Finding Floyd (13 page)

"That sounds incredible. I love a fire. My
dad used to burn ours all the time."

He had that odd tingling sensation at the
nape of his neck again that always warned him when things were not
entirely as they should be. Something was wrong. But what? There
was the faintest hint of wood smoke in the air. One of the
neighbors probably had a fire to take the chill away. It was
certainly cold enough last night.

"Chris, is everything okay?" asked Diane,
studying him.

"Yeah, sure. Be with you in a second." He
returned to the SUV, reached under the front seat, and slipped his
pistol into his jacket pocket. You could never be too careful. As
she was admiring the house, he was sure Diane hadn't noticed him
taking this precaution.

Diane took a deep breath and looked around
once more at the beautiful view, saying softly, "It's lovely up
here and so quiet and peaceful."

Grinning, Chris reached for her and slipped
an arm around her waist. "Come on. Let's go inside." As they walked
up the broad steps to the front porch he added, "I hope you like
what I've done. There aren't any appliances in the kitchen yet and
I still have to put down hardwood in the dining room and install
some carpeting, but it's almost finished. Lot of painting to do,
but I'll need some help choosing colors. Maybe you could do that
for me."

"If I'm still here," she said lightly. "I
might."

Hesitating at the door, Chris rattled the
keys in his pocket. His uneasiness hadn't diminished, so he looked
through the sidelight, checking to see if anything was out of
place, until he noticed Diane watching him with a questioning look.
He smiled, shrugged and inserted the key into the lock. The door
swung open on new, well oiled hinges, with no protesting squeal.
They stepped into the silent foyer redolent with the smell of new
lumber.

Bruno Toricello stood still, scarcely
breathing, at the bottom of the basement stairs, a handgun gripped
in one beefy fist. He had heard the crunch of gravel as an engine
roared up the road and stopped in front of the house. There was
nothing for a moment or two, and then he heard the distant, but
distinct slamming of two car doors. He waited motionless and
silent, considering his options.

Whoever's out there might not come in. If
they do, they might not come down here. Did I mess up anything
upstairs? Nah. I don't think so. Of all the rotten luck. I just
found this great hideout. If they catch me here, I got no choice. I
gotta eliminate the nosy bastards. Tough luck. After that, what?
Maybe I'll torch the place with them inside and get the hell out.
On the other hand, a burning house would draw a hell of a lot of
attention. I better stash them in the woods. Give them a nice long
dirt nap.

He heard a third car door slam. Good, they're
leaving. He waited expectantly for the sound of an engine starting,
but there was nothing. Are they leaving or what?

Footsteps sounded on the floor above and a
door gently thunked. There were voices. It sounded like a man and a
woman. He listened closely, unable to make out what they said,
except for a word or two. He moved closer to the bottom of the
stairs, rested a foot on the lowest tread, and aimed the pistol
toward the door at the top. "Stay the hell up there and nobody will
get hurt," he whispered.

The footsteps advanced and receded, the two
intruders apparently moving from room to room. Bruno strained to
catch the words as their voices grew faint and then louder
again.

He looked at the wood stove. The fire had
burn out during the night, so there wasn't any smoke coming from
the chimney. His sleeping bag, lawn chair and other supplies lay
scattered about the room.

If I make a run for it, I'll have to leave
all this shit. It would be easier to ice those two clowns, get
everything back to the truck, and set fire to the place. Carting
the bodies into the woods to bury them would be a lot of work.
Damn, do I have a shovel in the truck? He couldn't remember.

The voices were louder now and the footfalls
stopped near the top of the stairs. He froze, listening intently to
the conversation, which he could now hear clearly. The woman
spoke.

"Are you going to show me the basement? You
said it was finished down there with a bath and spare bedroom?"

"Yeah, it's partially finished. The bathroom
is mostly done, but again, I still need to paint everything," said
the man. "There's not much to see."

What's this, a freakin' real estate agent
showing the place or what? You don't want to see the cellar lady.
It'll be the last thing you ever see. He ducked back so as not to
be seen by anyone coming down the steps. It will be easier to take
them from behind when they get down here. A shot in the back of the
head and they'll never know what hit them. The woman spoke
again.

"Chris, that's your man cave down there,
isn't it?" She giggled. "Don't try and deny it, I can smell the
cigars from here. I'll bet there's a big screen TV and you and the
guys sit down there watching football, drinking beer and smoking
cigars, right?"

After a pause of several seconds, he heard
the man say, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"What, is this some of your FBI cloak and
dagger paranoia? What's the matter? Where are we going?"

"FBI! What the hell? Shit shit shit..." Bruno
stuffed the pistol into his waistband and ran for the outside
door.

"Come on," said Chris as he took off through
the front door in three long strides, dragging Diane along. She
stumbled, trying to keep up with him as he slammed the door,
hurtled down the steps, and raced for his Suburban. He opened the
driver's door and tossed her in ahead of him. "Get in. Don't ask
questions. Fasten your seat belt," he ordered.

"What's the matter? You're acting like a
crazy person," she said, scrambling for the seatbelt.

"I said, don't ask questions."

Diane stared at him wide-eyed as she fumbled
with the latch until it clicked in place.

He had the car started and his cell phone
out, before his door slammed shut behind him. In one fluid motion
he pressed a speed dial key on the phone, slammed his door and
stepped on the gas. Instead of returning the way they'd come, he
sped around the side of the house and gunned the engine, heading
uphill with gravel flying behind.

Glancing to his left, he saw a blur of motion
at the back of the house. It was someone racing across the yard and
vanishing into the pines. Concentrating on his driving, he turned
skillfully to take the sharp curve as the road wound up through the
trees.

From behind came the distinct pop of a
gunshot. "Hold on," he yelled, pressing the accelerator to the
floor. Two more shots in rapid succession caused Diane to flinch
and duck her head. A loud ping told him that at least one bullet
had hit the Suburban's rear panel. The engine roared as the tires
bit deep into the gravel. The SUV rocketed uphill.

"Chris, somebody's shooting at us." hissed
Diane, her head still down.

He glanced at her, impressed with how calm
she sounded. "In two seconds we'll be out of range. Don't worry
sweetheart. It'll be okay. Trust me."

Just ahead, pulled off to the side in the
tall grass and weeds, was a battered and faded blue pickup truck.
He slowed and peered at the license plate. It had been skillfully
obscured with mud and was illegible.

He stopped, wrenched the 9 mm automatic from
his pocket, and rapidly fired, putting a bullet in each of the
tires on the near side of the truck. As rapidly as it had appeared,
the gun vanished into his jacket pocket. He stomped on the
accelerator and they were racing up the road.

"Damn! I should have known, but what were the
odds..." He banged on the steering wheel in frustration and
realized he was still holding the cell phone in his hand. A voice
was speaking faintly from the phone. Speeding up again, he took the
next curve, fishtailing precariously on loose gravel, until he
gained control.

"Chris, I don't know what's going on, but
please be careful," murmured Diane. Her voice was still calm, but
her eyes were wide with fright.

He held up one finger, signaling for her to
wait, took another dangerous curve, climbing higher and yelled into
the phone, "Rodriguez, I found him. You need to get to my place,
ASAP." The phone slipped out of his grip and landed on the seat
between them.

Diane calmly picked it up, pressed "speaker
phone" and held it up so Chris could hear. "Slow down Chris. You're
going to get us killed."

He ignored her, gave his partner careful
directions to the house and briefly explained the situation.

With a grinding crunch of gravel beneath the
wheels, he braked to a full stop at the top of the ridge. From
there the road forked, both ways looked even rougher and less
traveled than the gravel track behind them. His head swiveled
around, but no one was in sight. He took the handgun from his
pocket and held it on his lap.

"Chris, why did you shoot at that truck?"

He closed his eyes briefly and he sighed.
"Listen, I'm an FBI agent, remember? I blew out the tires on that
truck, so the bastard who was taking potshots at us won't be able
to follow." He spun the wheel and turned sharply, the rear wheels
sliding in loose gravel before finding a purchase, just inches away
from the roadside ditch. Bouncing and bumping downhill, banging in
and out of ruts, he turned left and right, trying to avoid the
largest of them. He glanced at Diane and saw that she was as white
as a sheet, clutching the hand grip above her head. Her eyes were
closed and her jaw set firmly.

"I had to get you out of there. I didn't want
you to be in any danger," he said quietly. He glanced over his
shoulder, and slowed when he saw no one behind them. One last turn
at the bottom of the ridge and they were on a paved road. She
opened her eyes and sighed with relief, but it didn't last long.
Chris drove as fast as he possibly could over the winding mountain
roads. She took hold of the grip with both hands, stared through
the windshield and moaned softly.

"Chris? This road is like a roller coaster. I
think I'm going to barf. "

"Just hold on. In a minute or two I'll have
you back at the B & B. Sorry for the wild ride, but I had to
get you away from him. I'm going to drop you off and then go back
after that guy. He's gotta be the one I've been searching for."

As they took the next bend in the road, a
logging truck piled high with stout tree trunks came at them from
the opposite direction. He deftly jerked the wheel slightly and the
truck hurtled past, mere inches from the Suburban's side
mirror.

"Eeeek!" Diane screamed, covering her
eyes.

"It's okay. Don't worry. Those trucks are on
the road around here all the time. Here we go." He slowed at an
intersection and turned left. Another mile and he was braking with
a squeal of tires in the driveway of the B & B.

"How did you do that? I mean, how did you get
us back here so quickly?" she asked, looking around at her familiar
surroundings.

"No time for questions Diane. Please go
inside. I've got to get back there and meet Rodriguez. I'll be back
as soon as I can."

She stared at him, and blinked.

"Please Diane, I've got to go. You're safe
now. Everything's all right."

"What just happened? You don't want me to be
in any danger. I understand that, but why would someone try to kill
us?"

"I can't tell you now. Just trust me." He
reached over, undid her seat belt, and pulled on the door handle.
Pausing for an instant, he leaned in and kissed her lightly.

"I know. I know. You could tell me, but then
you'd have to kill me, right?" She sighed and slid to the
ground.

"You got it!" He grinned at her through the
open window, as the car moved away. "I'll see you as soon as I
possibly can. Oh, and Diane? Thanks for being so calm. You were
great." His deep blue eyes made contact with hers for just a
second, but the look spoke volumes.

In an instant, he was gone. Diane stood
bereft, staring at the empty road as the black SUV disappeared.
Finally, she turned and walked slowly toward the back porch where
she could hear people talking and laughing.

'The Lieutenant and his
five men stepped down into a low boggy place where Cyprus trees
materialized eerily out of the fog. At the bottom their feet
splashed through an inch of coffee colored water until they
scrambled up the low bank on the other side.

Nervously, he glanced back
to assure himself that he wasn't alone in the mist. The two boys,
Ethan and Jeremiah, came up behind him and returned his gaze,
looking as frightened as he felt. On his left, the old gray-haired
trapper and the huge blond bear of a man glided silently forward,
but the Choctaw Indian had vanished once more into the
fog.

He started onward again,
until he heard the whinny of a horse, louder now, and the muffled
"clump thump" of hooves. The Lieutenant strained to see what was
just ahead, suppressing the urge to flee.

Emerging from the fog, the
company halted as the Tennesseans and the English were revealed to
each other all at once. After but a second’s hesitation, rifles and
muskets were raised and pistols drawn. The stillness of the morning
was shattered as a terrific dueling fusillade erupted from the six
Americans and a like number of British. Muzzle flashes lit up the
fog and the detonations, so close at hand, were abnormally loud.
These were the last sights and sounds witnessed in this life by the
young Lieutenant. Struck in the chest with a heavy caliber lead
ball, fired from an English Brown Bess musket, he was dead before
he hit the ground. Like a lightning flash in the dark, the skirmish
was over within mere seconds, almost before the combatants were
aware of what had transpired.'