Aftermath (5 page)

A frown creased Logan’s brow.  He closed his slate-gray eyes and for a few seconds looked ahead to what might be a future he was still a part of.  It struck him that he was now almost fifty, and that drifting from town to town, state to state, was not something he could do forever.  But the truth was that until he couldn’t, he would just keep moving.  It was all he knew and felt happy doing.  Being alone suited him just fine, because he never felt lonely.

Back with the current program, Logan thought how best to deal with the threat to the two women in the cabin behind him.  The situation was stable at the moment.  One of the hitters had been effectively dealt with, and the other had no idea where they were.  But whoever wanted Rita and Sharon dead would not be discouraged.  He obviously thought they had information that could seriously harm him.

He drank his coffee and shook the dregs out of the mug into the water, and watched the small fishes darting in and out between the timber piles as he ran through all that had occurred since he’d come face to face with Rita Jennings.

Something was bothering him, scratching at the edges of his brain.  Something that he’d overlooked.  This was like combat.  You had to give the enemy all due respect, and know how to think like they did, so that you were ready for any form of attack.

It came to him.  There was no excuse, but he had missed something that should have been fundamental in his reckoning.  As he lifted his right leg up and put his foot on the planks, he heard a footfall behind him.

“Stay there, Logan,” a voice said.

Jerry
Brandon was outside the showroom on the lot at his dealership adjacent to the Kanawha Mall, which was in sight of the traffic up on the West Virginia turnpike.

It was hot as hell and the sun was glinting off the gold frames of Jerry’s bifocals.  He looked a like a showman, not a businessman.  He was fifty-three, with thick, gray, collar-length hair.  He wore a trademark pure white suit, with a belt sporting a large silver buckle with an embossed eagle’s head at its centre to keep his pants up, a red silk necktie, and snakeskin cowboy boots with extra high heels to lift him up a couple of inches from the five feet eight he stood barefooted.

Jerry’s tanned face looked strained as he spoke to Sammy Lester.

“I don’t fucking believe this,” Jerry said.  “You told me that the two guys you’d hired were professionals.  I’d have done better paying Abbott and Costello to get rid of my problem.”

“Who?”  Sammy said.  He was twenty-five and a parallel universe away from the old comedy double act.

“They were fucking idiots,” Jerry said.  “Nearly as stupid as the team you recommended.  Tell me that you’re going to put matters right, and quickly.”

“It’ll all work out, boss,” Sammy said.

“Why didn’t it work out the first time, before the bitches knew that they were being targeted?”

“The girl in D.C. was just lucky.  One of the broads she lived with was a dead ringer for her and attends the same university.  And she borrowed her car that day.”

“Luck didn’t come into it, you moron,” Jerry said.  “Is the shooter short-sighted as well as dumb?  He should have identified her beyond any doubt.  Instead, he followed her car and assumed that she was driving it.”

“He’ll find her and kill her, boss.  I guarantee it.  Sal will get the job done.”

“And what about her mother?”

“Roy Naylor followed her to a trailer park up north.  Even put a tracker on her SUV when she stopped for a break.  He picked his time, at night, and checked that her vehicle was outside the trailer before he went in.  He said that the bed was empty, but that a guy jumped him.”

“And?”

“The guy left Roy next to a lake, after he’d hurt him bad and shot two of his toes off with Roy’s gun.”

“Unbelievable.  So what’s Plan B, Sammy?”

“It figures that the daughter will go to her mother.  Sal will find them and finish it.”

“What do we know about the guy that stuck his nose in?”

“Sal talked with the owner of the trailer park.  Seems he was a drifter who just walked in off the highway.  Gave his name as Johnson.  And Roy says he’s at least six-three and built like a tank.  And that he was extremely capable.  Maybe ex-forces or something.”

Jerry walked away.  Took a slim, 9 carat gold cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket, opened it and plucked a Parliament from behind the retaining bar to light with a gold-plated Zippo.  He took a deep drag and looked at the polish on a dark green 2008 sedan that he was having difficulty moving.  Maybe he’d knock a few bucks off the loaded price and make it ‘Bargain of the Week’.

Sammy watched his boss.  He wanted to keep him sweet.  Jerry Brandon was a psycho.  To most people he came across as a self-made man; a regular guy who’d done well for himself and was known for his charity work in the right circles of Charleston.  To the few that
really
knew him, he was nothing but a crook with a violent temper.  Sammy had seen him lose the plot on several occasions.  Once watched as he threw a salesman through a plate-glass window after finding out that he had given a relative a heavy discount on a car.

Jerry ambled back to Sammy and stared him in the eyes till he had to look down at the ground.  “I’ve got a very bad feeling about this, Sammy,” Jerry said.  “Appears to me that Rita Jennings has found herself a pro to keep her ass safe.  And he’s got Naylor’s gun and obviously knows how to use it.  If Naylor gave your name up, then he can brace you and that would make me vulnerable.”

“They’ll be feeling safe, boss.  Sal knows what the score is now.  He’ll track them down and whack all three of them within twenty-four hours.”

“I hope so, Sammy.  This was supposed to be a quick fix to a problem.  Now it’s escalating out of control.  I need for it to be a done deal.  Let me know when it’s been taken care of.”

Jerry went back to his office, sat down and mulled it over.  Dealing with lowlifes’ was always a big risk.  Thieves and killers were not usually the sharpest knives in the block.  And this had been the first time he had needed to actually have people murdered.  Hiring Richard Jennings had been a big mistake.

Jerry had known Richard since high school, and knew that he had grown into a decent, home-loving guy that he could trust to look after his books.  For ten years, since being laid off by a firm in Huntington, Richard had worked for Jerry.  They had a great relationship.  Jerry and his wife, Gloria, even met up with Richard and Rita about once a month at the country club for a meal and drinks.

But Richard was not what he seemed.  He had resented the way that Jerry treated him at work; as if he had taken him on to do him a favor, which was reflected by the salary he paid him.

Richard was more astute than Jerry gave him credit for, and had kept records of all the deals that did not go through the books.  He built up a dossier that would have ruined Jerry and most likely put him in prison.  At very least he would have been in hock to the IRS for the rest of his life.

Richard had been totally forthright.  He wanted half a million in cash, or he would have the records he had meticulously kept made public.

Jerry had panicked and arranged with Sammy to have Richard killed.  Only after the deed was done did Jerry start to worry about what might be on a disk or flash drive.

Maybe Richard had been bluffing about keeping records.  And it was more than likely that his wife and daughter knew nothing.  But paranoia is a force to be reckoned with.  To Jerry’s way of thinking he needed to wipe the slate clean, and not spend his time wondering when the hammer might fall and ruin his life.

He sat back in the leather swivel chair and put his booted feet up on the mahogany desktop and looked at the paneled wall and the framed photos hanging on it: of himself with the mayor, with the Country singer Toby Keith, and his favourite, the prior Governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger, his arm around Jerry’s shoulder and both of them chomping down on expensive Havana cigars.

No, Jerry thought, he wasn’t going to risk losing his wealth, his status or his freedom.  Whatever actions it took to maintain the status quo, he would take them.

The phone rang, and Jerry picked up.  “Yes, Marcie,” he said to his receptionist.

“I’ve got a Mr Johnson on the phone, Mr Brandon.  He says that you’ll want to have a word with him.”

Jerry’s mouth fell open.  This could not be happening.  “OK, Marcie,” he said.  “Put him through.”

“Brandon?”  A deep, steady voice.  No emotion.

“Yeah.  Who are you?”

“You know who I am.  I’m sure Sammy, Sal or Roy has been in touch.”

“What do you want?”

“You know that as well.”

“So humour me.”

“Okay, I’m Johnson.  And you are in serious danger of coming face to face with me in the very near future.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“So why did you take the call, Jerry?”

“Tell me what it is you think you have a problem with me over.”

“You had Richard Jennings mown down by a car.  Now you have a contract out on his wife and daughter.”

“That’s ludicrous.  Richard was my friend.  It was a hit and run.”

“Whatever.  Thing is, you need to call off the dogs.”

“I haven’t―”

“Do you want to die, Brandon, because if you don’t back off, that’s the way this will end?”

“You have no fuckin’ right to threaten me.”

“I’m not threatening you, Brandon.  I’m promising you that if anything should happen to Rita or Sharon Jennings, then you get to wash up in the Kanawha River with your throat cut.  Ask Roy what kind of guy I am, and then think long and hard about what you should do.”

The call was terminated and Jerry just sat for a minute holding the receiver in a white-knuckled grip.  His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he thought he was going to have a heart attack.

It didn’t compute.  The two inept killers had no idea that he had put the contract out; not unless Sammy had told them, and there was no reason that he would have.  But the stranger had hurt one of them bad, and had got Sammy’s name.

Jerry took a few deep breaths, steadied himself, and then punched Sammy’s number into an untraceable cell that he kept for very private calls.

“Yeah, boss,”

“Where are you now?” Jerry said.

“On my way back to Twomile.”

“Turn round and get back here.  We need to talk.”

“On my way,” Sammy said a half second after the connection had been broken.

Sammy gave Ray Darrow, at the lot where the limo service was run from, a call.  Told Ray that he’d have to cover a pickup at the airport for him.  He then headed back to see what Brandon wanted.

Sammy was worried.  His boss had spat the words down the phone.  Something bad had happened in the short space of time it had been since they’d talked at the lot.  But what?  He couldn’t begin to guess.

Jerry was standing outside the office, grinding a cigarette butt into the gravel with the heel of his boot, when Sammy pulled in and parked up.

“I got a call shortly after you left, Sammy,” Jerry said as Sammy stepped out of the cherry-red Nissan pickup and sauntered over to him.

Sammy waited.  He knew when to keep his mouth shut and listen.  Best way with Jerry was to wait for a question and answer it.

“Guess who it was?  Jerry said.

“No idea, boss.”

“Johnson or whatever his real name is.  He accused me of having Jennings hit, and putting out the contract on his wife and daughter.”

Sammy blinked a few times and looked puzzled.

“Thing is, Sammy, how could he have known my name, or had a fuckin’ clue that I had anything to do with your friends Naylor or Mendez?”

“He tortured Naylor, Boss.  So I guess he got my name from him.  Maybe he asked who I worked for.”

“I think your right, Sammy,” Jerry said.  “And because of your big-mouthed friend we have a serious problem.  I want you to go and have a word with Naylor.  Find out exactly what he told this maniac from nowhere, and then kill him.”

“Kill Roy?”

“Yeah.  He’s put both you and me at risk, Sammy.”

“You think this Johnson will come after us, boss?”

“Not if you’re right, and Mendez takes care of business.”

“He will.”

“Then we’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about, have we?”

Logan ignored the command or request, and got up.  Walked past Sharon and went to where the discovery was parked in front of the cabin.  Sharon followed him.  He got down on his knees at the rear of the vehicle and put his hand up the inside of the fender to his elbow.  Felt around for a minute and then withdrew his arm.  Went to the other side and repeated the exercise.

“What are you looking for?”  Sharon asked him.

Logan said nothing.  Just stood up and went to the front of the SUV.  Found the tracker way up under the offside wheel arch.  Handed it to Sharon and checked the nearside.

“What is it?”  Sharon said.

“A cheap little global positioning device,” Logan said.  “I should have looked a lot earlier.”  Your mother was followed up north by one of the hitters.  She will have stopped once or twice for something to eat, or to get gas, or use a restroom, and this was attached to the car.”

Sharon put her hand to her mouth.  “So they’ll know where we are?”

“Not necessarily.  This will relay a signal to a remote computer or phone.  It isn’t continuous, and probably isn’t very reliable in terrain like this.  I would think that the guy will only have a rough idea of the area we’re in.”

“So we’ll have to move, won’t we?”

Logan smiled.  “No.  This gives us an edge.”

He took the small, black, lozenge-shaped tracker back from Sharon.  Went into the cabin and picked up the Discovery’s keys.  Rita stopped cooking supper and looked at him quizzically.  Sharon came in behind him.

“Sharon will explain,” Logan said.  “Do either of you know how to shoot a handgun?”

“I took lessons, but it was years ago,” Rita said.

Logan took the 9mm pistol from his pocket and checked the load.  He had removed the silencer after dealing with Naylor at the lake.  He handed the gun to Rita butt first.

“It’s loaded,” he said.  “I doubt that you’ll need to use it while I’m away, but if you do, thumb the safety off, aim at the body and keep pulling the trigger till it’s empty.  Remember the safety.  Lots of people don’t.”

Rita held the gun pointing at the floor; kept her finger outside the guard.  Logan noted that and nodded.