Lucky Jim 2 Student Farmer Volunteer Pickup Truck DiplomatChapter 38
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When Dwight hung up, I called my attorney. “I figured that I’d hear from you today,” he said. “I already have a copy of the interview on the way over from all three of the stations. I promised them a press conference late Monday afternoon. That should give me time to file a libel lawsuit in Nashville and serve the Senator,” he said.
“It’s a good thing we already have videos showing the three escapees delivered to prison. The prison copies of the security videos have mysteriously disappeared,” I informed him.
“Damn, that guy has clout,” the attorney whistled.
He liked my idea of having the press agent ready to release copies of the videos Monday night to refute the Senator’s claims, and promised to get with the press agent. I still wondered why the Senator was interested in freeing two convicted criminals. He obviously had connections with drug dealers to be able to get the cocaine he tried to have planted in my apartment.
I made a quick call to Dwight. “Is there any connection between Ludmill and the New Bern bust? I doubt that any other Senator even knows about it, except maybe one from North Carolina. Why does a Tennessee senator know about the New Bern bust? I bet he has a connection to the group. Maybe someone in that group has something incriminating on the Senator and is threatening to release it if the Senator doesn’t discredit me although that wouldn’t explain why he’s targeting me, and not everyone involved,” I mused aloud.
“It’s still a good point. We’ll look into it. Charlie needs something to do. He’s been keeping a low profile lately, but you’ve focused the Senator’s ire on you and not him. Let me call him,” Dwight said, sounding excited.
Me? I decided the world could go fuck itself while I went to my favorite hiking spot. I finished changing into hiking clothes and was ready to go when the feeling started. “Goddamn it!” I snarled, pissed that someone had just fucked up a good hike. Wondering if my phone was tapped, I called Holly.
“Remember that queasy feeling I had the first time we went to a movie?” I asked when she answered.
“Yeah,” she replied with a bit of alarm in her voice.
“It just started back up again. I’m going to dress the same way and go to my favorite hiking spot to see if I can make the feeling go away. Dwight might like to know in case it becomes a medical issue,” I explained.
“Okay, got it. Be careful hiking,” she admonished.
Now I had to pack a backpack and my vest. I got my AR-15 out and broke it down just enough to pack it unobtrusively in my backpack. A first aid kit, water bottles, trail rations, binoculars, a compass, my K-Bar, three sets of handcuffs, three sets of leg shackles, a box of gallon-size zippered baggies, a Sharpie, and five extra magazines for the AR-15 finished stuffing the backpack. Judicious use of two towels helped round out the backpack so the shape of the rifle parts wasn’t obvious. In a separate bag, I put three more pairs of handcuffs, three pairs of leg shackles, and the four waist shackles I owned. Those would stay in the car unless I needed them.
With a deep sigh of resignation, I headed for the lobby. “Hey, Jarrod,” I greeted the security guard. “Can I review the last few hours of surveillance from Sector G, area 4 in the underground parking? I think someone is outside waiting to tail me and I want to see if they put a tracker on my car.”
“Note to self; get one of those gadgets that lets you sweep a room, car, or person for bugs,” I thought.
“Sure,” he replied enthusiastically. “This job has been a lot more exciting since you moved in.”
I searched the video for the last six hours. Nobody had gotten close enough to my car to attach a tracking device. Still...
“Do me a favor,” I said as I handed him a piece of paper. “Watch the camera that shows the street outside the exit. If you see a non-descript car follow me within thirty seconds, call these three numbers. The top one is my phone number. Let me know what color and type the car is, and how many people are in the car. The second one is my boss. Let him know the same thing.
“Tell him I’m going up Highway 50 to the Falls Lake Recreation Area. I intend to park two to three hundred yards south of the bridge over the Neuse River, and plan to hike north. Tell them not to follow me because I’m going to be on a hair trigger. I have my Glock and AR-15 with me. The third number is Holly. She’s probably about ready to slowly and painfully kill these guys who keep messing with me.”
Once I was in my car, I took out the AR-15, reassembled it, put in a magazine, and chambered a round. I wedged the rifle under the front seat as much as possible.
Even though I knew where the danger was coming from when I reached the exit, I couldn’t see anyone in the cars in the area. With another deep sigh, I turned onto the street and headed north. My phone rang a minute later. “This is Jarrod. A dark blue four-door Chevy with two men is following you. I couldn’t get a license plate,” he said.
“Thanks, Jarrod. I owe you one. Let the others know.”
Nineteen minutes later, I found the spot I wanted and pulled off the road. When I got out of my car, I could barely see the other car stopped over a quarter mile back. That meant they wouldn’t be able to see the passenger side of my car, so I hopped out and scurried around. I grabbed my backpack and AR-15 before locking the car and setting both car alarms.
I was quickly among the trees where it would be hard to see me from the road. I knew exactly where I wanted to be, amidst a tight cluster of trees where I could hide. Unless they stopped and physically parted the myriad of lower branches, they’d never see me in there.
Contrary to what they depict on television shows and in movies, when you wear hiking boots, there’s no way to hurry through a forested area without leaving a trail. In my case, I made the trail as pronounced as I could, purposely landing on each heel with more force than usual. I walked twenty feet beyond my destination. There, I broke a small branch enough to be noticeable to any novice and cut and ripped a thin strip off my shirt and draped it on a second broken branch five feet beyond the first. Then I backtracked by walking backwards in my footprints to the clump of trees where I intended to hide.
No sooner was I in the cluster of trees than the threat I felt changed somehow. It was still near the place it had been when I headed into the trees and seemed just as strong, but it felt different. Having never experienced this feeling before, I waited and concentrated on the new feeling, as well as on my surroundings.
I felt the threat move towards my car, and then begin moving towards me. As it got closer, I could feel the separate threats of the two men, as well as a third feeling, one of ... fear? Were the two men afraid of me?
Their effort to move silently through the woods was comical. I heard them long before I saw them. Small sticks cracked and leaves rustled as they made their way towards me. When I saw them through the leaves that were hiding me, I understood the third feeling. They had a young woman with them. A gag bulged from her mouth. Duct tape was holding the gag in place as well as securing her hands behind her.
The poor woman was scared shitless. Her eyes were as big as saucers and her mascara was running down her face. The lead man was doing the tracking, not that it took any expertise beyond being able to see. I could hear the woman’s stifled sobs as the second man pushed her roughly past me. “I told you to shut up, bitch,” the man whispered harshly to her as he passed me.
I took advantage of his being distracted and the noise he was making to sneak out of my blind and clobber him in the side of the head with the butt of my rifle. I could have used my hands, and would have made less noise doing it, but the thud of the solid rifle butt against his head was sooooo satisfying.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to enjoy it just then. I grabbed the woman who was just turning to see what happened and shoved her behind the trees with my left hand while keeping the AR-15 trained on the “expert” tracker who had just found the torn strip of cloth I left. I continued moving towards him like his partner would have done. When he turned to whisper excitedly to his companion, his voice caught in his throat and his eyes got as huge as the woman’s had been.
Idiot boy had switched his pistol to his left hand so he could use his right hand to get the piece of cloth. “How fucking stupid is that?” I wondered silently.
One second ticked by and then another as the guy stood, frozen, trying to decide whether to risk it or not.
“It just seems so appropriate to quote Clint Eastwood’s line at a time like this,” I chuckled. “Go ahead, make my day.”
“Lame ass chicken shit,” I goaded him when his shoulders slumped and he dropped the gun. “You two big bad hoods feel tough enough to attack a woman, but don’t have the balls to stand up to a man by yourself. How fucking pathetic. So far, each of Ludmill’s goons have been dickless wonders. Does he cut your balls off and keep them for you? Does he hang them from the rear-view mirror of his car instead of fuzzy dice?”
I had him kneel with his hands on top of his head. Unlike idiot boy here, I switched the AR-15 to my left hand and pulled my Glock with my right. Then I set the AR-15 out of his reach and cuffed him with my left hand, something I had practiced a lot on an overstuffed monkey that I bought for just that purpose. Holly had laughed at me when she first saw me doing it, but seeing how proficient I’d become, she actually started practicing with it, as has Glenda.
Once I had secured him, I arrested him for kidnapping, assault, carrying a firearm in a State Park without a permit, carrying a concealed firearm without a permit, and the attempted assault of a federal officer. Then I read his Miranda rights--VERY slowly.
The other thug was still unconscious--or doing an excellent job of faking it. Still covering him with my Glock, I grabbed my K-bar and cut the tape binding the woman’s wrists. “Thank you,” she sobbed once she pulled the tape off her mouth.
Using my left hand, I rolled the sleeper onto his stomach and cuffed his right hand. Kneeling in the middle of his back, I pulled his left arm behind him and secured it. Then I checked for a pulse. He had one--too bad.
Once both men were in leg shackles, I frisked them, and found a second gun on each man’s lower right leg. Using one of the plastic bags like a glove, I emptied each man’s pockets and dumped the contents into a separate bag for each man. I wrote “KO” on the bag of stuff from the man I knocked out and “Gutless” on the bag with the other man’s belongings. I did the same for their pistols.
Once everything was secure, I called Walt. “How close are you?” I asked.
“Sitting on the hood of your car, waiting for you to call,” he answered.
“We probably need an ambulance for the guy I knocked out. Both men are cuffed and in leg irons. The woman they grabbed is shaken up, but seems unharmed physically,” I said as I looked at her to make sure I was right. She nodded.
“We’re on the way. Charlie says you left a trail a blind man could follow,” he chuckled.
“That was the whole point. Try running and landing first on your heels some time. It requires a lot more talent or coordination than I have. I was barely able to keep the pace equal to a fast walk.”
They met us a few minutes later. Gutless was leading the way back to the car, bitching about having his feet shackled while hiking through the forest. I had KO in a fireman’s carry, hoping that it was uncomfortable for him.
The woman’s name was Helen and she thanked me repeatedly for saving her. The two men had been talking about killing me and making it look like a robbery. They planned to use her as leverage to get me to surrender to save her. She was sure they would have killed her, since she would know it wasn’t a robbery.
“You know, Ludmill doesn’t let potential witnesses live very long. We found the first guy who came after me dead in his jail cell. The next two are now hidden in Puerto Rico. You and your buddy have a choice to make. If you tell us everything and agree to testify, we’ll put you with the last two. If not, we’ll leave you for Ludmill’s prison connections to deal with,” I told Gutless.
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