The Watchman (28 page)

The sheriff nodded at the medical technician, and I climbed in beside the stretcher, settled onto the bench, and took Cody's hand. “How do you feel, champ?”

He turned his head toward me. “O-K. I want my mom.”

I squeezed his hand. “Sure thing. Just as soon as a doctor takes a look at you, we'll be out of here.”

“My dad...is he...?”

I nodded.

The sheriff stuck his head inside. “We need to talk.”

Every limb on my body suddenly felt weighted. “I know you have a lot of questions, but I need to go with Cody. I can't let him do this alone. I'll be glad to answer any questions you have at the hospital.”

The sheriff tugged his hat over his brow and nodded as deputies transported Andy to a sheriff's cruiser. “We have to take Marshall's friend into custody, but I'll catch you later. I need your statement on what happened here tonight.”

George peeked around the door, worry lines on his forehead. “How are you doing? You look awful.”

I nodded. “I'm getting there.”

 



 

Rapid Bend, California

It was past midnight when we reached the hospital. It took the remainder of the night and into the morning for the medics to fix my nose and foot, and to stabilize Cody. The sheriff made his promised appearance, and I gave him the detailed story, chapter and verse.

At eleven o'clock the next morning, the hospital released us, and George picked up his two wounded passengers in a taxi to take us back to the municipal airport. On the trip out, Cody looked up at me. “I'm hungry.”

George rubbed his hand across his overnight stubble. “Me, too.”

I tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Any place close where we can catch breakfast?”

He nodded. “There's a waffle shop about a block away on the right.”

Cody and George signaled their approval.

“That'll do just fine.” I said.

We arrived at the airport, fed, bandaged, and ready to go home. George stored the bike at the airport hanger until he could return.

Cody settled into the plane's back seat, his head against a pillow I borrowed from the hospital. “Thanks, Noah. I was awfully scared.”

From the seat beside George in the cockpit, I turned to face him. “Don't thank me, champ. Thank God. He guided me to you.”

He didn't reply, just turned and gazed out the window.

“Something wrong with thanking God?”

He turned an earnest blue gaze at me. “How could God give me a Dad like...?”

I twisted to one side and inhaled a deep breath. “Cody, l have no idea how God picks the parent lottery. I drew a bad stepfather, every bit as bad as your father. For a long time I asked that same question.”

“Did God answer?”

“Yeah, sort of. God never promised life would be easy. But He did promise He would never leave or forsake us. That was my answer. Lean on Him when things go wrong.”

“How do you do that?”

“My grandmother told me a story once, when I was brooding over the loss of my family. She related a passage from the life of a Christian woman named Corrie ten Boom during World War II. Corrie lived in Holland and helped Jewish people escape from the Germans after they invaded Holland. Do you know what the Nazi's did to the Jewish people in the countries they took over?”

Cody nodded. “I saw a movie about it.”

“Well, because Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsy hid Jewish people in their home until they could flee to another country, the Ten Booms were arrested and sent to a concentration camp. A terrible place. The prison camp didn't allow Bibles, but by some miracle, Corrie and Betsy sneaked one past the guards.

“Once inside, they were thrown into a dreadful room infested with fleas. Fleas were everywhere, covering their bodies, clothing, hair, and beds. Corrie asked that same question. How could a merciful God let them fall into the hands of those cruel people, and put them in that awful place? After all, they had helped many of His people escape to freedom.”

The boy propped up on one elbow, giving me his full attention. “Did God give her an answer?”

“Not right away. The night they arrived at the concentration camp, Betsy actually prayed and thanked God for the fleas. Corrie didn't understand how her sister could do that. While being tormented by the vermin, the sisters moved freely among the other women prisoners with their Bible. They led many of those women to Jesus. Most of those women died in the gas chambers.

Even Betsy died from lack of food and medicine. Before Betsy passed away, she and Corrie learned why they enjoyed so much freedom to preach God's message.

“After Corrie was released from prison she wrote a book. In that novel, she recounted all the miracles God performed while she and her sister lived in captivity. You see, because of the fleas, the German guards would not enter that room, and because they didn't come in, many, many women were saved. The fleas were a blessing, not a punishment. Can you understand what I'm saying?”

Cody shook his head. “I-I-I'm not sure.”

“It is through pain and suffering that we grow closer to God. When we trust Him in all things, He can use us for His plan. Because I knew what you and your mom were going through from my own experience, I determined to help you and others like you, so you wouldn't be hurt anymore. Understand?”

Cody focused on my face, absorbing what I'd said. After a moment, he nodded.

When I turned back around in my seat, George's gaze found mine. He raised his thumb.

My eyes drooped from pain medication as I slipped the cell phone from my pocket and fumbled with the numbers on the lighted screen.

George took the phone from my hand. “Give me that before you hurt yourself. I'll call Rachel.”

My head rested against the seat of its own volition. “Tell her we're coming home.”

When George finished he placed the phone into my jacket pocket. A grin spread across his rugged face. “Boy, Marshall sure rearranged your mug. You won't have to worry about being a trophy husband any time soon.”

Despite the pain in my face, I laughed.

 

 

 

 

24

 

Hebron, Wyoming

My body found new places to ache on the flight back to Hebron, but a cleared runway smoothed out the bumps when we touched down. Snowplows on overtime.

I shaded my eyes against mid-afternoon sun that bounced off white banks along the tarmac. Ahead in the hanger's shadows, a small crowd gathered as we taxied to a stop. Rachel, Bill, Emma, Amos, and Jake stood hunched against the cold, collars pulled close around anxious faces.

George killed the engine, and a sobbing Rachel jerked the aircraft door open.

Cody fell into his mother's arms. “Don't squeeze so tight, Mom. My chest's a little sore.”

Rachel gulped a deep breath. “Sorry. I'm just so...”

She held him close, her gaze searching his face as though unable to comprehend he was here, alive, and by her side.

Cody snuggled closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, the haunted, frightened look in his eyes―gone.

George swallowed, making his Adam's apple bob. He turned and waved us forward. “Come on into the office. It's warmer, and Norma has coffee and donuts waiting.”

Inside, refreshments in hand, the group listened silently as I told our story, my face and limp a testament to how close we came to losing our lives.

When I finished, Amos slapped my shoulder. “So, Marshall is dead and the thug is in custody.”

I laughed. “That's as concise a summary as could possibly be made.”

An hour later, after I'd retold our adventure from every angle, downed three donuts and two mugs of coffee, they let me go home.

 



 

The darkening sky and unlighted windows gave the old condo a forlorn atmosphere. Where was Truman? Had he pulled up stakes and left the dogs alone? Perhaps he left a note.

I slipped the key into the lock and it clicked open. Warm air greeted me. Perhaps Truman wasn't too far away since he left the heat on. I tossed my coat on a chair and flipped the light switch.

Before I reached the kitchen, a soft knock sounded at the front door. I turned and retraced my steps.

Mabel greeted me with a broad smile. “Hey, stranger. It's great to have you home. Maybe now Ted will stop moping around. By the way, your friend Truman is at my place. He and Ted are watching a game.”

She handed me a Styrofoam box. “Leftovers from the restaurant. I figured you wouldn't want to cook.”

I lifted the lid. A large charbroiled T-bone and baked potato spoke to my taste buds. “Leftovers, huh?”

“Didn't anyone ever teach you not to question your elders?”

“Thanks, Mabel. You're a sweetheart. How's my buddy doing?”

“Driving me absolutely insane, missing you and the dogs. Truman has helped.” She chuckled. “I hate to tell you this, but you come in a distant third place to the dogs.”

“The story of my life. Got time for coffee?”

“Sure. I'm going back to work, but I have a few minutes to spare.”

We entered the kitchen, and I flipped on the light switch.

Put on the coffee,” Mabel said. “I'll get the mugs.”

I made the brew and retold the story of Cody's rescue while I ate.

After I finished the steak, Mabel left for work, and I went upstairs. My eyelids were weights, but I needed a shower before settling into a warm bed. In the bedroom, I kicked off my shoes in the dark and stumbled toward the bathroom. A flash of color in my peripheral vision made me turn.

A big man in a plaid shirt and red hat sat on my bed, a gun pointed at my gut.

The hit man who'd dumped Truman in the blizzard.

He attached a silencer to the revolver and tightened it down. “You're a hard man to catch up with.”

“I didn't know you were looking or I would've left my itinerary.”

He chuckled but his eyes weren't laughing. “Smart guy. I like taking down smart guys.”

“You here while my friend Mabel was downstairs?” Visions of this jerk hurting Mabel made my legs weak.

“Yeah. I figured she wouldn't stay long. Didn't want a massacre. Creates too much media attention. I'll leave behind a few narcotics. So it looks like a drug deal gone bad. Beside, London only contracted one hit.”

“You should probably know your boss is dead. If you haven't been paid, you may have a problem collecting.”

“I make it a policy to get the money up front.”

“You could just keep the cash and go on your way. I won't tell.”

“Can't do that. I have a reputation to uphold. I always get my man―or woman, as the case may be.”

Wrong. I had not lived through the trials of the past twenty-four hours just to be killed in my own bedroom.

“Your work ethic is commendable. Your mother would be proud.”

He stood and hitched up his baggy trousers with one hand. “Let's get this over with. I've wasted too much time on you already, and as they say, time is money.”

I waited to see if he had any more clichés. Apparently not.

A deep growl I recognized sounded outside my bedroom window. Attila, the satanic mutt next door.

The gunman's gaze shifted to the window for a microsecond. When he looked back, I wasn't there. At least, he couldn't see me. His mouth fell open, but he didn't shoot, giving me enough time to get out of firing range. Early on, I discovered the force field wasn't bulletproof.

“Adams? Where...?”

“Lose something?” I touched his shoulder and jumped back.

His arms flailed in the air, and he spun in circles, his gaze frantically searching the room.

“Oscar, don't worry about Adams. He's not important.”

“W-who are you?”

“The Angel of Death and you have a lot of accounting to do.” I had his attention.

He pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket and mopped his brow. “H-How do you know...?”

“I know all about you, Oscar. Your name, how many people you've killed, when and where the bodies are buried. I know about the hit on the judge in Phoenix, the state senator's wife in Nashville. I know them all,
Oscar.”

“N-Now what?”

“I'm going to give you a break you never gave your victims. Pick up the phone and call the Hebron Police Department. Ask for Detective Amos Horne. Give him your confession. Tell him everything. I'll wait until you finish.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then it ends here and now. You meet your Maker. There are things worse than death. Dying would be the easy part. You ready for that?”

“They'll give me the needle. What did you do with Adams?”

“Don't worry about Adams. I'll take care of him. He won't know a thing. This is just between you and me. Do it now, Oscar. If you don't, there won't be a second chance to make things right. Your call.” Confessing to the police wouldn't make things right with God, but it was a chance for redemption.

Oscar hesitated, hands quivering. “I-I-I- can't.”

“Do it, Oscar.”

He licked his lips and then reached for the phone.

When he'd finished, I emerged from the bathroom with my Glock in my hand.

”Where'd you come from?” Oscar shook his head. “Never mind.”

I handcuffed Oscar to the stairs and we waited for Hebron's finest to arrive.

The hit man looked at me. “You believe in this life-ever-after stuff?”

“Absolutely.”

“You know what happened upstairs?”

I shook my head. “We were talking, next thing I knew I was in the bathroom. What did happen? What made you call the police?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

Ten minutes later, Amos knocked on the front door, a couple of police officers in tow. Cops led the subdued hit man away, still shaking his head.