. Get your tail over to the station on the double,” Joe snapped before hanging up.

  Joe walked over to a monitor set up in the back room. It was hooked up to a series of video surveillance cameras. He clicked on the video showing the footage from the front of the building and rewound it to the part where a van pulled in and parked out front. It looked to be a GMC Safari Cargo van, perhaps a couple years old. From the angle of the video camera and the position of the van, he couldn’t get a clear shot of the plate numbers.

  He saw the driver looking inside the police departme
nt window and then he ducked from view. A couple seconds later, the driver popped his head back up and the van took off. He then saw the intruder run out of the building with his gun onto the street. It looked like he was going to fire a couple of rounds at the van, but then he stopped and holstered his gun instead.

  Who was the driver of the van? Joe thought.

  He rewound it to the frame that showed the driver looking through the window and pushed pause. He zoomed in further. His jaw dropped when he recognized who it was—Sam West.

  “Sam,” Joe muttered. “What have you got yourself into?”

  Joe gripped his pistol as he walked outside. He didn’t know where the intruder had gone or if he planned on coming back. He had taken his cruiser; he knew that much. A blue Toyota Corolla pulled up to the police station. It was Johnny. He parked the car and got out.

  “Holly crap Joe. Are you okay? You got a nasty gash on the side of your head.”

  “Johnny, I need you to stay at the police station. Somebody, I don’t know who it was—never seen the fella before—attacked me. He came in and wacked me pretty good over the head, knocking me out for a couple of minutes and took my clothes. He then locked me up in one of the cells.”

  “Now why the hell would somebody do such a thing?” Johnny asked.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” Joe replied. “When he saw Sam West out front, he went after him like a fox on a rabbit. Sam peeled off in a blue van and the guy took the cruiser to chase him down. I tried calling Lawrence at home, but the phone is out of order.”

  “What’s Sam doing driving? The kid doesn’t even have a license,” Johnny said. “And why did he go to the police station? What sort of trouble did he get himself into?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Joe replied. “Look at the surveillance tapes and try to get the exact make and model number of the van and then put out a statewide APB on this bruiser. See if you can get a close-up shot of the guy. There should be some good footage of him. We need to know who it is we’re dealing with. He is one fearless SOB’— somebody you don’t want to meet alone in a back alley, let alone in a cop shop,” Joe chuckled. “I can attest to that.”

  “And what are you going to do?” Johnny asked.

  “I’m going to take your car if you don’t mind. Dave is on his way down from Salmon Arm as we speak. He should be here shortly.”

  Johnny passed him his keys.

  Joe drove slowly, checking for any signs that would give him answers. At the next set of lights, he saw skid marks veering to the left. He followed them and drove to the town limits without seeing any more. He turned around and drove back, looking for anything he might have missed. He saw Jimmy’s Auto Repair Shop. Out front, Jimmy was waving him down. Joe pulled up and rolled down his window.

  “Oh, it’s you. I thought you were Johnny. It’s his car ain’t it?” Jimmy asked.

  “Just borrowing it, Jimmy. What can I do for you?”

  “One of my cars got jacked. It’s the 1980 blue Buick Regal, one of my favorites. I forgot to lock the damn thing and left the keys in the visor.”

  Joe’s eyes widened.

  “Show me where it was parked.”

  Joe got out of his car and followed Jimmy around back.

  “It was right there,” Jimmy pointed, “and now as you can see, it ain’t there.”

  Joe saw the blue van. His pulse quickened.

  “Is this blue van yours?” Joe asked, walking toward it.

  Jimmy scratched his head. “Umm, come to think about it, no.”

  Joe tugged on the door, and it opened. He pulled out his gun and poked his head inside. Nothing. He did a quick search and came up empty. Taking out his phone, he dialed the police station.

  “Johnny, I found the van. It’s over at Jimmy’s Auto Shop. We’ll need to secure it and conduct a thorough search of it. Run out an APB on a 1980 Buick Regal. I think that’s the car Sam is driving.”

  “Got it, boss. I got some good news. They found the cruiser. Just off the interstate highway heading north on Settler’s Line. No one in sight!”

  “That is good news. Looks like I got my wheels back. Stay close to the phone. I need you manning the station.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Joe hung up. “Jimmy, you up for a little drive?”

  “You’re the sheriff in these parts. Whatever you say goes.”

  They got into the car and drove off.

  “Let’s go pick up my damned car,” Joe said.

  An hour later, Joe was in his cruiser headed to Sam and Lawrence’s place. Dave was in the other cruiser following him. A quarter of the way down, he passed the Barbers’ residence. He slowed down when he noticed the door was wide open, but nobody was around. He pulled into the lane and got on his radio.

  “Dave, we’re going to make a quick stop here. Just want to make sure everything is okay.”

  Joe got out of his vehicle and Dave followed suit. Dave, standing five-foot three-inches tall, was nicknamed the Silver Fox because his hair was as white as snow. Pushing the ripe age of fifty years, he kept himself in top shape, not an ounce of fat on his wiry frame.

  Joe motioned for him to follow. When they reached the door, he peered inside. The place had been ransacked. He took out his gun and clicked the safety off.

  “Linda, Fred, are you in there?”

  “We’re here!” they shouted.

  Joe and Dave rushed inside. Linda and Fred lay on the floor with their arms and legs zip-tied together. Both their faces were bloodied and bruised. They looked like they’d been in a brawl down at Spanky’s Bar and Grill.

  “We need an ambulance out here stat.” Dave said into his radio. “It’s the first house you’ll see along Fife’s Bay Road.”

  Joe withdrew his Swiss Army knife and cut the zip-ties off their wrists and ankles. He helped them to their feet and gestured for them to take a seat.

  “Dave, get ’em some water.”

  Fred wrapped his trembling arms around his wife and hugged her tight. Linda started to sob while Fred consoled her. After a minute of continuous tears, the crying stopped.

  “Who did this to you?” Joe had waited for the crying to subside before he began his questions.

  “Two men, young looking, in shape, with short haircuts.”

  Dave returned with water and handed it to them.

  “Well that just about narrows it down to half the male population in Salmon Arm,” he snorted.

  Joe gave him a stern look.

  “Go ahead, what else can you tell me about them?”

  “They had an accent. Almost like Eastern European, Russian maybe,” Linda said.

  “Did you notice anything unique about their physical appearance? A scar or something that caught your eye?” Joe asked.

  “Hmm… that’s funny. Come to think about it,” Fred said, “there was something that caught my eye. They both had dragon tattoos down the sides of their necks.”

  Joe swallowed hard.

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent,” Linda hissed.

  “Did they ask you about Sam West?” Joe asked.

  “How did you know?” Fred gasped. “They wanted to know where Sam was. They thought that we had him, that he was hiding somewhere in our house.”

  “Was he?” Joe asked.

  “No!” cried Linda.

  Twenty minutes later, the blare of sirens punctured the countryside. Joe turned around and walked to the window. He saw an ambulance pull into the driveway and two paramedics jumped out.

  “The ambulance is here. They’re going to take you two to the hospital. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Joe said, giving them a reassuring smile as the two paramedics raced inside.

  Joe turned to Dave. “Shall we carry on?”

  They got into their cruisers to continue their se
arch. A little way down the road, they passed the burning wreckage of a van in the ditch.

  “What is going on here?” Joe muttered. “It’s like World War Three has just come to Whitebush.”

  The radio cackled.

  “Should we stop?” Dave asked.

  “It looks like it’s been smoldering for a while. I’ll call it in on our way to the house.”

  When they arrived at the house, Joe saw that the door was left wide open.

  “Not a good sign,” he whispered.

  The officers approached the building, guns drawn, ready for anything.

  “Anybody home!” Joe hollered.

  Silence filled the air.

  “On my signal we go in. Got it?” Joe whispered.

  Dave nodded his head.

  Joe gave him the signal, pointing at the door to enter.

  He clasped his gun firmly in both hands and barged in with Dave a couple steps behind. They proceeded to search the house, going from room to room with their guns at the ready. Nobody was home. The place had been turned upside down. The floor was splattered with blood, and a long streak of blood led from the living area to the front door.

  “Somebody was bleeding pretty bad,” Dave said, stating the obvious.

  “What from and how is the more important question,” Joe replied.

  He picked up the radio.

  “Johnny, it’s Joe. We’re at Sam and Lawrence’s place. Looks like a bomb hit it. There was some kind of altercation. A lot of blood, enough to fill an entire blood donor clinic. Contact the Peterborough Police Department and get their forensic team over here. We need a thorough top-down forensic investigation of the house.”

  “Copy that, Joe. I’ll give them a call. Over.”

  Joe looked at Dave. “Let’s hope they’ll turn up something. We need to find Sam. Let’s pray he’s okay. Wherever he went, the guy who took my cruiser for a joyride won’t be too far behind him.”

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 8

  November 3, 2016, Late Morning—Porcupine Mountain, Northern Michigan…