Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(6)

London was my German shepherd I’d inherited from my wife after she’d passed away. After she’d been murdered.

London was almost thirteen years old, and even in his advanced age he was smarter than most of the Red Barn customers put together. Not counting me. There’s no way he’d even know the definition of nonagenarian, never mind pronounce it correctly.

I took out a ten from my wallet and laid it down on the bar.

“Don’t you insult me.” Debbie grabbed the bill and stuffed it in my shirt pocket. “I’ll be over in about an hour. Throw a few logs in the fireplace, I have a feeling that after a hot shower, I’ll be wide awake for a while.” She winked at me and licked her lips in a gesture so subtle that you wouldn’t see it if you weren’t looking for it. I looked for it. All the time. When she licked her lips like that, holy cow, was I in for a good time.

She grabbed a wet dishtowel and started the cleaning ritual in preparation for closing. This was my favorite time of night. I sat there, chin on hand, unashamed and with building excitement. I watched her from the side as she leaned forward and wiped down the bar. Her large breasts tested the strength of her bra and stretched her T-shirt to the max with the perfect amount of firm sway. God I loved her.

I finished my beer, walked out to the parking lot, and hopped in my truck. All of the customers had left and the lot was empty except for a few vehicles belonging to the employees. I started my truck and grinned to myself. I’d be at my log cabin on my two hundred and ninety-two secluded acres in about twenty minutes. Let London romp around outside in the snow for a bit, and start a nice fire.

I pulled out onto Route 10 and made a right. I don’t know why, maybe cop paranoia, maybe a little prodding from a guardian angel, but when I passed Charlotte Valley Road, I looked to my right and I saw the back of a Cadillac SUV parked on the side of the road. Its lights were out, but I could see the moonlit engine exhaust rising in the cold air.

Ostrich Boy.





5





Damn. My heart pounded in my throat, which all of a sudden had a case of the dries. I didn’t want to hit the brakes and draw attention to myself, so I kept going. Ostrich Boy had no legitimate reason to be here. He should have been back at his guest room in the B&B, passed out from all the booze, dreaming of Debbie, or Frances, if that was his thing.

I turned left onto Wharton Hollow Road, then a sharp left onto Creamer Road, which brought me back to Route 10. I made a right and headed back to the Red Barn.

St. Anna’s Church was a couple of hundred feet before the Red Barn on the same side of the street. I pulled into their empty parking lot, made my way into a corner spot far away from their lone streetlamp, and killed the engine. I got out, soft closed the door, and walked along the dark sidewalk towards Charlotte Valley Road.

Maybe the SUV didn’t belong to Ostrich Boy, and was just a coincidence? But I didn’t believe in them, so I crouched low and stayed in the shadows as I approached. I needed to get close enough to read the license plate without being detected. If it was a match, I needed to see how many people were inside the big SUV. After that I could formulate a plan.

The temperature had dropped and it felt like it was well below freezing. With each exhale I could see my thick breath illuminated in the moonlight. I only had a flannel shirt on, but my adrenaline kept me warm and my Glock always gave me a warm fuzzy, so I didn’t feel the cold. Long gone was that pleasurable feeling that came with fantasies of Debbie and me cuddling in front of my fire place.

I unbuttoned my shirt and tucked the right side of it behind my back and into my belt to give me unrestricted access to my Glock. I loved those damn guns. They had no safety, so with a little practice you could outdraw anyone. We didn’t exactly live in Wild West times, but it was nice to know that when the shit hit the fan, you’d be fast on the draw and could fire without having to worry about thumbing off a safety.

When I reached the intersection of Route 10 and Charlotte Valley Road, I crouched behind a shrub on the lawn of the two-story clapboard house that sat on the corner. From there I could see the SUV up the street, and the Red Barn across from it. The SUV was no longer idling, and that concerned me. A lot.

Ostrich Boy and his buddies could be hiding in the shadows of the parking lot, which was lined on one side with shrubs. Even worse, they could be inside the Red Barn.

I was running out of time, so I made my decision. I grabbed my Glock and stepped out from behind my cover.





6





My first task was to see if the license plate matched. I stayed close to the bush line and crouched down as I approached the rear of the vehicle. My eyes had adjusted well to the darkness, and with the help of the moon it was easy to make my way without tripping over the old broken up sidewalk. But I couldn’t read the license plate until I was almost on top of it. Might be time for glasses.

I held out hope that it was a false alarm, that the plates would be from some lost soul from Arkansas. Then I could jog back to my truck and be on my way in no time, the whole episode being nothing more than a small delay that wouldn’t make a difference in the night’s pleasure that awaited me. Finally at about three feet away, I could make out the license plate. King Rex. Damn.

Tinted windows prevented me from seeing inside, so I had to make a decision. Did I risk walking around to the front of the vehicle to see inside? If someone was inside, I’d be an easy target. Did I create a distraction, try to lure them out? I’d give away my advantage of surprise if I did that. I could forget about the SUV for now, assume that all three of them were here, and sneak around to look in a back window of the Red Barn to see what was going on inside. But if they had a lookout, then I risked being spotted. I couldn’t rush the decision and make things worse, but I couldn’t sit around all night either. I knew that at least one evildoer was here.