Sweet Corn Conclusion, page 10
“Aye, that he did,” Mac said, sorrowfully nodding. “Maureen and I have been doing a lot of talking in the kitchen and… yes, we both agree our son is the monster in the corn.” Mac reached out and touched Rita’s hand. “I know the corn better than Riley does,” he assured Rita. “I can track him when daybreak strikes. Riley isn’t foolish and neither am I, and that’s why, I’m afraid, we have to wait until daybreak.”
Rita saw Mac’s shadowy face staring at her and knew he was offering a very sincere apology. “Why would Riley O’Connery take Billy, Mr. O’Connery?” Rita asked in a voice that told Mac the woman accepted his apology.
“I don’t know,” Mac answered in an honest voice, speaking in such a thick Irish accent that Rita barely understood him. “Riley must have his reasons, you can bet on that.”
Steve studied the dark corn and then ordered everyone back to the diner. Rita hesitated but then followed Steve back inside. Maureen immediately threw a green towel around Rita and begged her to sit down at the front counter. Rita obeyed. “We go into the corn first light,” she told Steve and Mac and then began checking her wet gun. “We’re going to find Billy.”
Steve checked his watch. There was about two hours of good darkness left, which meant Riley O’Connery had a solid two hours to vanish. “Mac, coffee,” he stated, locked the front door, and then slammed his gun down onto the front counter and sat down. “From this point forward, no one is alone. Is that clear?”
Mac signed Steve’s order to Maureen. Maureen nodded and rushed off to pour three cups of coffee. Even though Mac had never been sick a day in his life, the man was growing older, and Maureen feared the rain might make him catch his death. As she hurried to prepare the coffee, Billy slowly walked through the rainy cornfield on uneasy legs.
“You’re probably gonna kill me any old way,” he finally said. “You’re just as crazy as a rabid tick on a cat caught with its tail under a rocking chair.”
“No, I’m not crazy,” Riley hissed at Billy, moving through the cornfield. Sure, Riley knew he was leaving a traceable trail, but that didn’t matter. Before anyone would dare enter the cornfield, he would give the diner a little call. “Justice is what I’m after, and justice is what I will deliver.”
“Justice?” Billy asked.
Riley grabbed Billy’s shoulder and shoved him north. “Years ago, my people were imprisoned in these cornfields,” he growled at Billy. “My grandmother was imprisoned in these cornfields. She left behind a diary that explained everything—her tortures, her pain, her sorrow, and the truth. The O’Connerys thought they could hide the truth from me, but I found the truth, and now they will all suffer for what their people did to my people.”
Billy chewed on Riley’s words as he moved through the dark corn. It was clear enough to the tired farmer that Riley was one insane wood tick. However, Billy quickly concluded, Riley wasn’t stupid. No, sir. Riley O’Connery had some brains in his head, and that made the man extremely dangerous. Billy knew he was going to have to get his own hamster running double-time if he was going to outsmart Riley. For the time being, Billy decided to play it real easy-like and just keep Riley talking. “You talking about that Japanese POW camp, aren’t you?” he asked Riley.
Riley grabbed Billy’s shoulder and swung him around. “You know?” he hissed at Billy.
Billy leaned back his head and stared straight at a vicious Glock 19 that Riley was pointing at his face. “Hey now, there ain’t no need to point that ugly creature at this here face of mine. If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me in my stomach where there’s lots of fat rolls.”
Riley glared at Billy with murderous eyes. “Who told you about the POW camps? Was it Mac?” he demanded.
“Lower that there gun and I’ll tell you who,” Billy told Riley in a negotiating voice.
Riley stepped back and aimed his gun at Billy’s legs. “You run, you won’t get far,” he warned. “Now talk.”
“Okay… okay,” Billy told Riley, holding up his hands, “keep your britches on, boy. Old Billy has had a long day and he ain’t some young twenty-one-year-old who can harvest a pumpkin field in one day. No sir, old Billy ain’t as young as he used to be, and his bones sure get tired and his mind sure gets awful sleepy.”
“Talk,” Riley hissed, “or die.”
Billy knew he was pushing Riley a tad too far. “Look, boy,” he said in a plain voice, “Steve and Mac done told me and my lady all about them awful POW camps and what happened to those poor Japanese folks. I’m sure sorry for what happened, yes sir, I sure am. My own folks thought it was never right that our own people were rounded up. American is American, don’t matter what part of the world you’re from.”
Riley narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about suffering, you fat cow?” he growled at Billy. “You can be sorry all you want, but your apologies are worthless. The damage is done.”
“Boy, I wasn’t even born yet,” Billy growled back, feeling his temper rising. “If I had been born, I would have made it known that it was plain wrong to imprison American folk right on American soil. I love my country, but I do have some mighty heavy problems with those fellas who wear suits and call themselves politicians.” Billy braced himself to be shot, but he sure was going to speak his mind. “Not every single fella in America is one of them here tyrants, boy. Some of us good old boys still believe in truth, justice, and the American way. It’s a shame what happened to them poor Japanese people, but as you said, the damage is done. All we can do is make sure it never happens again.”
“And that’s supposed to make it all better, huh? Lobbying a bunch of rats wearing suits who deliberately murder their own people?” Riley hissed. “Do you think all the wars Americans fought in were accidental? America causes the wars. America is owned and run by bankers, you stupid backwoods hillbilly. You’re not going to change nothing!”
“Call me a stupid backwoods hillbilly again and this here boot is going to change locations and go up your backside, boy,” Billy warned Riley.
“I’m terrified.” Riley glanced around the dark corn. “I will make sure vengeance is carried out on behalf of my people. The corn will be my weapon.” Billy began to speak, but Riley lifted his gun and pointed it at his face. “Start walking. We’re through talking.”
“We ain’t even close,” Billy warned Riley, turned around, and started walking through the cornfield, struggling to keep a firm direction. “Billy Boy, you best think real smart,” he whispered under his breath. “This boy ain’t stupid, and he means business.”
Back at the diner, Rita called Rhonda. “Riley O’Connery took Billy,” she explained, struggling to fight back tears and trying to remain calm and strong. “Billy went out to walk Chester and Riley somehow got to him.”
“What?” Rhonda exclaimed. She slammed her suitcase shut and sent Zach a quick text that told him to get his rear end to her room ASAP.
“It’s pouring here, Rhonda. The cornfields are dark. There’s no way to start searching for Billy until morning.” Rita drew in a deep breath. “Listen, my mind is racing, but I’m still able to think.”
“You have a plan?” Rhonda asked in a hopeful voice.
“I think so,” Rita said, nodding and took a quick sip of hot coffee. “When you and Zach reach Omaha, call me. I want you two entering town from a different direction.”
Rhonda looked down at her closed suitcase. “Okay, sis, tell me what the plan is and I’ll follow.”
“I still need some more time to think my plan through. In the meantime, I’m going to call Brad. We’re going to need backup.” Rita put down her coffee cup and looked at the glass front door. Somewhere out in the rain, a deadly killer had the man she loved—and Rita Knight wasn’t about to lose her little old backwoods farmer. Not now, not ever… or so she hoped.
Chapter Seven
When a dark, grayish light began to form over the cornfields, announcing the beginning of a dark and stormy day, Rita stepped toward the diner door and prepared to enter the storm. She was stopped by the ringing of a telephone that sat behind the front counter. Mac shrugged his shoulders and quickly answered the call. “Maureen’s,” he spoke in his thick Irish accent, expecting a familiar neighbor to be calling to see if the diner was going to be open for breakfast.
“Put the cop on the phone.”
Mac froze. Riley’s deadly voice reached into his heart with a long knife. “Riley—”
“Put the woman on the phone, old man, or the Georgia hillbilly dies,” Riley hissed.
“Don’t do this, boy,” Mac begged, causing Rita and Steve to both run back to the front counter. Gratefully, Maureen was asleep with her head down on the back booth. “Don’t hurt your mother—”
“That woman isn’t my mother,” Riley warned Mac. “Now, put the cop on the phone… now.”
Mac painfully closed his eyes and held the phone out to Rita. “It’s… Riley.”
Rita quickly laid her gun down on the front counter and took the phone. “Detective Knight speaking,” she stated in a stern cop voice.
“If you want to see your friend alive, pay careful attention to my instructions,” Riley informed Rita as he gazed his eyes around a little shack that was leaking rain. The floor of the shack was made of dirt. Certain areas of the floor were nothing but mud puddles. Billy was standing in the far corner of the shack with his hands handcuffed behind his back. “I seem to be missing a very important letter. I want the letter found. Someone has it. I thought that Agent Davis had the letter, but I was wrong.”
“Agent Davis… the dead man from the DOD you killed?” Rita asked Riley, forcing her mind to stay calm and practical. It was no time to get emotional. It was time to be a cop and capture a deadly killer—the deadliest killer Rita had ever been forced to tangle with.
“Yes,” Riley answered without the slightest hesitation. “Agent Davis… the DOD thought they were smarter than me. They were wrong.”
“How so?” Rita asked, hoping to get a few slivers of useful information from Riley. Most killers were prideful and arrogant and liked to brag—Rita hoped Riley was no different.
“I want the letter,” Riley demanded, ignoring Rita’s game. “You have until sundown to find my letter or your friend dies...and I will keep killing until the missing letter is found.” Riley locked eyes with Billy. “There is to be no outside interference, is that clear? If I see a single vehicle enter Cornville that seems out of place, your friend dies. I’ll be watching.”
“What makes you believe I can find the missing letter?” Rita asked Riley in an angry voice. “Billy and I were simply passing through Cornville. We are not involved.”
“Everyone is involved, and everyone will suffer,” Riley promised Rita. “My people suffered… and now those who are guilty will suffer.” Riley kept his eyes on Billy. “Someone has my letter. Someone is playing a game. I want the letter or your friend dies. You have until sundown. Is that clear?”
“No, it’s not clear,” Rita objected. “You’re threatening to kill an innocent man if I don’t locate a letter that could be hundreds of miles away from Cornville by now.”
“The letter is in Cornville, cop,” Riley growled. “Use your detective skills and find the letter.”
Rita felt frustration grip her heart. “If I fail, Billy dies—no deal. I can’t promise that I can locate the letter, and I’m not risking Billy’s life. I’m hanging up and calling the FBI and—”
“Your friend will die the moment you hang up,” Riley warned.
Rita heard a split-second concern enter Riley’s voice. Riley, it seemed, was taking extreme precautions to make sure no outside state or federal agency would interfere with his game. That made Rita think about Agent Davis. Surely the death of a DOD agent would bring the wolves running, right? Right? Rita felt uncertainty grab at her. “Agent Davis was corrupt, wasn’t he?”
Billy stared into Riley’s angry face. The man was tall, mean, and built like a fierce tiger. His face was lined with the worst kind of hatred and his eyes were soulless; Billy had never seen such soulless eyes. Of course, he saw Riley for the monster he truly was. However, Billy guessed the world saw a handsome man in his forties who had dark black hair and deep brown eyes. “These cuffs are mighty tight.”
“Shut up,” Riley barked at Billy.
Billy narrowed his eyes. Maybe Riley looked all tough and dangerous in the black assault suit he was wearing, but Billy wasn’t afraid. “I’m gonna knock your teeth loose one of these days, boy. Old Billy Northfield ain’t afraid of your kind. You ain’t nothing without that gun.”
Riley had just about had enough of Billy’s mouth. He contemplated killing the man but decided that Rita might do something foolish if he did. The female cop seemed tough, and that was a problem. “Shut up,” he hissed at Billy and focused back on his call with Rita. “You have until tonight, cop. You can make all the calls you want then, but rest assured, this backwoods farmer will be dead.”
Riley was playing a game of chicken with Rita. Rita glanced into Steve’s tough face and shook her head. “There’s no way I can.”
“You can try,” Riley pushed Rita. “Isn’t it better to try than to let your friend die?” Riley checked the black watch he was wearing. “I’ll extend my offer to midnight tonight… deal?” he asked. “That will give you a few more hours.”
Rita closed her eyes and saw Billy’s sweet, childlike, silly face appear in her tormented mind. “If only we had stayed home,” she whispered in a pained voice.
“Do we have a deal?” Riley pressed Rita.
“Yes, we have a deal,” Rita caved in. “No outside interference… unless you kill Billy. If you harm that innocent man, I will have every federal agent in the country searching the corn for you.”
“I won’t be around to be found,” Riley hissed. “And I’ll keep killing… haunting you… until the letter is found.”
“What makes you think I can find the letter!” Rita yelled into the phone. “I’m a stranger!”
“Are you?” Riley yelled back. “You and your friend didn’t arrive in Cornville by mistake. No, you’re here for a reason! What reason? I don’t know. Agent Davis wanted my secrets… maybe you do too?”
“My friend and I took a wrong turn and got lost. That’s the truth,” Rita insisted. “You can believe whatever you want—”
“I’m not stupid,” Riley growled at Rita. “I don’t believe you’re working for the DOD or Zarstat Green, but you could be a private investigator sent by another agency. I don’t know.” Riley grabbed a wooden chair and sat down. “You don’t look like the wolves I’ve been tangling with. You don’t have their smell to you.”
“Look, I’m a retired homicide detective,” Rita tried to convince Riley. “Billy Northfield and I took a wrong turn. We stopped on the side of the road to look at the cornfields and that’s when Mac O’Connery drove up and introduced himself. He invited us into town for a bite to eat and that’s when Mr. Fieldman came running into the diner and announced that there was a dead body in the post office. That’s the truth.”
Riley wasn’t sure if Rita was speaking the truth or not. He had countless enemies who wanted him dead. Was it a simple coincidence that Rita and Billy were in Cornville? Perhaps there was a slight chance that Rita was speaking the truth, but Riley decided to play on the side of caution. What he was certain of was that someone in Cornville had his letter, and Rita was going to find the letter. The woman wasn’t stupid. “Find the letter. You have until midnight.”
“Give me until morning… this same time,” Rita pleaded. “I need time… not pressure.”
Riley gritted his teeth. “Twenty-four hours, and not a second longer,” he hissed at Rita. “If you locate the letter, call me. You’ll receive specific instructions. And by the way, if I see anyone in the cornfields…. Stay out of the cornfields or our deal will come to an abrupt end. Get me?”
Rita felt anger squeeze her mind. If she found the letter Riley O’Connery was searching for, she just couldn’t hand it over. Riley was desperate for the missing letter, which meant the letter held some form of power. At the same time, if she didn’t turn over the letter—assuming she found it—Billy would die; and Billy would surely die if she didn’t find the letter. But then what? What if Rita came up empty-handed and was forced to call for outside help if Riley killed Billy? The monster would slip away into the corn before any outside agency could arrive and corner him in. “It’s like staring at a messy chess game,” she whispered in an agonized voice.
“I’m an excellent chess player,” Riley warned and ended the call before Rita could say another word.
Rita slammed down the phone and stared at her gun. “Looks like we’re not going into the cornfields,” she told Steve. “I’ve been ordered to find a missing letter.”
“Missing letter?” Steve asked.
Rita nodded. “We have to stay out of the cornfields or Billy will die. In the meantime, I have twenty-four hours to find a missing letter.” Rita checked her watch. “Steve, follow me over to the post office. Mac, stay here with Maureen, okay?”
Mac felt guilt and anger fill his heart. “I’m terribly sorry—”
“Why?” Rita asked Mac as the sound of heavy rain filled her ears. “Mac, everyone is responsible for the choices they make. You didn’t create a monster, and that sweet woman sleeping back there didn’t create a monster. Riley O’Connery chose his own path and he’s going to answer for the choices he made in life.” Rita grabbed her gun. “Let’s move, Steve. Every second matters.”
Steve nodded and ran out of the diner with Rita and jogged across a wet and shadowy street. “Mind if I ask what you’re looking for?” he called out over the heavy rain.
“Something I should have checked for to begin with,” Rita called back over her shoulder as she made her way across the street and hurried to the post office. “I need your driver’s license.” Steve quickly pulled out a worn-down gray wallet and pulled out a wet driver’s license. Rita took the driver’s license and, mourning the rain, handed Steve her gun and began to work on the front door. Seconds later, the front door popped open. “Thanks,” she said and handed Steve back his driver’s license.
