The Shepherd (30 page)

“Don’t feel too bad, kid,” Mavros said. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m untouchable.”

The killer’s voice sounded surreal, like something from a dream. Marcus turned to face the monster. “Not tonight.”

He raised the gun and shot Mavros between the eyes.

The silence in the room was oppressive. It was so quiet that Marcus wondered if he had gone deaf. He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to see her disgust or her fear.

He turned and saw sad but compassionate eyes. The look wasn’t one of judgment or condemnation as he had expected.

She reached out and placed a hand on his back. “What happened next?”

“The senator’s family didn’t want his exploits and the inevitable scandal to tarnish the good family name, so they covered everything up. They bought off the girl. She was just a poor kid from the Bronx. They threw so much money at her that her grandchildren’s grandchildren will never go hungry—and who could blame her?”

Maggie nodded in understanding.

“As for me, they gave me an opportunity to walk away without any criminal charges and with an ‘early, honorable retirement,’ as they called it. They also offered me a lot of money to ensure that I would keep my mouth shut. And…I took it. I kept some of it but gave most to charity. It didn’t seem right, getting paid for my sins—even though that’s the way a lot of people make their fortunes. That’s the long and short of it. My sob story.”

Another long silence descended upon them. He couldn’t begin to fathom what thoughts might be racing through Maggie’s mind.

“You did the right thing,” she finally said.

The response sent a wave of shock over him. “I killed an unarmed man in cold blood. I’m a murderer.” He spit the words from his mouth with finality, as if he could never be forgiven—or at least never forgive himself.

“You saved that girl and all the other girls who would have come after her. He was the cold-blooded killer, not you. He was a monster. He deserved a lot worse than what he got.”

He shook his head in disbelief. His face flushed. “It’s not like Mavros was getting ready to shoot her or running at her with a knife. He was standing there defenseless with his hands cuffed behind his back. I murdered him execution-style like some mafia hitman. I should have arrested him and taken him in. But I didn’t. I killed him. I should have went to prison for what I did.”

“You know he would have just walked away scot-free. You may have stopped him from killing that girl, but what about the next one and the next one after that. He would have gotten away with it, and he would have kept getting away with it until somebody like you stopped him.”

“I could have gone to the press or maybe the FBI. I could have forced the department into action.”

Maggie snorted derisively. “Number one, he probably owned the FBI and the press. Number two, if he was as powerful as you say he was, he could have made sure it was swept under the rug. Even if it did get out and hurt his reputation, probably the worst case scenario for him would have been losing re-election. That’s worst case for him and best-case scenario for you. You being found dead one morning just like one of his other victims would have been more likely—the price for knowing too much. Or maybe you just disappear and nobody ever hears from you again? Sometimes, you have to do what you know is right, even when the rest of the world is all wrong.”

He once again rubbed the cross that hung around his neck. This time, he noticed what he was doing. “The Bible says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ It doesn’t say, ‘Thou shalt not kill, unless the guy you wanna kill really deserves it.’ I don’t know what to think. Nothing seems right anymore.” His eyes took on the watery sheen present just before the dam bursts and the tears rain down.

Maggie didn’t say another word. She just reached out and embraced him.

They curled up together on the bed. He still couldn’t forgive himself for all that he had done, but Maggie’s forgiveness was enough for now. They held each other until sleep finally came.

~~*~~

Marcus didn’t dream about his last night as a cop.

Instead, he dreamt of Asherton. Only the Asherton in his dream was strange and distorted. The sky was bright orange, casting a strange glow upon the town. Desert surrounded him, and the buildings were misshapen and disturbing. He stood on the edge of town and gazed out over a great abyss.

The chasm was so wide that the other side couldn’t be seen with human eyes. A mist covered the pit. Flashes of light and electricity shown through the clouds as they swirled over the gap, concealing its depths and its secrets. The swirling mists rose and fell like waves crashing over a vast ocean.

The more he stared at it, the less the mist resembled normal fog and the more it seemed like some ethereal specter that couldn’t be properly comprehended on our plane of existence. It was an enormous swirling entity that moved with purpose and intent.

He looked back toward Asherton. From the center of town, the Sheriff and all his deputies moved toward him with a strange, shuffling gait like a horde of the undead. Ackerman and Mavros joined them. They came closer and closer. Their eyes burned red, as if they had come straight from the pit of Hell and intended to drag him back with them.

He turned back to the abyss and noticed a staircase that descended into the unknown depths of the void. The world felt like it had turned itself upside down and inside out.

As the brood of demons closed in on him, he decided to descend the stairs into the unknown. He started down, and the world shook with a violent quake. The heavens thundered. He felt himself being pulled or phased into another world, somewhere far from all the pain, the sorrow, and the tears.

Then, he awoke.

The thundering he had heard within the dream was someone banging on the hotel room door. In a flash, he moved to the entrance and drew his gun. He didn’t peer through the peep-hole. Instead, he knelt low and looked through the window. He let the shades fall back into place and opened the door.

Andrew had a foreboding look in his eyes. “It’s time.”

The trio recapped the events of the past few days and tried to find some clue that would elucidate the details of the Sheriff’s plan. They discussed possibilities, none of which seemed viable. The only information they possessed was that the Sheriff had said it would be big and that it would be taking place that day. An infinite sea of possibilities still remained within their radar, and they failed to find any method to narrow the search.

Marcus felt like a fisherman who had decided to catch a great white shark by sailing into the middle of the ocean and dropping a line.

“I’ve got a thought,” Andrew said. “It’s simple. A direct approach. I just remembered an old, very politically incorrect saying. It goes something like, ‘When in doubt, beat it out of them.’”

Marcus chuckled, but then his wheels began to turn. He raised his eyebrows and said, “They have to leave somebody behind at the station.”

Andrew nodded. “It would look pretty suspicious if they didn’t. Plus, they have to have somebody around in case Ackerman is spotted. Whoever it is will definitely be on guard. How do we get in without a firefight?”

He turned his eyes toward Maggie, and Andrew followed suit. Maggie’s eyes darted between them. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can tell that I’m not gonna like it.”

Andrew smiled. “Have you ever used a blackjack?”

~~*~~

Within moments, they were on the road.

Marcus pondered his recent dream of Asherton and the stairway descending into the depths of the unknown. He felt like he was descending those stairs now, only he wasn’t walking. He was tumbling down them, out of control.

He’d always found it hard to tell whether he was moving quickly in the right direction, or tumbling down the wrong path at a speed so great that he would have no hope of catching himself before he hit the ground. Most of the time, all he could do was enjoy the fall and brace for the impact.

When he was younger, danger and velocity had been the catalysts to excitement and fun. But as he realized the consequences of jumping in head first, he became wary of velocity. The greatest velocity achieved was often the precursor to the impact. And the impact was never fun.

As he learned to question his own mortality, velocity ceased to induce excitement and began to induce fear.

They were moving at high velocity now. And he was definitely afraid.

~~*~~

When they arrived at the Sheriff’s office, Maggie ran frantically inside.

The deputy on duty jumped up when he saw her burst through the door. “What’s happening, Maggie? What’s wrong?” he said with a deep southern accent.

“He’s after me. He’s right behind me.”

The deputy ran to her and pulled out his pistol. He moved her behind him for protection, went to the window, and peered out. “I don’t see—”

The man fell to the ground, unconscious.

Maggie stood behind him with the blackjack, a small club designed for maximum damage.

“Who’s gonna be the good cop, and who’s gonna be the bad cop?” Andrew said.

Marcus grimaced. “Come on, we’re not really gonna use that old cliché, are we?”

“Why not?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. We’re two intelligent and creative guys. I think that we can come up with something better than good cop, bad cop…and something a hell of a lot faster.”

“Trust the classics. It’s an old cliché because it works.”

Marcus shook his head. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“It had better be good. We don’t have time to waste. If we can’t break this guy, we’re all out of options.”

He fixed Andrew with a look of cold confidence. “I only need ten seconds.”

The deputy sat strapped to a chair in the middle of the interrogation room, his hands cuffed behind his back. The man was still unconscious, but it was time for him to wake up and smell the roses. Marcus recognized the deputy from the group that besieged the Brubaker farm. The recollection of that event helped to steel his resolve and make what was about to happen much easier.

He dumped a plastic trash can full of cold water over the deputy. The man jerked his head and opened his eyes. But the deputy still looked groggy, so Marcus decided to help wake him up. The hard punch across his face brought the deputy out of his stupor quicker than smelling salts. “What the hell!”

He circled the man like a shark before the first bite. He didn’t waste any time. “We know the Sheriff has something big planned. You’re gonna tell us what that is.”

The deputy remained silent with a defiant look contorting his countenance.

Marcus repeated the question but received no response.

He nodded. “I thought you might play it this way.” Reaching behind his back, he retrieved a 9mm pistol, checked the clip, and chambered a round. He looked deep into the man’s eyes with an icy determination. “I’m gonna count to ten. If you haven’t told me what I want to know by the time I reach zero… I’m gonna blow your head off.”

The deputy tried to act tough but was visibly shaken. “You expect me to fall for this? You wouldn’t just shoot me.”

He leaned in close and spoke through clenched teeth. “Why not? That’s what you and your friends did to the Brubakers.”

The man’s eyes went wide. The deputy looked toward the two-way mirror of the interrogation room, as if beseeching someone for help.

Standing up to full height again, he simply said, “Ten.”

“Come on, man. You can’t do this.”

“Nine.”

“Listen, I just work here.”

“Eight.”

“He’s the boss. He’s the one you want.”

“Seven.”

“He doesn’t tell me everything. I—”

“Six.”

“I don’t have any information for you. I don’t know anything.”

“Five.”

“You wouldn’t just kill an unarmed man.”

The image of Senator Mavros standing before him with that smug smile flashed before his eyes. He shivered, but he didn’t think that the deputy noticed.

“Four.”

“He’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t. Three.”

“Please, don’t do this.”

“Two.”

He fired the gun point blank. The bullet whizzed by no more than two inches from the man’s left temple.

“NO! Okay, Okay, you win. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know.”

Marcus looked toward the observation room behind the two-way mirror. He gave Andrew and Maggie a wink. “I’m listening,” he said, getting back into character.

“The target is Paul Phillips.”

“The presidential candidate?” He wasn’t expecting an assassination, but less and less surprised him nowadays.

“Phillips is an evil man. He’s trying to get rid of the competition. That’s the way he operates. He uncovered some evidence about what the Sheriff has been doing. It links the Sheriff and his activities to…some powerful people. He—”

“I know about President Jameson,” Marcus said, fishing.

The deputy’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. The man continued without responding to the statement, which was a definitive response in itself. “Phillips thinks he’s gonna profit from the information politically. What he doesn’t understand is that no one is going to let him live that long. End of story.”

Marcus nodded. Often the most powerful men were the most desperate. They had the farthest to fall. They would do anything or kill anyone to keep the power they had attained and gain more. “Where’s it going down?”

“San Antonio. During the speech. They want it to be public and shocking. High powered rifle to the head.”

“Where’s the shooter gonna be?”

“I have no idea.”

He fired another round past the man’s head.

“I swear. I don’t know. But I do know who’s taking the shot.”

He already knew that answer. “The Sheriff,” he said, finishing the man’s thought.

“Yeah. He’d never trust anyone else with something that important. Phillips might be acting like he’s the angel trying to bring the evil-doers to justice, but the truth is that he’s worse than all of them. He’s lied, cheated, and stole his way to where he is today, and a lot of people have gotten hurt in the process. The Sheriff believes that Phillips is a murderer.”