Homecoming, page 10
Jesse heard a commotion in the front and looked up to see Case holding the door open for Sam. Everyone at the lunch counter greeted Case as if he were family. What the fuck. This guy disappears for years, never does shit for this town, then shows back up and gets treated like some kind of goddamned celebrity. Jesse shoved his plate across the table and slapped a crumpled one-dollar bill down as a tip. Fuck this guy!
Jesse couldn’t remember exactly how his rivalry with Case had started, but they’d never gotten along, even as children. They used to fight during gym class. Because of his height, Jesse always had more reach than Case but not enough strength to overpower him. It was always a toss-up as to who would win and they were warned repeatedly about their bad behavior, but both boys were too stubborn to leave each other alone. It wasn’t until Bobby started third grade that Jesse took a new approach to hurting Case. It started small, taking the boy’s lunch money and tripping him in the hallway. Eventually, that wasn’t enough for Jesse, so he punched Bobby one day in the bathroom, leaving a bruise on the boy’s cheek. Case showed up in class the next day and didn’t waste time waiting for gym class. He threw Jesse from his desk onto the floor and beat him so viciously that their teacher, Mrs. Duncan, had to call for backup. When asked why he did it, Case never mentioned Bobby. He just sat there in front of the principal and looked over at Jesse, who had both nostrils stuffed with bloody tissue.
“He knows what he did. And if he ever does it again, he’ll get worse than what he just took.”
Jesse wasn’t about to confess to bullying Bobby, so he sat quietly, looking as pitiful as he could while Case took his punishment—two days suspension. That put a smile on Jesse’s swollen face, but the savagery of the beating he took that day stuck with him for a long time. He never touched Bobby again, but over the years, he’d figured out other ways to get under Case’s skin, and Sam was one of them.
Jesse stood and made his way toward the cash register where Case and Sam waited to be seated.
“Well, if it isn’t the royal fuckin’ family.”
“Good morning, Jesse.” Case smiled. “Always good to see you.”
Jesse was caught off guard. He thought his taunt would goad Case into another confrontation, but he wasn’t taking the bait.
“Yeah? Well, I’m glad to hear you say that because the longer you stay around here, the more you’re gonna see of me. I’ll make sure of that.”
Case was still unshaken. “I don’t have a problem with that, Jesse, and I probably owe you an apology for everything that happened between us back in high school. I just didn’t have my shit together back then, so no hard feelings, okay?”
Jesse thought back to the beating he took from Case before he left town. The shame and embarrassment he’d felt that night was still fresh in his memory—like it had just happened.
“I don’t want an apology, asshole. I want you gone.”
“That’s not gonna happen, Jesse, but I am sorry.”
Jesse looked at Sam, and saw her hand tighten around Case’s arm. “I see it didn’t take long for you to scoop up my leftovers. There’s some eggs and a bite of bacon on the plate over there if you want that too.”
Case stopped smiling, and Jesse saw something change. It was subtle—something in the eyes, but it was noticeable, and it scared Jesse.
“You ain’t worth my fuckin’ time, Case.”
Jesse looked over to the cash register where Peggy stood waiting to take his payment for breakfast, but her attention wasn’t on Jesse. She was caught in a daydream, gazing at Case like some love-struck schoolgirl. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed before throwing a ten-dollar bill across the counter at Peggy, then shouldered past Case as he walked out the door.
Jesse stood on the sidewalk, not knowing where to go. It seemed that since Case showed up again, Pikesville was getting smaller, forcing him even further into the background.
Jesse fished around in his shirt pocket for a cigarette but came up empty-handed. “Fuck!”
There was only one solution to this—Case needed to go, and Jesse wanted to be the one to make it happen.
* * *
“Jesus.” Sam sighed as the waitress walked them back to their table. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do about him, Case.”
“It’s not your fault, Sam. Jesse’s always been the kind of guy who gets off on pushing people around, and to be honest, I don’t think he realizes we’re not in high school anymore.”
“I know, but it’s kinda sad to see how far he’s fallen.”
Case pulled a chair out for Sam, then took a seat across the table, facing the entrance. “I get it. When I think back to that night at the bonfire—I regret what I did. It’s hard not to feel kind of responsible, but he made his choices, Sam, for good or bad. Now he has to live with them. He’s not your responsibility, and I’m certainly not going to let him ruin this amazing morning we’re having.”
Case’s words put Sam back into a pleasant mood, but she noticed a change in the way he looked at her and everything and everyone around them. There was a coldness there now, something distant and frightening. Sam reached across the table and took Case by the hand. He squeezed her fingers gently and smiled as if nothing had happened, but Sam could feel his hand trembling with rage. It was cause for concern and she felt a knot begin to form in the pit of her stomach.
CHAPTER 18
The night before his meeting with the sheriff, Case couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking of the run-in at the festival and how little attention the whole situation was getting. He thought of Mia and the look on her face when Rex touched her.
This is a problem. Case thought to himself. And the words of his former first sergeant started echoing in his head.
If you come to me with a problem, bring a solution with you.
The Rangers had drilled into him that hot heads who rush in without a plan tend to get themselves and their teammates killed. Case wanted to avoid that, but needed answers, so he started with the facts and worked from there. He knew two of the players and where they operated. Jesse was a bully clearly hooked on his own product. He would be erratic and unpredictable. Rex was the obvious leader and had pulled hard time, which lead Case to believe he had connections to a much larger organization. What he didn’t know was how the whole operation was structured, how many people were involved, or what their full capabilities were. If he wanted to provoke a response from the sheriff, he needed more concrete evidence of wrongdoing before his meeting. So, just before midnight, Case rolled out of bed and rummaged through the bedroom closet until he found his old woodland camo BDUs and a spotting scope he used for scouting deer. He got dressed and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge along with a notepad and pencil. He shoved those into his cargo pocket, press-checked his Glock 19, and secured it in his waistband. Case then made his way out to the barn, fired up his dad’s Power Wagon, and drove west toward Grandview Estates.
* * *
Case stuck to the sparsely populated backroads along the northern edge of Cook County that took him across the New River and into the eastern boundary of Jefferson National Forest. Then he hit Highway 94 south and parked the truck behind an old filling station he knew would be closed until 6 a.m. Case grabbed his gear from the truck, carefully avoiding the flickering orange glow of the circular 76 sign, then moved quickly into the tree line, where he intersected an old logging road leading him to a high ridge behind Grandview Estates. From there, he would have a pretty good vantage point from which to gather intelligence on Jesse and Rex’s operation. Hopefully whatever information he collected would push Sheriff Brewer into action.
Once Case hit the logging road, he stopped, giving himself and his senses time to adjust to the new surroundings. The moon was slightly less than full and provided plenty of light for him to see, but that cut both ways. He needed to be careful and stick to the shadows. Once he felt it was safe, Case struck out southbound parallel to the road, proceeding quietly through the dense forest. When he was almost one hundred yards from the crest of the ridge, Case stopped again, listening for any unnatural sounds and used his peripheral vision to scan for movement.
All clear.
Case proceeded to high-crawl the rest of the way until he was situated behind a dense patch of laurels. He set his spotting scope on its collapsible tripod, then took out his water bottle, notepad, and pencil. It was 1:20 a.m. Case did the math and knew he had a good four hours to collect as much information as possible, then reverse his course and make his way back to the farm. That would give him a few hours to clean up, organize his thoughts, and make the meeting with Sheriff Brewer at 10 a.m.
* * *
As he settled into his position, Case realized he’d gotten lucky—Grandview was a hive of activity. He grabbed his notepad and started taking notes and sketching the trailer park’s layout. There was a single point of entry coming in from Route 797. Two black vans and six Harleys were parked at the entrance. Case remembered the rumors of a black van circling the neighborhood where Tammy Lynn Horton was taken and made note of it.
Four men wearing grimy, patch-covered denim vests referred to as cuts were gathered around a nearby burn barrel warming their hands. The back of each vest displayed four patches. The arched top rocker read Dead Rebels. The bottom rocker denoted the state where they claimed territory, in this case, Virginia. In the center was the image of a flaming skull with a Confederate flag style bandana pulled up above its nose to represent the outlaw nature of the club. Below that were two crossed single-action army revolvers. Then to the right was a small square embroidered with the letters MC, standing for Motorcycle Club. Each of these guys was a fully patched member of the gang. That meant they had all proven their loyalty to the club and demonstrated their capacity for violence. On top of that, all four were armed with what looked like basic AR-15s and sidearms.
Grandview was laid out in a linear configuration: eight trailers total, three on each side flanking a single gravel street approximately fifty yards long. Two of those trailers were badly burned and uninhabitable. The road was capped by a large circular turnaround with two trailers sitting along its farthest edge—six livable trailers all together. A small office building sat beside the entrance, and five prefab storage sheds were scattered randomly throughout the park. Case drew the whole area as accurately as possible, paying close attention to positions and distances. He numbered the trailers one through eight, staggering them left to right the same way they numbered hotel rooms. That’s when he spotted Jesse exiting trailer number six talking on his cell phone. Jesse walked toward the park entrance and started barking instructions to the four men at the burn barrel, sending everyone into action. Case then noticed headlights approaching from his right, proceeding west toward the entrance.
Shit! Did someone find the truck and recognize it? Case’s mind started to scramble for an escape plan.
Then, the vehicle slowed and turned into Grandview—another black van, Virginia license plates partially obscured. Case could only make out the first three letters, TNS. The van was met by Jesse and one other armed biker who stepped out of the office.
Jesse and five armed men so far.
Case watched as Rex exited the van’s passenger side and opened the rear door. The driver stayed put, and Case couldn’t tell if there was anyone else in the van.
Jesse stepped to the rear of the van and started unloading boxes—the letters HPA, followed by a series of chemical warning symbols clearly printed on the side. Two bikers remained at the entrance with the van as the other three started taking the boxes from Jesse and carrying them to trailer number eight at the end of the cul-de-sac. Realizing no one was onto him, Case relaxed and watched as two more people emerged from the trailer to accept the boxes. A man and a woman, both sickeningly skinny and moving as if their speed had been dialed up slightly higher than everyone else’s.
Those must be the cooks
The couple from trailer eight took in several boxes before directing the crew to move the rest to another storage building. Case hadn’t noticed it before, sitting a few yards inside the tree line behind the trailer park, concealed with camo netting. After finishing with the boxes, the crew started carrying up five-gallon buckets labeled acetone. Those were also placed in the remote storage unit, which was then padlocked and re-covered with the netting.
With the cargo secured, Jesse and Rex proceeded to trailer number three. They both came out carrying small gym bags, which they handed to the stranger hidden in the shadows of the driver’s seat. The fifth biker jumped in the passenger side of the van, which then turned around and proceeded back the way it had come. Case finished his notes and maintained his watch.
* * *
After the delivery, activity in the trailer park settled down. Rex returned to trailer number three, and the four bikers stayed close to the fire, drinking beers and joking with one another. The team of cooks went back to trailer number eight, where they argued so loudly Case could hear them from his position on the ridge. They all left Jesse standing by the entrance, looking lonesome and rejected. Case realized that his old nemesis wasn’t quite the man in charge he thought himself to be. After a few seconds, Jesse made his way back to trailer number six and shut himself inside.
* * *
Case stayed in position for a few more hours, watching until all activity inside Grandview had ceased, then he checked the Hamilton field watch he wore on his left wrist to make sure he was still on schedule. The watch had been a gift from his father, who’d worn it throughout his service in Vietnam. Avis had given it to Case on the day he graduated high school, and he’d worn it every day since—through basic training, ranger school, and on all three of his combat deployments. The watch’s green nylon strap was frayed and stained, and the crystal had a deep gouge that ran across its face, but it had never stopped working. Case treasured the old watch because, to him, it represented the importance of persistence during hardship. A constant reminder that no matter how bad things got, he had to keep moving forward. It was 5:30 a.m., which gave Case twenty minutes to get back to the truck.
Time to go.
* * *
Once at home, Case stashed the Power Wagon back in the barn, made a strong pot of coffee, and took a long cold shower to wake himself up. He then got dressed in his usual Silverado work boots, jeans, and flannel shirt, opened up his laptop, and sat at the kitchen table to do a little research.
Case knew nothing about meth production or distribution, but an on-line search revealed the initials HPA stood for hypophosphorous acid, a list-one precursor chemical heavily regulated by the DEA and a major component in the production of methamphetamine. Acetone was also considered a precursor chemical. Case opened a second search window and discovered that, over the last several years, there had been a string of drugstore hits up and down the I-81 and I-77 corridors. Ephedrine and pseudoephedrine were the primary target of those robberies. This all lined up with what he’d learned from Bobby, but what Case found most interesting was that all three of the missing girls were from that same general area. It was all circumstantial, but Case felt confident that he had a handle on what was happening. The Dead Rebels MC collected the stolen ephedrine and pseudoephedrine and then delivered that, along with the precursor chemicals, to Grandview. The tweaker team cooked the meth, which was then pushed out by Jesse and Rex’s gang. Cash was then sent back up north to the suppliers via the delivery drivers. Simple enough.
Before leaving the house, Case went over his notes again. Now, he knew how the operation was run, where the evidence was located, and who the players were. He just needed to convince Sheriff Brewer that something had to be done.
CHAPTER 19
Case pulled up at the sheriff’s office just before the meeting. Inside, he greeted Bobby and Amanda, the attractive young deputy Bobby so obviously admired. They were sitting at their desks, working diligently—or at least making an honest attempt to look that way. They watched as Case made his way past their desks, winking knowingly at Bobby before making his way into the office of Sheriff Brewer.
Sunny Brewer was seventy years old, well past his retirement age, and clearly more than ready to hand his badge over to a willing successor. That is, if anyone would ever run against him. He was a short man, five foot six at most, and balding. Age spots adorned his head and hands, and Case noticed that the man didn’t move as quickly as he used to. Sunny had served in Vietnam around the same time Avis had and Case knew Sunny held a deep affection for both him and Bobby. The boys felt the same way and had always viewed Sunny as a loving uncle.
“Case, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again,” the sheriff said as he made his way around the big wooden desk and gripped Case’s hand with a firmness that belied his feeble appearance. “Look at you. Damn, your daddy would be so proud. It’s good to have you back home where you belong, son. Please, have a seat.”
“It’s good to see you too Sunny. Who’s our guest?” Case asked indicating the man he’d spotted sitting quietly in the corner.
Case let go of Sunny’s hand and turned toward the tufted leather chairs in front of his desk, making eye contact with the stranger.
With his surprise entrance blown, the man in the corner stood. He was in his early sixties, about Case’s height, handsome with swept-back salt and pepper hair and wearing a well-tailored suit, Italian leather shoes, and a veneered smile.
