The Last Chapter

SUNDOWN IN ZION

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

The wedding happened on a Saturday. It took place in a wooded park in the City of Armistead. Sheriff Love pulled some strings and made it happen. In a well-kept secret, he and Nelson paid for most of it, telling the couple that the funds were from a public source. It was scheduled for 2:00 p.m. but the crowd started showing shorty after lunch. By one o’clock, it had become obvious that extra seats would be needed. Two deputies departed for the Methodist church to borrow more.

Nelson arrived shortly afterwards. For reasons even he probably could not have explained, he had chosen to wear his full dress blue Navy uniform, complete with its array of ribbons and a gold insignia of an eagle grasping a trident, an anchor, and flintlock pistol. He shook several hands and then moved to one side of the area to watch. He hadn’t waited long before a loud voice behind him shouted, “Holy shit,” and he turned. It was Tricia Davenport dragging her mother by hand. She ran to face Nelson and looked him from head to toe.

“Damn, Copper,” she said. “Look at your bad self.” She pulled her gasping mother to her side and pointed at Nelson. “Look, Mama,” she said. “He could make me go straight if he was just a little bit taller.” She laughed. “And now he’s blushing. What kind of war hero blushes when a bull-dyke busts his balls?”

“Tricia please,” Ramona said. “You promised to behave.” She looked around as if to see if a crowd was gathering around them. “Hello again,” she said to Nelson.

Nelson had regained himself. “Hello,” he said. “What brings you here? Don’t tell me you are related to one of the Betrothed?”

“Oh hell no,” Tricia said. “We’re just here to see you.”
            “Tricia,” her mother said.

“Not really then,” Tricia said. “The feds came for a visit and told us all about the excitement and we thought we would come so I could meet Bridgette maybe. I hear she’s more than just hot.”

“Tricia!” her mother said.

“I’ll behave,” Tricia said. “I think I want to impress this guy. Let’s go mingle. See you around, Marine.”

“Sailor …” Nelson said, but Tricia was gone.

Sheriff Love arrived, also in dress regalia. He led a frail woman to the front row of reserved seats and they both sat. The woman’s hair had greyed and was poorly arranged, but despite that and the wrinkles, an inner beauty glowed. Nelson walked toward them. When he neared, he saw that she was wearing a beautifully tailored pink dress and an equally well-fitting green blouse. She stared straight ahead as Nelson approach. At the last minute, she turned toward him and he could see that her lipstick had missed its intended target in places. She smiled and said nothing.

“Meet my wife, Evelyn,” he said. “Evelyn, this is the deputy I told you about.” Evelyn continued to smile but said nothing. At that moment, Gina Matterson arrived wearing a formal outfit, complete with a fashionable lady’s white church hat. She sat beside Evelyn and took her hand.

Evelyn made no response. The sheriff’s cell phone buzzed. “Damn,” he said. “I forgot to turn this off.” He looked at the screen and said to Nelson, “Let me take this. It’s Acting Chief Patterson from over at Connorville.”

“Acting Chief?

“Long story. Later.” He punched the phone and put it to his ear. “Ralph,” he said. “What’s new?” He listened. “Interesting,” he said. “Interesting. That makes four counting the Weasel, don’t it?” Nodded, listened. Then said, “No problem. We understand. I’ll give Clifton your regards. See yah.” He fiddled with his phone and pocketed it. Turning to Nelson who was sitting beside him now, he said, “All hell’s breaking loose over to Connorville.”

Elvis Barker, Martin, and a statuesque woman in a white dress and a hat as elaborate as Gina Matterson’s interrupted them. The men wore matching white slacks and blue sport coats. Elvis said, “Sheriff, you know Louisa don’t you? Boats, meet my housekeeper.”

Louisa punched his arm and said, “You just added another month, boy.” She extended a hand to Nelson. “I assume,” she said, “that you’ve heard about me from these two.” She pointed to husband and son. “All lies,” she said, smiling.

Nelson returned the smile, nodded, and said to Elvis, “Quite a crowd.”

“Ain’t seen nothin’ like this since Ronnie Johnson passed,” he said leaning down to speak low to Nelson and the sheriff. “Of course they ain’t been lettin’ us go to white folks’ funerals and weddings for that long.” He winked, and led the Barker family back into the growing crowd.

Dress uniforms were the style of the day, along with white dresses. The Stubblefields arrived next and took their place alongside Nelson. Eli’s dress uniform matched Nelson’s in terms of badges and ribbons. He sat slowly and whispered to Nelson, “This thing is beginning to shrink. If I pass, don’t try to bury me in it. Just cremate me and dump my ashes from one of those C-40s over at the air base.” Nelson laughed as Eddie Glover appeared before them and said to Nelson, “About time. You got the ring?” Nelson patted a pocket, rose, and followed Glover to the front the crowd where they stood behind an exquisite white arch festooned with flowers, courtesy of Eli and Martha Stubblefield. Rick Duffey rushed in behind the crowd carrying a serious-looking camera.

            Nelson heard sounds to his left and turned to see Clifton Sikes walking toward him. He moved with a cane, resolute but unsteady. Sheriff Love was by his side, assisting him. Clifton came to the front, thanked Sheriff Love, turned, and stood beside Nelson. He wore khaki slacks and a brightly flowered shirt.

Music filled the air and the crowd turned to face rearward toward a small community center building. A park worker opened the door. Rose and Bridgette walked out, each wearing white dresses trimmed in a pale blue the color of the Arkansas sky. They each carried bouquets of pink flowers. Each wore a small band around their heads, also fashioned from pink flowers. The crowd gasped. They gasped again when Christina emerged on the arms of one the physicians who had treated Clifton. They marched through the crowd to the arch where he left Christina beside Clifton without comment.

Eddie Glover stepped forward and spoke.

“Welcome,” he said. “We are gathered here in the presence of family and friends to unite Clifton Sikes and Christina Lopez in matrimony. Marriage is an honorable estate, and is therefore not to be entered into lightly, but reverently, advisedly, soberly and with the blessing of all. Today, they will receive one of life’s greatest gift; another person to share with, grow with, change with, be joyful with, and to stand with as one when trials and tribulations enter their lives.

Although many of you know me as a preacher, the couple has requested that we avoid religion. But, as you know, I am a preacher and can’t resist a few comments.” He flashed a broad smile and the crowd murmured approval.

“With that said, let us all acknowledge that the love represented before us grew from some hard times in our community, hard times that touched almost everyone here, some more than others. We might ask ourselves, “What hope is there for happiness in such a troubled world?”

Let us think for a moment. The man that I worship told us, ‘Let not your heart be troubled.’ I accept that and offer it to you. Let us remember, as we celebrate this preciously wondrous day, that it is made all the more so by the fact the love given here grew from trials we can only imagine. Let us remember that orchids grow from the most dismal plots of ground on earth, that the greatest apostle of my faith was a hater and persecutor before he saw the light, that a former slave-runner wrote that great hymn, Amazing Grace, and that a modern and prosperous country grew from the smoldering ruins of the Nazi regime. Let us be comforted that, like the love of Christina and Clifton, wonder and beauty can emerge from the worst trials of life.”

He smiled at the couple and said. “Sermon over. Let’s get these folks married.”

The rest of the ceremony went well. Nelson found the ring as he was supposed to, Clifton placed it onto Christina’s finger, and Eddie Glover pronounced them husband and wife. Clifton, for a second, appeared ready to flee, but Christina held him and placed a loving kiss on him. Clifton responded and the formalities ended.

Clifton and Christina stayed for the duration. Nelson stuck around for a shorter time, mingling. He visited with Rick Duffey, who thanked him for the scoop and predicted a Pulitzer Prize in his future. Nelson said goodbye to Martha Stubblefield and an obviously uncomfortable Eli. Sheriff Love begged Nelson to stay with the Sheriff’s Office before he led a still-smiling Evelyn to their car. Bridgette and Rose came to thank him for everything again. Eddie Glover was with them.

“What plans loom in your future?” Glover asked Nelson.

“Rest and relaxation, maybe college,” Nelson said. “You?”

“I had intended go to the Delta and serve the poor among us who need help the most,” Glover said. “Then I found out that there are poor in my own back yard that need help, including the poor in spirit.” He looked at Rose and she took his arm in her hands and placed a head on his shoulder as Bridgett beamed.

Nelson stared at her.

“Me? Who knows?” Rose said. There may be a law school in my future.”

            Nelson took the old highway back to Little Rock. Someone watching would have deemed him deep in thought. Reaching home, he changed into exercise clothes and took a long, slow run. Back, he poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels over ice and drank it slowly. Emptying it, he banged his fist on the table where he sat, walked to a lamp stand, and retrieved a notebook. At his kitchen table, he flipped through the notebook, took out his cell phone, and dialed a number. He waited while it operated. His face seemed to transform into a glow. Then he took a long breath and spoke into the phone.

            “Barkis is willing,” he said.

End of Sundown in Zion 

Resolution

Sundown in zion

Chapter Fifty-two

The men sat in the car without speaking. Agent Benson broke the silence. “He said he would be here?”

“He did,” Nelson said. “For us, he said he would take his morning off and get right down here.”

“His vehicle didn’t make it,” Sheriff Love said. “And he doesn’t live too far away.”

They sat for another minute. “Shit,” Nelson said. “I forgot. He might not have driven. Come on.”

The three exited and walked to the door of the building. “Are you sure about doing this?” Benson asked.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Benson thought. “We could get sued. “Worse, we could get shot.”

 Nelson didn’t appear to hear. He tried the door and it opened. They walked into an entryway. Farther down, near an open office door, an elaborate touring bike leaned against the wall. The office was lit and the men walked to it and entered. Sam Coulson looked up from his desk, signed a page in front of him, and stood. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Sam Coulson,” he said to Benson.”

“Tom Benson,” the other said, “special agent with the Little Rock Field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” The two shook hands.

“Have seat.” Coulson said to the three men. When they were seated, he said. “What’s the problem?” he said. “Am I in trouble for faking a Navy SEAL’s firearm permit?”

No one laughed. “We wanted to ask you a few more questions about the young girl that was murdered.” Nelson said.

“I think I told you everything I know before,” Coulson said. “She called me once about firearms training and we discussed it. End of conversation.” He looked at Benson. “How does that local tragedy warrant FBI investigation?”

“It may involve a civil rights violation. Or it may connect with an interstate drug operation we broke up last week.” Benson said. “You may have heard about it?”

“News travels,” Coulson said. “If true, it is a real shocker about Brother Dale. Not for the others so much.” He pivoted toward Sheriff Love. “But how can I help?”

“You’re a cyclist?” the sheriff said, ignoring his question.

“Only on my days off,” Coulson said. “The rest of the time I’m a bona fide redneck.” He looked at Nelson. “Did you let my secret out?”

Nelson, too, ignored the question. “Are you sure Abbey never came here to your office?”

“Why would a young black girl come to a place loaded with wild-eyed racists carrying guns?” Coulson said.

“Because she was frightened of wild-eyed rednecks carrying guns?” Benson said.

“Know what, Sam?” Sheriff Love said, “when I was a young Marine, recently discharged as a sergeant, there was a bit of a fluff about a state senator that went hunting a lot with my father. I was working with Dad at the time. Seems like the senator was trying to get the old man to help him profit from some invoices on a state job we were working on.”

Coulson frowned and waited.

“The FBI wanted to interview me about what I might know.”

Coulson waited.

“I asked a friend who was a few years older than me and a lawyer, how to conduct myself in the interview.”

“Is this going somewhere, Sheriff Love?”

“Give me second, Sam. My friend gave me some advice I’ve never forgotten.”

“What was that?”

“Don’t lie,” he said. “Don’t lie to the FBI. Even if it doesn’t matter for jack-diddly-shit, don’t lie to the FBI. That’s an automatic five years in the pen. I didn’t, and the senator took the five years instead.”

“Are you sure,” Nelson said, “that Abbey Stubblefield has never been in this office?”

Coulson wiped his face. “Okay, okay,” he said. She did meet me here one day after closing time. I wasn’t about to bring her in while the ‘gun-nuts-for-Jesus’ crowd was here. All she wanted was to know what I knew about those so-called guards at that Ransom Center in Benton. I told her I knew nothing except that they liked to come here and shoot. That’s all I told her.”

“That sounds like it fits with the other facts,” Sheriff Love said.

“You told me,” Nelson said, “that some officer told you that she was wearing little but a necklace that read ‘poison’ when they found her body, right?”

“Right. That’s why they thought she was connected with gangs.”

“Thank you Sam,” the sheriff said. “We just wanted to clear up a few things.” He had started to rise when Nelson spoke.

“Sheriff,” he said, “Did you read over carefully the report from the medical examiner who autopsied Abbey’s body?”

“Yes, yes I did. What does that have to do with Sam here?”

“Are you as confused as I am, now?”

The sheriff thought. “Come to think of it, I am.”

“See, Sam,” Nelson said. “There was no necklace found on Abbey’s body. Maybe someone stole it. But maybe it was damaged and washed away in the rainstorm that night. What would you think if we were to take a metal detector out to the site and find that necklace buried in the mud? And what would we find if we examined that spot of freshly painted wall behind me that I noticed on my first trip here.”

The color slowly drained from Coulson’s face and he slumped in his chair. “You know, don’t you?”

“We suspect,” Nelson said. “Want to help us?”

“How? How did you figure it out?”

“The necklace could have been explained away,” Nelson said. “But what really bugged me about the whole deal with Abbey was how her car got to Little Rock if she had been killed in Armistead County.”

Coulson closed his eyes. “And I had to show up twice riding a goddam bicycle.”

“Twice,” Nelson said. “Just a stretch of the legs from Little Rock to Connorville after abandoning a car.”

“I didn’t murder her,” Coulson said, his shoulders sinking. “It was an accident.”

Sheriff Love said, “An accident?”

“She came here while I was cleaning guns after a class. I wouldn’t even let her sit. Made her stand back against that wall for propriety’s sake. I told her it was for safety’s sake. Yes, Gideon, in front of that freshly painted portion.”

His voice caught and he stopped to compose himself. He spoke again.

“Some ditzy woman from the class had left a small-caliber semi-automatic pistol charged. When I stood up to show Abbey the door, I dropped it and you can guess the rest. The shot hit right between her eyes, went through her, and into the wall. She fell not ever knowing what hit her.”

“What then?” Benson asked.

“I panicked from fear, embarrassment, and pride. I faked the execution scene, with her on the plywood and covered it all in the bed of my pickup, I waited until dark and dropped her in what I thought was the city limits of Connorville. Later, I drove her car, with my bike in it, to Little Rock, abandoned it out of sight, and spent the rest of the night in some woods with my bike. At daylight, I was just a lonely cyclist enjoying a Sunday morning ride.”

“You thought you dropped her inside Connorville?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Can you imagine how much effort that crew over there would have spent on investigating the death of a colored woman?”

After Deputy Cassidy had arrived and taken Coulson away, the three started back in somber silence. They covered several miles before Agent Benson broke the silence.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I love my job. But sometimes I hate it.”

Answers

 Sundown In Zion

CHAPTER fifty-one

 

            They all took Sunday off. Sheriff Love explained that they each enjoyed enough excitement on Saturday to last a lifetime. “Besides,” he said, “I have to take my wife to church on Sunday. We haven’t missed a service in over 47 years and we’re not going to start now.”

            Charlie was at Angela’s house. Nelson tried all that morning to reach Tina, but she didn’t answer her phone at home. He also tried her office with no luck. He read for an hour after breakfast and then fired up his computer to make notes for his report.

            The first thing that appeared on his screen was notice of an email from Tina. He clicked to it. It read.

            Forgive me, but please don’t try to contact me again. It is all over, through no fault of yours, only mine. I do not love you and will never love you. For better or worse, love is a one-time thing with me. Sex is a relief from the pain of loss, but only a temporary one. I thought perhaps you were different, but no. I loved the sex, but each time we finished, and you lay beside me, I was filled with disgust. Not only with you, but with myself mostly and with the thought of dishonoring the memory of my husband. See, I didn’t love him when we married. He represented an end to a student’s poverty and a little physical fun, that’s all. Then something strange happened as we faced life together and overcame its petty struggles. I woke up one morning and realized that I worshipped the ground on which he walked. Every time I took a breath, that feeling grew stronger. May you share it someday. Being loved can generate love, that’s not from a sociologist, but from a life’s partner of a wonderful person. When we meet on campus, let’s meet as friends. You can even take my class if you wish. Friends, that’s all. I need all of them I can find. Take care.

Tina

Nelson closed the email. He spent the afternoon making notes of his remembrances, and the evening thinking, with a glass of Jack Daniels close by.

The next morning, he walked into the sheriff’s office to find him in an expansive mood. “Come in my nautical friend. Get some coffee and sit. When they both had settled comfortably, he said, “Know what our preacher preached on yesterday?”

Nelson shook his head.

“Handling life’s surprises with the help of God,” he said. “Now ain’t that a fucking hoot? What you want to know about first?”? He stopped and spoke loudly toward the door. “Mrs. M, you’ll know all about everything when you type my report. Right now, you’ll just have to wait.” There was a familiar scuffling sound from the other side of the door. He waited.

“Now,” he said. “You’ll first want to know about Brother Dale Underhill, as he is known, right?

Nelson nodded.

“When he figured the jig was up,” the sheriff said, “he started singing. Not hymns either but a sad and tragic story. Seems greed-envy overtook him the way inertia overtakes many of our county residents. He saw those TV evangelists with their private jets and mansions, and it gnawed on him like glory gnaws on people like us.” They both smiled. “Then he read a book about those fundamentalist Mormon men out west. He and Bully spent way too much time talking about it and they hatched a plan.”

“Let me guess,” Nelson said. “It involved the Ransom Center.”

“Bingo. He used some secret network that preachers have and found this huge market for brainwashed young starlets and the two of them sprang into action.”

“Brigette said they appraised her at fifty grand.”

“That’s a discounted price,” he said, “because she was so hardheaded and difficult to train. She’s also a little old. They like them no older than 14, as a rule. Anyway,” he said. “A few sales financed their entry into a more lucrative, although riskier, field. Greed overcame caution and here we are. He says they were quitting all of their businesses after Bridgette and that delivery we intercepted. You were making things too warm for them and they all had their nests made anyway. It was off to the Caribbean after that final load.”

“Speaking of that,” Nelson said, “how did Don Dillahunty fit in?

“Seems he came to Brother Dale complaining that his wives, both former and present, were bankrupting him and he didn’t know what to do.”

“And?”

“Just so happened that the meth-gang needed a way to smuggle hard-to-get ingredients in and Don imported a lot of furniture from the Vietnamese. They, the Vietnamese ain’t above stuffing such furniture creatively. Don ask why. They are still pissed off about the war, if you ask me. Anyway, as Brother Dale put it, in that charming way of his, ‘It was a marriage made in Heaven’ and the rest is history.”

Bridgette’s mother is happy?”

“Look up the word in the dictionary and you’ll see her picture there.”

“Will they keep Martin out of the news?”

“Now there is another shocking development. I trust you didn’t fail to see a little more than rescuer and rescuee attraction during our little get together?

“Who could have missed it? That explains the portion of the letter her mom found.”
“It explains a lot of things,” the sheriff said, “not the least of which is why they took her

from the Ransom Center when they didn’t really need kidnap money anymore. They stop short of murdering for miscegenation now, these assholes. Besides, they had a better treatment.”

            “What about the crime scene?”

“They went yesterday and looked as best they could. A total wipeout. All they’ve identified so far was a section of a forearm with the letters “SW” tattooed on it, and a partial set of dentures.”

            “Believe it or not, those both belonged to Bully.”

            “Stands to reason,” the sheriff said. “I mean as far as the dentures. Man-fighting, meth, and Mountain Dew don’t make for a full set of choppers.

            “So,” Nelson said, “that about wraps in up?”

            Before the sheriff could answer, three knocks came at his door. “Ah,” he said, “Mrs. M’s secret code. This is important. “Enter.”

            The door opened and a voice said, “Agent Benson is here.”

            “Send ‘Little Jedgar’ in.”

            The door opened fully, and Tom Benson entered. He surveyed the room. “Gentlemen,” he said. He shook hands with Nelson. “I think I owe you an apology for thinking of you as a pest,” he said.

            “Oh?” Nelson said.

            “Yes. I think you’re going to get me transferred to the Beverley Hills office yet.” He turned and shook hands with the sheriff. He nodded back toward Nelson and said. “Just who the hell is this man? He got me credit for solving two interstate crimes in one night.”

            “Just a former sailor,” the sheriff said. He motioned toward an empty chair. “Sit.”

            “I don’t know much more than what I reported to you yesterday,” he said to the sheriff. “We’re getting ready to assemble all we can about Chief of Police Banks over in Connorville and his possible role in all this.”

            Sheriff Love said, “If I know the Weasel, he has covered his tracks pretty well.”

            “Our trackers look hard and deep,” Benson said. “We’ll see what his financial dealings tell us. Right now, I only have one disappointment.”

            Both men sat forward. “Oh?” said the sheriff. “A loose end? I thought all your suspects were all singing “Just as I am without one plea.”

            “They are, pretty much,” Benson said. “Except for one thing.”
            “What’s that?” Nelson asked.

            “They admitted killing Bonnie Sue Anderson. Seems she went to see Dale Underwood because there was something about Bridgette Thompson she hadn’t told anyone, something that could have stirred the pot pretty badly.”

            “Which was?” The sheriff was leaning more toward Benson now.

            “Underwood won’t say,” Benson said, “and she can’t. We may never know. But that’s not the main thing they won’t admit?”

            “What’s that?” the sheriff asked.

            Benson took a deep breath. “None of them will tell us shit about Abbey Stubblefield.”

            “Why?” the sheriff was getting agitated. Nelson showed no emotion.

            “Who knows? Maybe they think they have enough trouble without getting the NAACP on their case as well.”

            The sheriff leaned back and looked at Nelson. “Well now,” he said. Ain’t that a pisser, after all you did for us?”

            “Maybe,” said Nelson. “Just maybe they don’t know.”

            This time it was Benson who leaned forward, toward Nelson. “What do you mean?”

            Nelson shook his head and sorrow showed across it. “You fellas want to take a ride?”

 

Endgame

 

Sundown in zion

Chapter fifty

              Nelson nodded. “This place is about to blow,” he said. “Come on.” He turned south toward the main gate.

“Wait,” Martin said. “Wait just a moment.” He turned and ran back around the corner of the building from where he had emerged. In ten seconds, he rounded the corner leading a tall girl with matted blond hair wearing a pullover shift that was ragged and stained. Blue eyes flashed from a face that was bruised and dirty. Even in this condition, a glow of beauty eased its way through the filth.

“Mr. Nelson,” he said as they approached, “meet Bridgette Thompson. Brigette, Gideon Nelson.”

Before anyone could speak further, a rumbling erupted from the building. The three began running and had covered only fifty yards before the compound went dark and the first explosion occurred. The heat reached them first and they ran faster, the way now clear. Behind them, the sounds of objects falling into the trees filled the air. A second explosion shook the trees around them and they ran faster. Then all was quiet. The three slowed to walk as they heard sirens in the distant competing with the sounds of debris falling in the distance.

“Want to explain?” Nelson said to Martin.

“I found Brigette in that first wooden cell,” he said. I think they left in a hurry.” Thy just had a clevis pin holding the lock.”

“A what?”

“Dad says you call it a ‘shackle’ in the Navy. Around here they call it a clevis. Anyway, I just pulled the pin, opened the door, and there she was.”

Nelson looked at Brigette and she nodded.

“She called me a name that would make you and Dad blush and threatened to scratch my eyeballs out before she recognized me.” The merest hint of a smile crossed the girl’s bruised face.

Nelson shook his head. “You’re from the Ransom Center?” Brigette nodded. “How?” Nelson said, turning to Martin.

“This girl got in touch with me, a really weird girl. Said she had been in the Ransom Center before Bridgette and had thought of something she forgot to mention to … she called you that ‘hunkorama cop that almost made her like men.’ She got to thinking after she talked to you and so she called me. A bit of a weirdo if you ask me.”

“Tricia Davenport?”

“That was her. She said something that aroused my interest. That’s why I wanted to see you and, failing that, followed you.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she got to wondering why it was only the ugly girls, her words, who ran away from the Ransom Center that the Soul Warriors ever caught. She wondered why they never caught the beautiful ones.” He looked at Bridgette. “I put two and two together with my substantial math skills and the use of chemistry.

“Chemistry?” Nelson said.

“Chemistry,” Martin said. “Covalent bonds and all that.”

“What?”

“They are chemical bond that allow the sharing of electron pairs between atoms.”

“It does what?”

“It connects things in wondrous ways. Connectivity: that’s what we’re talking about. Things aren’t connected by happenstance in every case. Things seemed too organized to me as I’m sure it did to Abbey. So here I am.”

“How did you get into the camp?”

“Same way, I suspect, that Bully intended to leave. There’s an old trail on the eastern side of the camp, maybe an Indian trail. We used to squirrel hunt back there when I was a kid.”

“When you were a kid?”

“Yeah. I mean yes sir.”

Nelson turned to Brigette. “Do you feel like talking?” She nodded. “Why?” he said.

She took a deep breath, then another. “They kept saying …” a catch stopped her. She breathed deeply and said, “They kept saying that they could get fifty-thousand dollars for me in Utah and that I would be happy there if I would learn to behave.” They walked on toward the main gate.

At that point, help arrived. The cars surrounded them as a final, mighty explosion rocked the forest. Sheriff Love was the first out and appeared soundly confused. “I’ll explain,” Nelson said. “First, let’s take care of this young lady.”

The three of them road back together in the back of the sheriff’s car. “You saved my life twice tonight,” Nelson said to Martin. “I owe you.”

Martin laughed. “I heard your PISS buckle from way outside,” he said. “That’s how I knew you were in there.”

“But the other,” Nelson. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“We have the same Sensei,” Martin said. “She tells me all about you every time I stop for a lesson. That’s why I chose her in the first place.”

“You’re ‘The Other’ she talks about?”

“I thought that was you,” Martin said. “I think she may play us against one another. I’m awfully glad I chose well. I usually do.”

“But why?”

“Dad told me a few years back that colored boy as smart as I am had better learn to defend  himself from dumb jealous crackers.”

Beside them, Brigette began to sob. Martin patted her hand. She leaned her head on his shoulder and grasped his hand fiercely. They didn’t part until they reached the assembly area.

Quite a sight met them. The van and the sedan that Nelson had seen on his way in were parked to one side. Agent Benson was standing to one side yelling into his cell phone. The SWAT group, weapons at arms, surrounded a group of men, most of whom had been part of group of Soul Warriors who ran with Bully Bridges. Nelson and other two were ushered to a Medivac van that had arrived while he was gone. An EMT tried to assist him, but he directed them to Bridgette first. The EMT led her to the back of the van where another wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. A third began cleaning her face.

Sheriff Love walked to Nelson who introduced him to Martin and gave a short version of what had transpired. The sheriff patted Martin’s shoulder. Mrs, ‘Nosey-Rosie,’ my guardian at the office, speaks highly of your family but I don’t believe I’ve had honor of seeing you since you’ve become a man.”

“My honor, not yours,” Martin said.

The sheriff looked at Nelson, and said, “The acorns don’t fall far, do they? So, Bully felt the heat, huh?”

“He may be feeling a new heat,” Nelson said, “if a dear departed friend of mine is right.”

“Can you stand another shock,” the sheriff said. “before the feel-good crew gets around to you?”

“Do I look like I need treatment?”

“You look like you’ve been bawling. Of course, Marines don’t know much about such things.” He laughed and winked at Martin, then back at Nelson. “Seriously though, do you feel like some more strange shit on an already strange day?”

“Anchors aweigh, as the late Bully Bridges said as he left for his new home.”

“You stay here with your friend,” the sheriff said to Martin. “There are some things young folks don’t need to know right away. Besides, you already represent another two pounds of paperwork to Agent Benson over there.” He pointed to where Benson was holding his cell phone with one hand and gesturing with the other. Deputy Cassidy leaned against his patrol car, smoking and laughing at the scene.

The sheriff led Nelson to where the SWAT team guarded the prisoners under the watchful eyes of Caruthers and Dillard. As Nelson and the sheriff approached, the squad members parted to make way. Just as they did, the prisoners also revealed a figure, the sight of whom made Nelson freeze.

The man raised his hands, manacled by a thin band of plastic, and managed a tortured salute. “Hate to meet you like this my friend,” he said, “but I have to ask. Have you accepted Christ as your personal savior yet?”

 

Danger

 

Sundown in Zion

Chapter forty-nine

 

            His cell phone woke Nelson at first light. He lit his bedside lamp and answered. After a moment he said, “Today? I thought we had it planned for tomorrow when they would be in church.” He paused and listened. “How many got away?” He listened again. “That’s not bad for such a large operation, but even two can spread the word fast. I’ll be there in 45 minutes. Where’s the assembly site again? Perfect,” he said.

            Just as he swung from the bed, his phone rang again. This time his face showed surprise. “Martin?” He listened. “Spring break? Is it spring already?” This time the caller took longer. Then Nelson said, “This isn’t a good morning, Martin.” He waited. “I have something important to do.” He waited. “I know you are close by but I’m just leaving. Go home and we’ll get together later.” He waited. “Martin,” he said with emphasis, “I’m sure it’s important but you’ll have to wait. I can’t talk right now.” He waited. “I can’t tell you. Wait until we meet. Signing off now.” He clicked phone, pitched it on the bed, and headed for his closet.

            The assembly site was the same material storage area from where Deputy Cassidy had observed the exit from the hunting club. There was a crowd awaiting him, including the Sheriff, deputies, and FBI agent Tom Benson.

            Nelson exited his truck and walked straight to Benson. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, extending his hand. “To what do we own the honor?”

            Benson took his hand. “A little interstate trafficking,” Before Nelson could respond, Benson said, “Don’t ask.”,

            Sheriff Love interrupted. “I played hell keeping them from charging the place before you got here. He pointed at a SWAT team standing away from the rest. Then he acknowledged two men in street clothes. “That’s Loeb and Leopold from the state police,” he said pointing at the two.

            “Caruthers,” said one.

            “Dillard,” said the other.

            “They and Efrem Zimbalist here,” the Sheriff pointed at Benson, “have agreed to give you 45 minutes or until the first sound of machine gun fire before going in.”

            “I just want things to stay intact,” Nelson said. “They could blow the whole works sky high if they sensed a crowd.” He was dressed in black with a thick leather belt, also black, around his waist. He wore black sneakers. It held a holstered knife and cell phone case. “I plan to avoid contact as much as possible. I’ve had this funny little itch in the back of my head though,” he said. “You know the kind you get when you know someone is watching or tailing you? I’ll keep my rear eyes open and my body well hidden.”

            “We’ll apprehend any stragglers here,” the sheriff said. “We also have a team watching the back gate. Take off now.” He then said “Wait.”

            Nelson had started but turned. “What?”

            “Take care,” the sheriff said, “and don’t walk down any prepared roads or trails.”

            “They taught us that,” Nelson said. “We didn’t have to learn it the hard way like you guys did.” He pulled a sleeve back from one wrist and checked his watch. He rolled it back, spun, and took off running.

            Nelson wound his way through thick brush parallel for nearly a mile. Crouching under a large oak, he checked his watch. He moved ahead with care until the gate to the camp came in view. Oddly, it was open. Then the sound of vehicles approaching made him move out of sight and freeze. A large suburban van appeared moving rapidly toward the entrance. A late-model sedan followed. Both vehicles were black with heavily tinted windows preventing any viewing of the interior. They passed and Nelson relaxed.

            As the sound died, Nelson moved into the compound. He skirted the road, looking to where cameras might scan the approach. A large and meandering concrete block building came into view. Nelson approached it from behind three other concrete structures of maybe 100 feet in area. He noticed window highs on the exterior walls covered with smoked glass. He ignored these and moved to the larger building. The door to it also remained open. He backed behind one the smaller buildings and checked his watch. Silence enveloped him.

            There were no other vehicles in sight. Moving slowly and cautiously, he entered the main building by sliding against the front wall until he came to the entry door. He spun quickly and was inside. A long hallway led past a living area and several sleeping rooms, all with open doors as if the inhabitants had left in a hurry. He passed a kitchen and reached a point where the hallway ended and two other halls intersected. He looked both ways. Nothing was visible but the empty corridors.

            Nelson chose the right corridor and moved into with his back against the wall. He slid along it looking each way with sideways glances. At the end of the corridor was on opening with a large metal door hanging partway open. He eased to the door and looked inside. Then he stepped quickly into a large meandering open space that circled the two corridors. Inside the space, tubes, large cylinders and assorted paraphernalia occupied every space. There were tables covered with containers, tools, hoses, and assorted paraphernalia. A large stove-type structure with an exhaust hose leading from it to the ceiling dominated the rear wall. Empty boxes advertising Don Dilahuty’s Furniture store lay scattered about.

As Nelson surveyed the room, two things happened at once. A dull sound like the “whoosing” of an incoming artillery round erupted from the far wall producing heat a strong blast of white smoke. A voice crackled from a speaker hanging from an adjacent wall. A voice he didn’t recognize for a second sounded from the speaker as Nelson took the blast of smoke in his face.

“Welcome to my house, asshole,” the voice of Bully Bridges said. “I promised ‘soon’ and guess what?”

Nelson had dived for the floor at the first sound and the gaseous smoke enveloped him.

            “It’s gonna get hot in a moment,” the voice over the intercom said. “We’re closing the shop, and as our friend Dale says, “we’re having a fire sale.”

 Nelson stood into the room now filled with smoke and gas. His eyes and face turned red a swollen as he tried to find his bearings.

“You might be having trouble seeing,” the voice of Bridges said. “You might be gonna die too. I hope your last thought is that a pussy Navy SEAL is no match for one of God’s own warriors. I won’t be around to watch it. I figured you might have friends at the two entrances,” he said. “So I walked in from another trail. I’ll be leaving the same way.”

Nelson moved but ran into one of the empty boxes and nearly fell. Blinded, he extended his arms and tried to move forward again. Then the sounds of flames became louder.

“I’m getting ready to leave now. Headed to a happier place.” He laughed. “Not Heaven, but a happy place where if you got money, there ain’t no end to the pussy you can get and the fun you can have serving the lord.”

Nelson walked into a counter and the sound of glass hitting the floor joined with the sound of the crashing of material.

“We’ve had a good run here,” the voice said. “Got go now. Don’t want to face the charges for killing that little fat bitch you were talking to. Stupid she was. Said she remembered something and what she remembered could have caused us some problems. We had our nest made anyway and were ready to relocate. It wasn’t worth risking a murder charge. So yes, we killed the little bitch like we beat up your pal. But hey, gotta sign off now. I’ll wait for a few in case you find your way out. Better hope you don’t, asshole. Anchors away.”

The sound of the intercom ended, and Nelson began coughing. As the heat grew stronger, he reached down and pulled away a black nylon covering shielding his belt buckle. He punched the buckle and a piercing sound filled the room. He turned and the sound subsided. He walked forward until the sound started again. He swung in an arc until it stopped, and he walked forward, coughing. Tears streamed from his tortured eyes.

The sound came again, and Nelson swung to his let amidst the now dark gray smoke. When the sound dropped, he moved forward again. When nothing happened, he moved forward more quickly. He was swinging in smaller arcs now as the sound came and went. That let him to a quiet path. He had found the door.

Nelson moved quickly down the second hall he had entered, and using his buckle, found the first. He turned and started a half run down it. The smoke still burned, but the heat had lessoned. He ran until he heard the sound again. With the same swiveling motion, he found the opening and ran through it. His moment caused him to stumble as he reached fresh air. Using a well-practiced roll, he landed without harm and rose to his knees. Less than ten feet away stood Bully Bridges.

“Well, well, well,” Bridges said. “Ain’t we got the war hero here? This is gonna be some kinda fun. Remember my pals that you fucked up?” he said. “What’s happening next will be for them.” He moved forward.

Nelson’s eyes weren’t as red and swollen now. Had they cleared, he would have seen more than the figure of Bully Bridges. As Bridges grew near, a dark figure emerged from the around the corner of the building. It moved toward Bridges from behind. Just as Bridges prepared to quick Nelson in the face, the figure behind him said, “Hey, mister.”

Nelson tried to speak but only coughed. He drew a breath and managed a loud, “No,” as the figure took a small step. Before Nelson could speak again, the figure executed a perfect spinning Taekwondo move and a foot slammed into the face of Bulling Bridges with a force that knocked snot, spittle, blood and a partial set of dentures more than ten feet. Bridges staggered, turned, and stumbled past Nelson toward the building’s entrance. He turned to make a stand, but as he did, a foot came down where his neck met his shoulder. There was a crunching sound and Brides tried to turn and run. He made it ten feet or so inside the door before he collapsed into a heap.

Nelson had rolled over to avoid Bridges and was now on his feet. Wiping a sleeve across his eyes, he looked hard at the figure now standing before him. “What the hell?” he said.

“I thought you might run into some trouble and need another team member, Martin Barker said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

The Trap

Sundown in Zion

Chapter forty-eight

 

            Nelson and Sheriff Love sat in the front seat of the sheriff’s car waiting. In back, Sherlock, a German Shepherd, lay curled on the seat, his head raised and cocked in anticipation. “This gripes my ass,” the sheriff said, “and to think I used to get paid to do this four hours or more at a time.”

            Nelson said, “You mean the waiting? I’ve done some of that myself.”

            “I’ll bet,” the sheriff said. “It’s one thing to wait so you can do harm to someone. It’s another thing to wait while there may be someone out there waiting to do harm to you. Ain’t that what they call a ‘matter of perspective’ or something like that?”

            “It is.” Nelson said. “They used to tell us to ‘get comfortable with being uncomfortable.’ They didn’t mention anything about getting comfortable with being scared.”

            “Lots of things to be scared of in this world,” he said. “I just hope we can figure out a way to scare the Soul Warriors. Right, Sherlock?” The dog stood and sniffed the air. “No drugs in here, boy,” the sheriff said. “Nothing to be excited about.” He turned to Nelson. “Did I ever tell you about the scary birds we had in southeast Asia?”

            “The what?”

            “They were lizards, really, but we all called them birds because of the sound they made out in the jungle. Scare the hell out of you the first time you heard them, they would.”

            “What? The sound of a lizard would scare a marine?”

            “Fuck you."

            “What?”

            “Fuck you”

            “I didn’t mean …”

            “Fuck you,”

            “What did I do?”

            “Not do. Fuck you.”

            “Did I offend you?”

            “No, that’s the sound the lizard made in the darkest time of night. I guess when he was sounding off for some lizard nookie, he’d say, plain as could be, ‘Fuck you.’ It would come right out of the jungle like the NVA was there. ‘Fuck you,’ and if you don’t think that would scare the hell out of some young jarhead slick, just a few months out of boot camp at three o’clock in the morning on a pitch black night, you never stood watch in the jungle.”

“I …,” Nelson began as the sheriff’s radio crackled.

            “Big Daddy,” Deputy Cassidy’s voice said.

            “Go ahead, Sonny Boy,” the sheriff said into his handset.

            “First target passed. Second target stopped.”

            “On my way,” the sheriff said. “Give me one minute.”

            “Roger, out,” the voice said.

            The sheriff said nothing, but started his car and eased onto the highway. As soon as they were in motion, he lowered the two rear windows. “How about some fresh air, Sherlock?” he said to the dog in back. The dog moved to the right window and stuck his head through the window. “That’s it,” the sheriff said. “Good boy. Take some good deep breaths.” He drove a little below the speed limit, in no hurry.

            The car rounded a curve and the men saw, just beyond the intersection of a county road and the highway, flashing lights from a patrol car and an oversized delivery truck from “Dan’s Almost Free Things.” Both were parked on the side of the highway. Deputy Cassidy stood with another man beside his patrol car. The deputy was writing on a pad. The other man was tall and sported a week-old growth of beard. He wore a green work uniform. Oily hair extended from a baseball cap advertising the store. He looked back toward the sheriff’s car, which was now parked behind them. Nelson and the sheriff emerged from their car and the man recognized the sheriff immediately. He froze.

            “Kilo,” the sheriff said as they approached. “Kilo Kesterson. I thought you were still in Tucker Maximum.” The man remained stiff.

            After a few seconds, he relaxed and smiled. “Out on parole, Sheriff,” he said. “for good behavior. I been working for Mr. Dilahunity for three months and this is the first time I’ve even been pulled over and I don’t hardly know what for. I was trying to drive as careful as I could cause you know I don’t belong back at Tucker Max. How’s your family been? You’ve lost some weight, haven’t you?”

            “You ain’t about to go into “con-mode” on me now are you Kilo?” The Sheriff asked. He turned to Deputy Cassidy. “What’s this old boy done now?’

            “Failure to stop at the four-way,” Cassidy said. “You told us to get a little stricter about that since the last wreck.”

            “I did indeed,” the sheriff said. “And Kilo here was the first?”

            “No,” Cassidy said. “One came through like a bat out of hell a few minutes before him, but you don’t want us in high-speed pursuits”

            “Good job,” the sheriff said. “I spect you gonna let Kilo off with a warning, ain’t you? He’s a good old boy when he ain’t high on something or other.”

            “Yes sir,” Cassidy said, “just thought I’d make an example and he’ll get the word out. What are ya’ll up to?”

            “Just out takin’ Sherlock for some air. He’s been cooped up and gets nervous if I don’t take him for a ride ever now and …”

He stopped when the dog barked and bounded through the window of Sheriff Loves’ car. Hitting the ground, he went straight to Kilo Kesterson, sniffed his pants, and went into response mode. Before anyone could move, he left the man and bounded to the rear of the delivery truck, He reared onto its bumper, sniffed the doors, and became more agitated. Like a trapped person, he darted back and forth between man and truck until the sheriff gave him a command to cease. Sherlock obeyed and the sheriff walked to the man.

            “Kilo,” he said. “Just what in the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

            He turned to talk to Nelson but Nelson had taken off running past the delivery truck. Another man, a passenger in the truck who had gone unnoticed, had slide from the passenger side and was fleeing the scene. He hadn’t covered 50 yards before Nelson caught him. It only took a hand on the collar to end the escape attempt. Nelson walked him back to the sheriff without saying a word.

            “Well ain’t this a godammed class reunion,” the sheriff said, “a real gathering of old pals.” He moved the man to where he stood beside Ken. “Boys,” he said. “I want you to meet Jitters McDaniels, arguably the stupidest car stealer our county ever apprehended. He stole the ugliest purple car you’ve ever seen, drove straight to a liquor store, parked it with the license plate facing the highway, and went inside. I was personally waiting for him when he came out with a six-pack of Old Milwaukee.” He nodded. “What say, Jitters?” He turned to Nelson, “He that slow, or you that fast? Don’t say a word. I know the answer.”

            Nelson didn’t answer, for he was bent forward holding his side. His face had drained and he motioned for the sheriff to give him a second. Slowly, he raised himself erect and nodded. “Just a little remnant,” he said. “I’m fine now.”

            “Fine hell,” the sheriff said. “You take my car back to the office and wait there. Tell Mrs. Matterson to feed my dog and put him in his pen. Me and Hopalong will let these fellers explain why they almost sent Sherlock into cardiac arrest. I’m sure they’ll do a good job and I’ll be back in an hour or so and they’ll be on their way to Mr. Dilahunty’s store. He winked.

            The sheriff didn’t come back that afternoon, so Nelson headed to his office first thing the next morning. He was having coffee with Mrs. Matterson when Sheriff Love burst into the area and motioned Nelson into his office. “Sorry I didn’t call. It was a long day.”

            Once inside, the sheriff collapsed behind his desk and motioned for Nelson to sit. “Long version or short version?” he said.

            “Whichever you have time for,” Nelson said. “What did you find in the truck?”

            “Enough methamphetamine to build your Navy a new aircraft carrier if you sold the goods at market value.”

            “Impounded?”

            “The truck or the goods?”

            Nelson cocked his head.

            “I brought the state boys in” the sheriff said, “to help with a case that may be a little big for us. They confiscated the dope and two of their men are driving the truck on to where it was headed.”

            “Not to Dilahunty’s?”

            “No, to this resort town in the north part of the state which is sort of a receiving and distribution center. They are after bigger fish.”

            “How did they know the destination?”

            “Well,” said the sheriff, “after I reminded Kilo and Jitters who they would be auctioned off to back at the old cell block, they sang sweeter than Simon and Garfunkel.”

            “So the state is taking over?”

            “Just the main distribution. I only asked two things, well three actually.”

            “And they were?”

            “For us to take down the hunting club and the Soul Warriors, the associated search warrant, and a commendation for old Sherlock.”

            “They agreed?”

            “Only if they could have a couple of their guys involved along with the feds. They were insistent about the feds for some reason. I didn’t ask.”

            Nelson said nothing.

            “Damn,” said the sheriff. “Thank goodness for talkative losers.”

            “What next?” Nelson asked.

            “You tell me. I want to get inside before they get wise or get word and we raid an empty tomb. Law enforcement around here is a leaky vessel and the Weasel is bound to get word that something is up. Or old “Almost Free” Dan Dilahunty may crawl off his teenaged bride long enough to start missing his truck.”

            “That reminds me,” Nelson said.

            The sheriff raised his hand. “You don’t have to tell me,” the sheriff said. “The young Mrs. Dilahunty. She called me while I was at the state yesterday. You really pissed her off. Hell hath no fury like a two-bit bitch who feels ignored.”

            “What did you tell her?”

            “What the lizards said in Vietnam,” or something close to that.

            “That’s the same thing I told her,” Nelson said, “except I didn’t have to say it.”

            Someone knocked on the door three distinct times.

            “Enter,” the sheriff said.

            The door opened and Mrs. Matterson peeked past the opening. “Someone from the bank needs to see you for just a second,” she said.

            “Send him in.”

            “It’s a she.” The door swung in and Morgan Fowler walked in carrying a thin file folder. She stopped when she saw Nelson and she blanched visibly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

            “Meet my new deputy Gideon Nelson,” the sheriff said. “This is Mrs. Moneybags from the bank.” He gestured toward her.

            “I know Mr. Nelson,” she said. She nodded and said, “How do you do?”

            “Fine,” Nelson said, looking as if he had never met her. She was immaculately dressed in a business suit that complimented her full figure and ample legs. Her hair was trimmed shorter in a professional style that accented her oval face. She smiled and her face seemed to light the room. Sheriff Love noticed and smiled back. “Am I overdrawn again?”

            Morgan laughed. “Hardly,” she said. “I just need to get your signature on this receipt for some grant funds so we can expedite the processing.”

            “Good old ‘Uncle Sugar.’ Will you thank him for me?” The sheriff took the file she offered and signed. Handing it back, he said, “I hear nothing but good things about the job you’re doing over there.”

            “Thank you,” she said. “We’re trying hard to change some of the old practices.” Her face moved slightly toward Nelson.

            “Be sure to call me first if you happen to get robbed,” the sheriff said.

            Morgan laughed and didn’t reply. Turning to Nelson, she said, “It was nice to see you again.” With that, she twirled about and was gone. Only her scent remained.

            Sheriff Love didn’t speak for a minute. He gathered his thoughts and looked at Nelson. “There was enough electricity in this room just now to power a skyscraper. I hope you noticed.”

            Nelson said nothing for a few seconds, then, “I want to go in first.”

            “I figured as much,” the sheriff said. “You let me nab Kilo and Jitters. Now you figure it’s your turn.”

            “Pretty much,” said Nelson. “By the way, how does a man get a name like ‘Kilo’ anyway?”

            “Funny you should ask.” the sheriff said, I asked him the same thing once. It’s his real name, you know, on this birth certificate and all. What he said was, ‘My mother was a crack-whore and my daddy was a drug pusher. What would you expect?’ Now, let’s get back to taking down the Soul Warriors. How you gonna do it?”