Dead
End
The Story
A filthy mixture of snow, ice, Arkansas mud and blood filled my mouth - the gritty mess was making it almost impossible to breathe. Without opening my eyes, and trying not to choke, I rolled my head to the left and spit the nauseating mixture onto the bright snow. Apparently my nose was broken, because after relieving my mouth of the irritation, it quickly filled with the warm and sweet taste of blood – my blood. Oddly, despite the trauma of the last few minutes, my thoughts and head were remarkably clear – making me wonder if I might be in the early stages of shock – I’d never been there before.
Silence was everywhere, only disturbed by the sound of light snow falling, and thankfully covering my dry lips. I licked at the welcome moisture and slowly opened my eyes – not knowing what I might see.
A fuzzy gray sky, white falling snow and fading daylight stared back at me - looking down at where I lay - in a dirty, wet ditch, somewhere in Arkansas.
The human body is a smart and complex machine. When any of the five senses aren’t working properly, it directs another to pick up the slack. Without sound or vision, my suffering nose was receiving input about my current situation and relaying that information to the brain – it didn’t like what it was hearing! The smells of burning rubber, radiator fluid, raw gasoline and the heat associated with a crashed car engine were reminding me of why I was in this ditch and why my mouth was full of blood – the real world was coming back and it wasn’t pretty!
Our getaway was cut short by the wrong turn down a dead end road – but pursuers had left us no choice. The dark, snowy, lonely roads of rural Arkansas weren’t familiar to the driver, and what seemed like the perfect opportunity for escape, quickly turned into disaster.
Straining to add vision to the messages from my nose, I looked to my right and confirmed what I already knew. The car was resting nose down in the ditch and only a few feet from where I lay. Steam rose from a broken radiator, and its warm fluids dripped onto the snow; then the melted mess found their way to the bottom of the filthy trench I was in.
The engine stopped running with impact, but somehow bent and crushed headlights remained on; dimly shining against the ditch bank and tall grass. Light reflecting back on the destroyed car, painted a surreal and bizarre picture for my weak eyes.
An open passenger door was the reason I was in this ditch, and my ejection spared me most of the shock from the crash. I knew my nose was broken, and I certainly had other injured parts that I’d not discovered; but I was alive – for now. Somehow I’d managed to avoid the bullets, and only escaped the violent collision by choosing the peril of jumping from a moving vehicle - unfortunately the driver wasn’t that lucky!
Their head and face made a perfect imprint in the smashed windshield; open and lifeless eyes staring at me through the bloody glass and asking for help – I had none to offer. The impact from the sudden stop against the ditch bank was enormous; however, I don’t suspect they felt a thing. Moments before running out of road, a bullet crashed through the driver’s side window; taking most of their head with it, before slamming into the dashboard.
Even knowing it was useless, instinct told me to get up…get up and go check on my friend – the one I had promised to protect. Whoever fired the bullet that removed most of my friend’s head was probably only a few yards away, and already rushing over to finish their work.
Unfortunately, my .38 wasn’t in its holster where it belonged – I knew that. During the short and speedy chase I had managed to fire two rounds at our pursuer – neither one having much effect on their aggressiveness. The gun was in my hand when I left the vehicle, but it wasn’t there now – apparently separating itself from me somewhere in the process.
Weapon or no weapon, I needed to get out of this ditch and on my feet – stand up to run or stand up to fight. Either way, I needed to stand up!
Putting my right arm against the soft ground, I rose slightly before moving my left – the pain was deafening! I slumped back into the mud, cursing myself for letting this happen. My left arm was useless, either broken when I left the vehicle or from another bullet that I never felt.
Looking away from the carnage I closed my eyes to help tolerate the pain and tried to recall recent events. Events that led me to a ‘one horse’ town in Arkansas, events that had killed my friend and events that put me in this dirty snow filled ditch without the ability to get out!
It started only a few days ago – which now seemed like forever. A client I was hired to protect - a simple task – had gone badly. Now, I have a dead friend, a dead client and a task not so simple.
My thoughts were with my second drink and watching all the mismatched customers dancing across the floor. The young with the old, the short with the tall, some wearing evening gowns and some wearing old sweat suits – nobody matched. Those thoughts were pleasantly interrupted when I felt soft hands run through my hair from the back, and then my nose caught that familiar perfume.
“Hey baby, how you been.” Lilly said before sliding into a seat at my table.
Lilly Longstreet was a strikingly beautiful woman. Shorter than she looked, medium length heals added just enough height to turn most any head. Her shoulder length, coal black hair was resting just below the collar line – which complemented thin hips, shapely legs and a complexion with permanent tan written all over it. Lilly Longstreet (L.L.) had the kind of beauty that could stop a train; although if you were with Lilly, you should never be anywhere near a train!
Today she was wearing a familiar black pants suit, with legs flared enough to cover medium heels, and a white blouse without the top three buttons in place. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were certainly enjoying the exposure! I saw no jewelry, other than her trademark black gemstone ring, and she was sporting the recognizable perfume that made sure she got noticed by anyone who had a nose!
‘Loose Lilly’ some people called her. I 'd never had more than a professional relationship with L.L; but I suspect Lilly knew her way around the bedroom – or any other secluded spot that met with her approval!
“Where do you hide it?” I asked giving her the trademark Carson Reno smile.
“Would you like to find out?” Lilly grinned.
“Yes…probably, but I was just curious where you hide your little gun in that kind of outfit.”
“Use your imagination,” she winked.
“I am, and it’s clouding all my other thoughts!”
“Well, clear your head handsome – we need to talk.”
The landmark Noble Hotel was located on the corner of Union and Jackson in Jonesboro. We easily found the giant building, left Joe’s car in the parking garage and were settled in our rooms just after dark.
The old hotel was similar to the Peabody in many ways – only on a smaller scale. A large lobby with adjoining foyers leading off in all directions – each containing various restaurants, retail shops and bars. It was obvious that the hotel had undergone numerous renovations and remodeling over the years, but still maintained its elegance and prestige. The guestrooms lacked some of the amenities I would have expected, but they were clean and comfortable. I liked it.
Left of the entrance, and across the lobby from the check-in desk, was an old fashion bar with French doors opening into a small foyer. Walls, fixtures, serving area and tables were all polished mahogany with huge chandeliers offering faint light for the patrons privacy - it was inviting. After getting settled into our rooms, Joe and I met there to continue discussing our plans.
Leroy’s cruiser had left when I stepped back out into the weather; Captain Chip Falstaff pushed his passenger door open – inviting me to get in.
“Chip, what’s going on?” I asked, as he rushed out of the icy parking lot before turning on lights and siren.
“This afternoon, just before dark, one of my troopers spotted a car parked on a snow covered farm road near Gadsden – just off the Memphis highway. It was sitting in the middle of the road with motor running, headlights on and not moving. The trooper investigated, and first noticed a large hole in the windshield, then what appeared to be someone sitting behind the steering wheel. When they didn’t respond to his commands, he cautiously approached the vehicle – demanding the driver to turn off the engine. He got no reply, and for good reason. What he found inside was a body sitting in the driver’s area – a body badly disfigured by an apparent shotgun blast to the head and face. After securing the scene, he called me and I instructed him to advise the Gibson County Sheriff’s office of the situation and let them handle it. That’s when we learned you had earlier reported a missing person driving a similar vehicle. I’ve not been to the crime scene; but, reports are that the victim’s head, face and hands were severely damaged by the shot – or shots.”
I paused for a moment before easing the Ford across the antique platform, wondering if I should turn around and find another route. Ice cracked under the tires, and I could feel bridge timbers shake with the weight of my car and the water beating against its pillars. But, I’m sure the old bridge had seen many such crossings, and most by vehicles much larger and heavier than the Ford.
The frozen road continued ahead of me, but after traveling less than a mile past the bridge, it carried me up a small grade and then suddenly came to an end. The end was where it intersected with a narrow paved and snow covered highway. A rusty stop sign full of bullet holes warned travelers of the highway’s presence, and with current road conditions and not knowing the geography, I could have missed it entirely. Underneath, and attached to the same crooked pole, was another sign, it was green and had somehow managed to avoid any bullets sent its way. Weathered lettering pointed back toward the bridge I’d just crossed, and read ‘Cache River’ – another part of it pointed up the paved road and read ‘Amagon’. I turned the Ford toward Amagon.
The Ford and I had the road to ourselves, and based upon the sparse tracks in the snow, only a handful of vehicles had travel this path during the past few hours. Driving slowly up the icy highway, I began passing some mailboxes and small houses sitting a few hundred yards off the road. Up ahead were some indications of a community and population; perhaps I was getting near my destination – Amagon.
Sitting next to a snowy field surrounded by ice covered trees, I spotted a small grocery on the south side of the road. It appeared almost by surprise, without any signs pointing to its presence or announcing its existence. However, dim light from beer signs hanging in the windows and several oversized trucks parked out front told passersby that it was open for business. The blue 1960 Ford pickup wasn’t among them. Smoke rolling from a chimney close to the center of the building signaled a warm stove was waiting inside – it seemed inviting. I parked the Ford near the front door and entered the Cache River Amagon County Store.
'Life is Cheap - Make Sure You Buy Enough'