Steve’s Shorts: Your Past Will Find You, Part Three of Three…
Your Past Will Find You
Copyright 2016, Steven M. Moore
Part Three
A knock on the kitchen door jerked Rena awake. The half-filled coffee mug went flying. She grabbed the gun.
“Rena, you in there? I wanted to thank you for sending Gadfly’s papers.”
Will Richardson! Or Richard Wills? She put the gun on the table. “Just a minute.”
She hurriedly collected the shards of the coffee cup, wiped up the spill with a paper towel, and trashed it all. When she opened the door, she realized she was hanging out of her robe a bit.
“Sorry,” she said, covering up.
“That’s certainly one of the nicest good mornings I’ve had.” She saw him stare at the gun. “Anything wrong?”
“He said he’s coming for me! You’ll remember I went to the bank to make a transfer. Somehow he spotted that and sent me an email to the new email account. I was afraid that ‘coming for me’ meant he’s already here and on his way.”
“You’re trembling. I think it’s time to go see Sheriff Jolly. You should tell him about this.”
She went to the table, sat, and hugged herself. “I don’t know. Everyone will start talking. The stalker will only have to walk into Big Mike’s, have a coffee, and listen to the gossip.”
Will smiled. “That’s a pretty good description of Big Mike’s ambiance. It’s like that old TV show. Everyone knows your name.”
“Do they know yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you Richard Wills, ex-NYPD detective?”
He took a seat at the table and frowned. “The wallet. I forgot it was in that file box. I didn’t really have any other place to put it, though. Mama Dora often straightens things up in my room. I’m neat, but she’s obsessive. It’s not nice to snoop, you know. I only wanted the papers.”
“I know. Mea culpa. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s a long story, but here’s the summary: I put the mob’s hitman into the car in my place. I made it look like I was a victim and ran for my life. Not only did I kill one of theirs, but I made them look like cop murderers. My life wasn’t worth a dime. Still isn’t if they find me.”
“Why were they after you in the first place?”
“I was in narcotics working undercover. I cost them a lot of profits when I told my buddies about a warehouse with hundreds of pounds of heroin ready to hit the streets.”
“So it was payback? And NYPD wouldn’t back you up?”
“They would have gone through the motions, but that kind of grudge is held a long time.”
“I’m glad you told me. I won’t say a word. You’re still Will Richardson.”
He smiled. “OK. Now let’s see that email.”
***
“I hate to learn this reason for you coming to our little town, Ms. Edmunds,” said Sheriff Jolly, tapping the copies of the emails. Rena had explained why she had fled New York and come west. He had read the emails. “I can increase patrol frequency out by you, but there’s not much else I can do.”
“How about telling your deputies to keep an eye out for strangers?” said Will.
“Sure, I can do that. We do that anyway, just as general principle. A lot of crimes are just crimes of opportunity a drifter might take advantage of.”
“Wow, that’s comforting,” said Rena. “I’m new here. Guess I’m high on people’s suspect lists then?”
“You’ve been around long enough to get beyond that, but when you just arrived, that’s a fair assessment. Can’t change people, Ms. Edmunds.”
“Call me Rena. I’m not getting a good feeling here. I’ll still be alone most of the time at my place. That sounds like stalker nirvana.”
“This is a big county, Ms. Rena,” said Jolly, “and we do all the policing except when Feds come in and lord it over us. That’s police life in the boonies.”
“I guess it was smart to buy a gun, then,” she said.
“Duly registered, I hope.” She nodded. “And you can shoot?” She nodded again. “That’s the way of the West, ma’am. The Big Apple can have thirty thousand cops, but the number per capita is about the same as here. You have to adapt.”
“More like thirty-five thousand,” said Will, “but you’re probably right, Gerry. It’s hard to justify a large force here.” He turned to Rena. “I can help. You have a TV room with a sofa, right?” She nodded. “I’ll stay with you at nights. Saves me a drive from the boarding house to Curly’s anyway, and I’ll be a shout away from there too. Would that make you feel better?”
She smiled. “OK, if it works for you.”
“It will until I have to travel for another horse deal. The last buyer’s thinking he might need two more to keep Gadfly company. That’s too good to pass up.”
***
Two days later Sheriff Jolly called Rena. “Deputy Murray saw someone snooping around Mama Dora’s. Took a pic with his smart phone. I guess it won’t help much because you never saw your stalker. I called that NYPD SV Unit that handled your case, by the way. They sent copies of the case file. NYPD also sent the file some time ago to the FBI to get a profile. I’ve also got that. Seems like your stalker’s a real weirdo.”
Rena shuddered. “Can you send me the pic anyway? I’ll at least have someone to look out for.”
Jolly took her number; she soon had the pic. She studied it. It was more a side view, but the stranger to town had a strong chin and stubble, slick, black hair, and sunglasses riding over a long, hooked nose, thin lips, and sunken cheeks. He looked more like a mob hitman than a stalker.
Hitman? She dropped the phone to the floor. She picked it up and examined it. Kaput! But the pic was frozen on the screen. She ran to the old rotary and called Will, who was still at Curly’s.
“You need to get here quick!”
“The stalker?”
“I don’t think so. More like someone looking for you.” She explained that he’d been seen snooping around Mama Dora’s.
“Your guy would go there too if he thought you might be staying at her boarding house. But you’re right. I’ll be there in a moment.”
***
Will showed up accompanied by Curly, who jumped out of the pickup with his shotgun.
“Gives new meaning to the phrase of riding shotgun,” she said from the porch. One hand was on her hip; the other held her gun.
“The original meaning,” said Will.
Curly frowned when he saw the gun at her side. “You look like a poster girl for the NRA, honey.”
“I hate the NRA. Anyone who thinks you need an AR-15 for hunting and target practice has to be demented. And there are too many guns on the streets of America.”
“Amen,” said Will, coming around the front of the pickup. “Cops are often outgunned in the big cities, not to mention massacres like Sandy Hook and San Bernardino, where many innocents died because people used automatic weapons.” He stepped onto the porch. “I told Curly a little about your situation.”
“What about yours?”
“Just let me see the photo.”
“My cell phone’s dead, but the pic’s still there.”
“That means the battery’s still OK, but some circuit’s fried. Let me see the pic.” They went into the kitchen, Curly following as if he were going hunting for pheasant. Will studied the pic. “Good for you, bad for me. I think it’s Johnny Four-Fingers.”
“What kind of name is that?” said Curly. “It sounds like some mob guy from a bad TV show.”
“Precisely,” said Will. “Sit down, Curly.” Will told the old man his story. “You’ll now understand why I’m asking you to go home. This isn’t your fight.”
“I’ll be safer here,” Curly said. “He’ll be looking for you at my place first. Safety in numbers. But I think we need to call Sheriff Jolly.”
“That exposes Will,” said Rena.
“Seems like that’s the case already.”
Will nodded. “Curly will take the sofa, I’ll take the recliner,” he said to Rena. “You have another house guest. And we’re leaving Jolly out of this for now. My ID isn’t even that good.”
“Why Four-Fingers?” said Curly.
“His left thumb was chopped off when he was a teen. He shoots with his right hand, though. He’s a well-known hitman for the mobs. Unfortunately, there will be more to follow him if he doesn’t succeed. They’re persistent.”
“You need to go into witness protection now,” said Rena.
“One thing at a time. My goal now is to stop the collateral damage.”
“Meaning Rena and me,” said Curly.
Will nodded.
***
That night Johnny Four-Fingers looked for Will at Curly’s place. It was amazing the gossip you can pick up at a local diner, and he had enjoyed the meal. He’d been forced to eat unhealthy. He found that amusing. The diner didn’t even bother to have seafood on the menu. Jersey diners always tried to be fancy and offer fish that was never fresh but frozen. Ugh!
The house was dark, so he broke in. In the kitchen he found an old-fashioned book for noting phone numbers and addresses on the counter and eyed the edges. Two tabs were well used. The owner talked often to two women: Rena Edmunds and Dora Hutchins. Mama Dora? Because he had been at the boarding house, the hitman figured that Wills might be at Rena’s, Curly being the common connection. Wills worked at Curly’s. From the address, he could see Rena Edmunds’s place was the next one over.
He smiled. It made sense that the ex-cop had a girlfriend. And conveniently nearby.
He had left his rental car between the two ranches at the side of the road. He intended to leave it there and keep walking to Rena’s. He opened the trunk and took out a backpack that contained another gun, some more clips, a few tools for torture, ties, and duct tape. I’ll have to kill both of them. He smiled. Wills is probably making out with his new squeeze.
His smile turned to a frown when he saw that there was no tire wrench. He heard gravel crunch behind him. He managed to turn a bit, but someone hit him, sending his face into that same gravel. He turned over to face the barrel of his own gun
“Thanks for the equipment, old man. Sorry I didn’t have time to chat.”
The bullet hit him in the forehead. In a second, pain and then darkness swept all thoughts away.
***
Rena shook Will. “Do you hear him?”
“What? Who?” Curly jumped up from the sofa, and Will brought the recliner down with a thud. Both men reached for their guns.
“Max never makes night noises,” said Rena. “There must be someone in the barn.”
Will and Curly listened. They all heard the snorts and whinnies of the horse now.
“Better than a watch dog,” said Curly with a smile. “Might just be a varmint, though.”
“Rena, go upstairs and lock your bedroom door,” said Will. “Curly, stay here and watch both front and back entrances. I’ll check out the barn.”
“There’s a back door to the barn,” said Rena. “Let me get you a key.”
Rena had motion-sensors that turned on floodlights. Will knew enough not to trigger them, but it made his trip to the back of the barn circuitous. He listened at the door but heard nothing. He keyed the lock and went in. Max sensed him and snorted. He switched his penlight on and put it in his mouth, freeing his left hand to brush away cobwebs while holding the gun steady with his right.
He knew that the light would make him a target, so he sit it atop a post after shining it on the horse’s stall. Max recognized him and snorted again.
“Easy boy, you might have some unwanted guests.”
In an empty stall, he saw two eyes in the dark. He picked up the flash and directed its beam there. A raccoon stared angrily at him. Will relaxed.
“We’ll call this masked fellow the Lone Ranger,” he said to Max.
That’s when the trapdoor to the hay loft dropped down and someone jumped him.
***
“Will, that you?” said Curly, peering into the darkness. He readied his shotgun, but he had trouble determining the direction of the noise. A board creaked behind him. He swung around, but the gun was knocked out of his hands before he could fire. One of Rena’s Spanish urns smashed against the side of his head.
“My love must have a menage-a-trois going here.” The stalker bent over to exam Curly. “Nope. Maybe this is Curly.” He pointed the gun at the old man’s head but didn’t shoot when he heard the noise on the second floor. “Maybe I’ll let you live, old man. No way you could have seen my face. That Will wouldn’t have either, so he’ll live too, unless he’s defiled my Rena like that Jake. I’ll collect my love and be gone.”
The stalker tiptoed upstairs. On the landing, it wasn’t hard to figure out which bedroom was Rena’s. The other four doors were open. She must have hers locked. An inconvenience.
If he wanted to take his time, he would have to return and kill the two men, but someone might have called the sheriff. Like Rena! It was better to be a bit more aggressive. He shot out the lock and threw open the door. Where is she?
Before he had time to dwell on that problem, the door slammed into him, sending him flying. Rena stood over him, her gun shaking.
“If you even blink, I’ll kill you!”
“Would you kill an old friend?”
“Harry? What the hell?”
She lowered her gun just enough for Branson to kick it away. He then attacked her. She clawed at his face as he choked her. She was unconscious by the time he heard someone running up the stairs. He found his gun and hers and turned to face the door. Was it the young lover or the old man?
***
Will lay flat and pushed the partially closed door open. He was greeted by a barrage of bullets that sailed over his head. He only needed one. The stalker went to his knees, his two normal eyes staring at infinity while the third between them oozed brain matter and blood. He fell on his face.
He went to Rena and found her carotid artery. Still alive! He began to give her CPR.
“Come on, Rena! You can’t let this bastard win!”
He continued for five minutes before her eyes opened.
“I always imagined your kisses to be a bit gentler. My chest hurts.” Her voice was a rasp.
“The compressions.” He helped her to her feet, picked her up, and laid her on her bed. “Just rest.”
He went to the body and turned it over. “It’s not Johnny Four-Fingers.”
She was trembling on the bed. “No, he’s my agent!”
“Your agent is—was—your stalker?”
“I guess so. He didn’t know exactly where I live, but I guess he found out. I needed help to sell my paintings. He’s been my agent for more than a decade.”
“I wonder how many of those years he’s been obsessed with you.”
“I guess we’ll never know.”
“We’re both going downstairs to check on Curly. The sheriff will want this scene undisturbed for his forensics. We’ll call him from there.”
***
“Sign here.” The FBI agent shoved the witness protection papers to Will. He signed his old name and his new one, Robert Mills, and then Karla Mills nee Rena Edmunds signed too. “We usually only do this if we get something in return.”
“How about eliminating a wanted hitman?” said Will.
The agent smiled. “The stalker probably did that. We’re still trying to get into Johnny’s iPhone, though. If a contract was sent to him and we can trace who sent it, that’s a good exchange. We’d love to get rid of a few more mob members.” He put the papers into his briefcase. “Try to stay out of trouble, folks, and have a good life.” He stood and they shook hands. “The sheriff would like to speak to you both in one of our interrogation rooms, by the way.”
“Will you keep us informed on what you learn?” said Will.
“Probably not. And don’t even think about going near an FBI office to ask. Your cover as a narcotics cop was nothing in comparison to what you’ll have, but it will stay intact only if you stay under the radar. Your jobs are to become Mr. and Mrs. Suburbanite with two-point-five kids.”
Will winked at Rena. “Maybe we’ll round that up to three.”
***
Sheriff Jolly put his coffee down and smiled at them when they entered. “I guess congrats are in order. I thought you might want to know the rest of the story. And I know the FBI won’t be telling it.”
“Mine or Will’s?” said Rena. “I mean, Robert’s.”
“Both. First, Johnny Four-Fingers died on the road between your place and Curly’s. We suspect it was your stalker, Rena, because he had Johnny’s backpack with all his tools of the trade. Can’t prove that, but it doesn’t much matter.” Jolly shuffled some papers. “NYPD raided your agent’s apartment. In the second bedroom, his study, there were corkboards with hundreds of your pics plastered all over them, many from the opening of your shows in Manhattan galleries. Not too weird for an agent maybe, but in retrospect he was definitely obsessed. And we have a clue as to why. They found some other photos too. He had a girlfriend in college who broke up with him; she looked a lot like you. Your looks probably started him down that dark road, I guess. A lot of guys and gals have break-ups in college and don’t go down that road, though, so this guy was really mentally deranged.”
“As often happens, he hid it well,” said Will. Rena nodded.
“I guess Will can continue his horse business wherever the FBI is sending him, but what will you do, Rena?”
“I’ll continue to paint, but I’ll have to change my style a bit, I guess, and sign them Karla Mills. I just hope experts can’t make any connections with Rena Edmunds. Or, maybe I’ll just teach art and not try to make money off it anymore. We’re not starting out with zero finances, after all.”
“I don’t even want to know how that works. I called in a lot of favors to get you into witness protection, but they let me have one in return by letting me say goodbye. Good luck to you two. I think you’ve both had enough excitement in your lives.”
After he left, Will kissed Rena. “I guess it’s time to go find the U.S. Marshall who will be our chauffeur. Are you ready to start a new life, Mrs. Mills?”
“Indeed I am, Mr. Mills.”
They walked arm-in-arm from the interrogation room.
***
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