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CHAPTER 13
"Do I need to start a trace now, Tom, or are you going to just tell me where you are?"
August "Zulu" Meyer hadn't seen his brother for the better part of four years. The Meyer family knew that it was useless to try to contact Tom until he decided the time was right. Their last meeting had been at mother's funeral, he thought to himself, and he had said some things which would have been better left unsaid. He was grieving, too, and Zulu regretted the way they had parted company. Truthfully, he had almost given up hope of ever hearing from his brother again. Their relationship had been close until that day in Zurich. Now, he could only pray that Tom would heal up and come back in.
Zulu was the absolute polar opposite of Tom. They couldn't have been any different, had they been randomly selected from the spectators at a Grateful Dead concert and told that they were now brothers. Tom, even as a boy, had been dark and quiet. He was often accused of sulking, when actually he was merely in a different zone, mentally. His natural tendency to shun contact was not a dislike of people as much as an expression of his own independence. Zulu loved his brother very much, and he knew that Tom wouldn't be calling unless he was in so much trouble that he saw no way out. He already regretted his words.
"Nice to talk to you, too, big brother. You don't have to trace this, I'm in Bristol, Vermont. I'm headed for Diamondback Ridge, in Cass County, about 30 miles from here. I've got major problems, Zulu. I witnessed a hit in the bush last night, and the shooter is a county mountie. He knows I know, and he's hurt. He's been shot, but he walked away, so I think he'll be on our trail pretty soon. I've got his wife, mother-in-law, and the wife of the man he killed, with me. Remember the cabin on Diamondback? I'm going to try to get them up there before he can find us. Don't notify the State, Zulu, I'm told that this clown has a lot of friends. Hell, I'd lay odds that we don't even get on the mountain, but I have to try. I'm heading up the back side. It's a little longer, but not quite so many rocks, and the cover will be better. Fortunately, it looks like we're going to get some decent weather."
"Tom, does he know where you're headed?"
"I don't really know. We switched vehicles, but this is a small town, and I don't think it'll take very long for him to figure out what we're driving. If he's notified the State Police, we won't get to the trailhead, now. That's why time is so important. "
"Have you notified anyone in law enforcement there, Tom?"
"Oh, yea, I called his office and asked for him. OF COURSE I HAVEN'T NOTIFIED ANYONE ! HE'S THE GOD DAMN SHERIFF, YOU IDIOT!!”
Tom held the phone away from his ear and closed his eyes. He had to calm down! Zulu was their only shot at getting help.
“I’m sorry, Zulu... that was uncalled-for. Look, his name is Luther Pittman, and he's the sheriff of Addison County, and he's one cold son-of-a-bitch. If you can help, come on in, but I gotta go. Bye!"
The telephone receiver was swinging freely in the air as Tom Meyer walked behind the building. As he walked he could feel the anger starting to subside. His feelings for his brother had been in question for a long time. But right now, he had to block it all out. He didn't have the luxury of getting out of control. Besides, in truth, he figured the fault probably lay with him. He was the one who had broken off lines of communication, not his brother.
Sarah was staring out the side window of the Forerunner. As he walked by, he noticed that her expression had changed, and her skin was ashen. She looked shocky. Fudge must have told her. Tom lifted the tail gate, picked up a blanket and walked back around to the rear door. Opening it slowly, he wrapped the blanket around the woman, tucked it in lovingly, and closed the door. Where the Hell was Brenda? They had to get back on the road. He stood with his hands on his hips, wondering how in God's name he was ever going to pull this off.
CHAPTER 14
"More coffee, sir?"
The pretty young waitress had her hair up in a bun, neat and proper. She couldn't be more than twenty-five or so, he estimated. I'll bet she's a tiger in bed, he thought to himself, that kind always is. Luther held his cup to her, and smiled, hoping that she would take the hint. She poured the black velvet liquid into his cup. As if on cue, she smiled back at him, not quite suggestive, but not totally innocent, either.
Luther had taken off his uniform shirt. The blood stain drew attention to him, and he certainly didn't need that this morning. The gauze he'd purchased at the drug store was staying dry, too. His hunting jacket was warmth enough, and didn't brand him as a sheriff. As he sipped the beverage, he considered his options. Brenda had assembled an entourage. He knew Fudge, of course, and Sarah.
They were certainly no threat to his plans, but who was the man? Luther had only caught a glimpse of him, standing beside Fudge in the realty office. He couldn't place him. And why had they brought Sarah? Did they know about Ray? Surely not. Noone had been present when he did it. He was sure of it. It just didn't make sense. This could be a problem.
Lying in the cramped solitude of the Subaru trunk, he had clearly heard the man say that they were going to Diamondback Ridge. Why had he picked that venue? There were literally hundreds of places which were easier to get to, and which would offer more protection for three women. Was he a local? Were they trying to lure him into a trap? He quickly dismissed this as ridiculous, but he knew that as long as they were breathing, he could never be safe. If this dude was willing to make his stand on Diamondback, then he probably was going to be a worthy adversary. Luther had learned long ago, never to underestimate one's enemy.
The Addison County Sheriff decided to wait for nightfall before going up there. Then, he would have the advantage. His night vision scope would take care of the rest.
"Hey, darlin', how about a menu and a little conversation?"
The petite waitress was now standing next to Luther's booth, her pen tapping the countertop, giggling at everything he said. For the next two hours, she would tend to his every need, scooping up the dollar bills which he laid on the table every time she brought him something. Somewhere around 11 a.m., she would put on her hat and coat, walk out into the parking lot, and get into a black Scout with the words 'Cross River County Sheriff's Dept.' on the door. No one would ever talk to her again.
CHAPTER 15
A gun-metal gray Taurus accelerated onto the northbound entrance ramp on I-95. Inside, Special Agent Zulu Meyer was formulating his own game plan. He had run Luther Pittman's name through the Registry. The sheriff had been in office for almost twenty years, and his record was good, for the most part. There had been a couple of incidents in the file which left questions about some missing persons, but nothing to suggest that he was a murderer. If Tom said that he saw him kill a man, then there was absolutely no doubt that it happened.
The one fact that troubled him was that this was not Tom's normal way of dealing with situations. Tom had become such a loner, that it was totally out of character for him to get this deeply involved with anyone for any reason.
Tom had said he was going up the back side of Diamondback, so he would do likewise. Zulu reasoned that there was no way that he could beat him onto the mountain, it was a six hour drive up there, from Washington. Maybe he could pick up his trail. Hopefully, he wouldn't make contact without anyone else before reaching the cabin. Zulu didn't like surprises, especially when they came equipped with high-powered rifles.
The soothing tones of Smokey Robinson and the Miracles serenaded him as the elegance of the New England countryside buoyed him for what lay ahead. The splendor of autumn was in full array as he rocketed northward through a blaze of orange and red.
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