Through the Storm (The Montclair Brothers) (14 page)

"You look pretty today," he said.

"And you look like you're lying to me. What's going on Jacob," she whispered. "Wait, if you're going
make up a story, don't bother saying a thing." Emma got up and went to the kitchen. She grabbed a yogurt, the only thing she'd had to eat all day, and then sat down at the table, avoiding his gaze. His eyes had gone from loving to distant, in three seconds, and Emma was tired of it. Being confined with six other people, day in and day out, would cause anyone to get snappy, but she had every right. Two people who loved each other, shouldn't have dishonesty between them.

Tyler walked up and put his hands on her shoulders. She thought about pulling away, but she had no desire to start fighting with him too.

"Are you doing okay?" he leaned down and whispered to her.

"Sure…" Emma snarled.

"You're just going to sit in here by yourself?" he asked.

"And you're just going to look me, Renee, and Brian in the eyes, and lie to us?"

Emma got up, left her yogurt sitting on the table, and closed and locked the bedroom door. She slid open the window, and stretched out on the floor where the sun's rays were beaming in. Tears began to drip down the sides of her face, into her hair.
When are they leaving us
? When she felt her stomach churn, she flung open the door, ran to the toilet and vomited.

"Love, are you sick?" asked Jacob.

Emma ignored him and turned on the shower. She closed the lid on the toilet and sat down. Here she was, desperate to be alone, yet petrified they'd leave.

She closed her eyes and thought about Robert. All her life she'd tried to do the right thing, and this was her great reward in life. Emma reached up and rubbed her throbbing temples. After a few minutes, she finally understood; no matter how kind and loving a person is,
everyone
had it in them to kill someone.

Tyler turned on the morning news at 6 AM. There was no such thing as sleeping in anymore. The tension and stress was making it impossible for any of them to get a full night of shuteye. Instead the group was getting by on short naps stolen throughout the day and night. They were on their third pot of coffee, and Tyler nursed his forth cup, while he began to flip channels. He thought it was Monday, but it could possibly be Tuesday, so finding the news, or a morning show that discussed the news, shouldn't be difficult.

The days seemed to blur into one another. He hadn't heard from the detectives in a couple of days, and that left him feeling unsettled. Renee would snuggle against him in bed and ask him questions that he either didn't know the answers to, or he had to lie to her. Tyler wasn't very proud of himself. He was doing a horrible job of protecting his brothers, and he was being deceitful to the woman he loved. Emma, who'd flat out confronted him in the kitchen, saw right through him, just like she'd always been able to do. He loved her and accepted her as a little sister, so it was killing him that he was unable to relieve her anxiety. Tyler would have to tell her even more lies in order to accomplish that,
but she'd see right through them. The storm was upon them, and he couldn't help anyone through it.

The news anchor had said, 'Good morning, everyone, on this beautiful Tuesday.' Tyler knew there wasn't, nor would there, be anything beautiful about today. He was tempted to call the show and tell them to cut the chitchat and get down to business. Finally, the curly-haired
brunette, looked straight into the camera.

"A murder investigation is underway in
Wilky, this morning." The video showing a parked coroner's van and cops, who were standing around as if they were waiting for a baseball game to start, wasn't what Tyler was looking for. He was about ready to turn the channel.

"
A badly decomposed body was found last night, in an abandoned cabin in Wilky, located in northern Michigan. Officers are still gathering evidence and interviewing local residents. We were told exclusively, here on WKTB, that a .22 shell casing was recovered at the scene. A wanted fugitive, Robert Preston of Southfield, is being sought in this crime. Mr. Preston is also wanted in the shooting death of a doctor in Courtland. Castle Lake is where Mr. Preston's crime spree appears to have begun. Three victims were reportedly shot, while fleeing from a burning home. They have since been treated and released from Castle Lake Memorial Hospital." The camera switched to a reporter standing at the scene, on the road by the cabin. "The Michigan State Police, as well as the F.B.I., have been brought in to help with the investigation. Robert Preston is considered armed and dangerous." A picture of the creep appeared on the screen, "If you see this man, please call the Michigan State Police at this number. Do not approach him." Tyler's jaw dropped.

"The owner of this property, Buck Roy, is a longtime resident of
Wilky. The police are trying to locate him, but so far, they're not having any luck. If anyone knows of Mr. Roy's whereabouts, please notify the authorities."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Renee. "He's killing more people? Just to get to me? Tyler, he's headed this way!"

"Let me call Delcan and find out what he knows. He should have called us last night." Tyler stormed out of the living room and into Vincent's room to make the call. When he went to shut the door, everyone was on his heels. Knowing the number by heart, he dialed the detective.

"
Delcan!" the detective yelled over the loud noise in the background.

"This is Tyler Montclair. We just saw the news. What's going on and why weren't we informed?"
Tyler's nerves were so frayed, he was ready to start screaming at the man.

"One
sec, let me move away from these reporters. Okay, first of all, I've had to talk nonstop to the troopers and the FBI. Renee seems to be the main target, so I need to find out if any of you know Buck Roy or George McDuffy?"

"Let me ask," replied Tyler, as he turned towards everyone gathered inside of the room. "Do any of you know Buck Roy or George
McDuffy?"

"No," replied Renee, while everyone else shook their heads.

"We don't know them. Buck Roy was the one who was shot, right? But who is George McDuffy?" Tyler asked sternly. He didn't want to play any games.

"This info hasn't been released to the media, so keep it under your hats. George
McDuffy claims he put eighteen hundred bucks down on some property that Buck Roy was selling. Buck backed out, which pissed off McDuffy; made him mad enough to drive out here with a tractor to destroy the cabin. He's admitted to looking inside first, to see if there was anything of value that he could take. He was hoping to help recoup some of his eighteen hundred. That's when he saw the body and called it in. As we searched the area, a rental car was found in the tall grass behind the cabin. The car is registered to a rental agency, and the plates match the car that Robert got into after leaving the hospital. It was rented by a man named Ronald Caper, who listed the driver as Robert Preston. We're sitting on this information while we gather more evidence. Ronald Caper is an officer in Southfield."

"Christ," mumbled Tyler.

"We subpoenaed Caper's phone records. He's received phone calls from both Robert's cell and Buck Roy's address. We believe, it's possible, that the dead man in the cabin is Mr. Roy, especially if Robert's had access to his home phone. After searching his trailer, we found evidence that someone has recently been living there. Obviously, if he's our dead guy, it wasn't Buck Roy. He drives a 1995 Oldsmobile Cutlass, which wasn't at the residence. We believe Robert has stolen it."

"So that's what we need to be on the lookout for. What color is it?" Tyler could feel his heart racing.

"Silver. The last incoming call to Ronald's cellphone, other than from his wife, relatives, and fellow officers, was from a gas station near the freeway yesterday. The last call he
dialed
was to a scuzzy motel in Lyons, where he booked a room for a week. That's how, we believe, Robert has been able to stay just ahead of the law. We've got unmarked cars in the area, as well as an undercover FBI agent working the counter at the motel. We're hoping to intercept him when he shows up in the lobby. Your perpetrator could already be there, or near the area. Officers have been instructed to follow Robert, but not to engage him. He's armed, and we don't want to involve innocent bystanders in a shootout. It's imperative that you guys don't leave the apartment."

"Robert's heading this way. He knows where we are." Tyler turned his head and saw the frightened look on Emma and Renee's faces, as well as the angry expressions of his brothers' and Brian.

"It's possible. We're doing an internal investigation on who could have leaked your location. Cops talk, Tyler. The apartment staff could have spoken to a family member or a spouse who's an officer. It'll take the time to solve this once Robert's locked up. In the meantime, we have to be ready just in case he does know where you were moved to. The news already spilled that you've all left the hospital. Finding the culprit who has been running his or her mouth, is going to be a long process. For your safety, we can't deal with that right now. Our first priority is to find Robert and protect you."

"Take the tap off of our phone," growled Tyler. That was just one more way they could be traced.

"Your number is unlisted, and I know exactly who has access to that information. I have personally cleared them."

"Keep me posted, Detective
Delcan," said Tyler and then immediately hung up the phone.

"What happened? What'd he say?" demanded Emma.

Tyler turned towards the group. "We have to get out of here."

∞  ∞  ∞  ∞

Robert stopped at a convenience store in Memphis, just outside of Lyons, to borrow their phone.
Memphis. This is Michigan you stupid asses.
The young idiot clerk, covered in tattoos, was loudly cramming chips into his mouth. Robert wished the bag was big enough to suffocate the pathetic man
. Man. Ha
! He laughed right in the Cheap Tattoo Creep's face.

"Uh, can I help you with anything?" The Creep gave Robert a dirty look.

If there was extra time before Killing the Seven Dumb Dwarves, Robert would hammer him one with the register. He laughed again at the image of dollar signs ringing up as it slammed against the Idiot Tattoo Man's head.

"I need to use your phone. It's an emergency and I don't have any change." Robert glared at the Tattoo Guy's crumby face through his black sunglasses.

"We got a payphone. I can break a dollar for you."

And I can break your neck
, thought Robert.

"You're wasting time. It's an emergency." Robert leaned over the counter with his tall frame.

"Fine. Here." Tattoo Jerk handed him the dirty phone.
Why can't idiots wash their damn phones
? Robert was tempted to spit on it and rub it with Big Fat Buck's shirt.

He called Ron the Cop, but the jerk didn't pick up his phone. He dialed again. Finally he answered.

"Helloooo there R-r-ron! I need the location."

"
Birkhouse Inn. 41978 North Boulevard in Lyons. I'm done with you
now
, Robert. Leave me alone!" Robert wrote down the address on the wrapper of a candy bar, then started out the door. He'd shoot Ron the Asshole Cop with his own police-issued Freakin' Glock.

"Hey! It'll be eighty-nine cents for that candy bar!" The Tattoo Idiot had the
balls
to stand up to him.

Robert reached in the front pocket of Fat Buck's jeans, and threw a dollar bill at Ink Boy, and took the entire box of candy bars off the counter, before walking out the door. Tattoo Freak kept his mouth shut
. Lucky him
.

When he got closer to boring Lyons, he pulled into a busy grocery store, and backed into a parking space. Stupid women crammed their shitty cars wherever they wanted. Robert was tempted to key every one of them. He couldn't help but laugh his ass off at the idiots who'd decided
the drivers in this ignorant state didn't have to put front plates on their cars. Big Buck Jerk had a prissy front plate covered in sunsets and palm trees.
We don't even have palm trees here ya dipshit
!

He'd wait until it was dark out, and then he'd drive to the motel. It better be nice, or R-r-
ron was gonna get two bullets in his throat.
Four eyes
. Robert laughed hard. He was tempted to waltz right into the store with his new, jacked-up priced steel-toes and buy himself a loaf of bread and a roll of salami. But
noooo
! He'd have to continue to starve himself. Steak. Beer.
The rewards at the end of the day.
Robert wished he could just pull puppet strings and have the Seven Stupid Dwarves shoot each other.

He had enough bullets to finish off Freaky Wife and her Ass Clowns, as long as he didn't waste any. It was possible he'd have to plug a cop or two in the process, but that was fine. When the job was done, he'd
hightail it to Indiana.

Robert leaned back and closed his eyes. He startled awake when the Fat Ass Woman tried to fit her stupid self into her tiny piece of shit tin can, next to Big Fat Buck's loser car. If he'd had a knife, he would have stuck her from his window, and then shove the Lard Ass in the trunk. "Bovine," he mumbled.

It was dark outside, so Robert waited until the Freakin' Fat Ass left in her stupid Tin Car. He half expected the tires to blow out. Robert pictured rubber flying through the air, smacking these stupid women in the faces as they walked into the store to spend money they didn't earn.
Useless.

He pulled the stupid Olds behind the store, by the dumpster,
then went to the trunk to fetch his rifle. He'd missed it. It had become an extension of himself.
Come to Papa
! Robert sat it in the backseat, then got behind the wheel again and drove quickly from the lot. He had to take his sunglasses off so he could see, which pissed him off because he'd looked like Freakin' Arnold. "Billy Bad Ass," he said out loud, while flexing his muscles.

Robert drove by Taylor Apartments on Industrial Drive. What a bunch of losers.
The Dead Dwarves didn't even bother to pick a good hiding spot.
Right in the open. Dumbasses
. Robert also drove right past a cop, who was busy pouring something out of a thermos.
What a tool
!

He continued to the light and turned left. He couldn't help but bust out laughing. This was going to be easy.
Easy Peasy
! He'd find the motel room and wait until he was sure the Asshat Dwarves would be asleep. Then he'd make his move. When he did, he'd make the front page again. Robert laughed because they had no idea what he looked like now.
Ha
!

Once he found North Boulevard, he noticed something strange. There were those stupid sedans randomly parked on the side of road, and one of them was even sitting in a no parking zone. As he drove closer to the motel, which had better be nice, he saw a man standing near a streetlight, with a bulge underneath the back of his shirt.
So Ron the Cop has set me up
! What a bunch of idiots. Stupid Morons. They must have found Rotting Buck. He quickly turned on Beck Road, cutting off a stupid pickup to hide his license plate. Robert drove past a park on the side of a large lake.
Perfect
! No one was at the ugly little booth to make him pay for a park pass, so he followed the signs to the boat launch, down the winding road. Casteel Park.
Who the hell names a park Casteel. Steel. Steel-Toed Boots to crush your freakin' skull.
He was laughing his ass off. Robert grabbed his rifle out of the back seat, jumped out of the Stupid Olds, and then watched it roll down the ramp, into the dark water.
Go be with Big Fat Buck
. He was beside himself, but couldn't stay and watch the whole ship because of a stupid street light. Flinging the rifle across his back, he jogged into the woods. His belly hardly shook at all. Too bad for the kid who was walking down the path, texting his ass off. Robert quietly walked behind him. With one swift swing to the Ignorant Delinquent's head, the Dumb Punk fell to the ground. After a few more swings, he put the cellphone into his pocket, grabbed him by the scuzzy hoodie, and pulled him into the woods. He laughed while he Googled the number for the Ugly Taylor Plaza. 
Sounds like a damn shopping mall
.