A Critical PathChapter 39
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We made small talk about our time in the service, just reminiscing the way two old soldiers do, talking about things we experienced without getting too serious or personal.
"So, where you going in Miami?" he asked after we finished our version of old home week.
"I have to meet a friend."
"This have anything to do with that girl the news said you grabbed?"
Considering we had been riding together for almost an hour by this point, I was floored.
"What?" I said cleverly.
"They have TVs in that truck stop you found me at, ya know. You are all over the news."
That explained why everyone at the truck stop was so standoffish. From what Lowenstien had said, the news was making me out to be a stone cold killer, which also explained why none of them confronted me outright.
"They why would you agree to let me ride with you?"
"'Cause something about it just didn't sound right. Like they said you grabbed a girl and killed a cop, but then they said you killed a bunch of mobsters, and one station had a witness on that had seen the two of you together, and you had left her alone and stuff, and she still followed you. Plus, I just see you and no girl. Nah, I figure someone's blowing smoke."
"Thanks," I said.
Not that I would have done the same thing in his place. Sure, I had some of the same feelings of distrust, but had I seen the story that was being put out, I would have assumed enough of it was true and called the cops.
He let it drop at that, and I wasn't one hundred percent sure I wouldn't find the cops waiting when he dropped me off. But, true to what he said, he hadn't called the cops. When we pulled into a small truck stop just outside Miami there wasn't any sign of the authorities.
Odds are they wouldn't be long in finding this place. This guy may not have turned me in but it was a safe bet one of the truckers at the place we left called in at some point and told the cops I had been there.
It would take them a little time, but they would track down all the trucks that had been there at the time and looked to see where they were headed. While they wouldn't know I was headed towards Miami, seeing as how that was where this all started, they would probably follow up with any trucks headed out this way.
He might disbelieve what was on the news, but once cops started asking questions, odds were this guy would tell them where he dropped me off. Since I was walking, this meant I needed to get on the move.
Luckily, the address I was headed for was only a couple of miles away. One thing we did a lot of in the Army is walk. Marches were a way of life for military training and once we were in country we logged a lot of miles walking to various locations too remote for our vehicles.
The injuries slowed me down some, but I had done plenty of rehab while I was still in the hospital and had most of my old form back by this point.
I set a brisk pace and made it to the address in just over half an hour. The address led to a mailbox and a long dirt road winding off into a wooded area. This was better than I could have hoped for. I was certain it would take some forceful persuasion to convince these guys to tell me what I needed to know, and the remote nature of their 'clubhouse' would limit random people from seeing something and calling the cops.
Of course, that is almost certainly why they set it up this way. It was a safe bet a lot of what they got up to would be on the grayer side of the law, if not straight out illegal.
I hopped over the metal arm blocking their driveway and started my way through the stand of trees. After a few hundred feet it broke into a clearing, and I could see a ranch style house with several cars pulled up on the grass in front of it.
The house was in serious need of paint, and there was trash strewn across the yard between the tree line and the house.
Off to the side I could see a burned out area surrounded by dirt where all the grass had been trampled away. These guys probably enjoyed a good bonfire after getting good and drunk.
I stopped at the wood line, and moved off to the side away from the road, so I could observe the house.
There were three cars which suggested it wasn't overly full. I waited for a while, but no one came out or went in. Not getting the information I needed this way, I headed up to the house and quietly made my way to the side of one of the front windows so I could peek in. Inside I could see two guys in the front room, one lying on a beat up couch, and the other on a pool table, both looking passed out.
The amount of beer cans around them suggested the cause of their unconsciousness. I watched for another moment but saw no one else. It was a one story house and the big front room took up most of it.
There was a doorway diagonally from me that lead to the rest of the house and I had to assume there were more people in that direction.
Trying the front door, I found it unlocked. I walked quietly into the house, trying to keep from waking up its occupants.
Now the question was, how to go about subduing a house full of hung over angry men.
The first step was dealing with these two. I looked around for something that could be used as rope. The first thing I saw was a coil of extension cord. A little chunky, but I could make do with it. I picked it up and started with the guy on the couch.
I started off gingerly with him, but when he didn't wake up once I started to tie the cord around his legs and wrap them up, I quickened my pace. I was surprised to see that he was still asleep even after I hog-tied him, and had to wonder just how much this guy had to drink.
The guy on the pool table wasn't any more of a challenge, and thanks to the cord from a nearby lamp and a knife I found on the first guy, I had him trussed up on the pool table in a matter of minutes.
Sadly, this is where the easy road ended. I was just finishing up getting the second guy tied up when I heard a voice from the doorway into the rest of the house.
"What the hell?"
I looked up to see a guy with a shaved head wearing a dirty, off-white tank top, showing his well tatted up arms. In his hands was a pistol, which was he had started to rise as soon as he had seen me.
This was a problem, since my gun was still in its holster in the small of my back. There was no chance I would be able to pull it and fire before this guy started getting off rounds.
The room we were in was big for a front room, but that is a relative distinction and the guy with the gun was less than a dozen feet from me. Even if he was impaired, this would be a hard shot to miss.
So I improvised.
My hand had been resting on the pool table when he yelled out, next to a bunch of loose billiard balls. I grabbed one and hurled it with all my might. As it was leaving my hand, I couldn't help but consider the irony that the ball I had thrown at the bald guy was the cue ball!
While I had never been a professional or even played much organized ball in school, like many mid-western kids I spent my youth playing ball in the odd sandlot. Baseball was still America's past time, and it was played by Joes across the world. I had gotten a refresher from time to time in pickup games on some of the bigger bases.
I also had years of tactical training under my belt, which in addition to making me a better shot had done wonders for my hand eye coordination. Those two things coupled together had allowed me to put the ball right where I wanted to, smack in the middle of this guy's face.
His gun never made its full journey up, stopping abruptly when his nose exploded in a spray of blood. To his credit he didn't fall down, but sort of staggered to the side as his other hand came up, both to staunch the flow of blood from his face and in a natural reaction to being struck.
I took advantage of his momentary daze and followed closely on the heels of the throw ball, vaulting over the table and charging him.
I body checked him with my shoulder as I reached out and grabbed the wrist holding the pistol, keeping him from turning it towards me.
We both collapsed in a heap, with me landing shoulder first on top of him. The combination of his ruined face, the blow to his body, and the wind getting knocked out of him when we fell, made him release the gun. It banged against the wall and rebounded right next to us.
I was worried for a moment we would both end up on the floor wrestling over the fallen weapon, which is a good way to end up getting shot, but I had managed to do enough damage to take the fight out of him.
We had made enough noise that I didn't want to stop and find a way to tie him up, so I picked up his gun and cold cocked him with it.
I hoped he would wake up from that, since many times the guy getting hit with the hard metal object didn't, but I needed to get him out of the picture fast.
The house was still mostly unchecked and while there were three guys accounted for and three cars, that was the kind of math that could get me killed. There was no way of knowing how many people were actually in the house. I needed to clear the rest of it before I did anything else.
Taking his gun with me I stalked from room to room, checking to make sure each was empty.
Thankfully, it seemed these three were the only ones here. Walking back into the main room, I dragged the bloody guy out of the doorway and propped him up so he wouldn't choke on his own blood, and considered the scene.
I needed to talk to one of these guys, and preferably before any of their buddies showed up. The two drunk guys were my last option. Even if I could get them to wake up the odds of them being coherent enough to answer questions was slim.
That left old cue ball.
I knelt next to him, and slapped him around a bit. Slowly, he came to, his ruined nose still draining blood and his eyes were blurry, but he was awake.
"Morning, sunshine," I said.
"What..." he replied, starting to push himself up.
When he spoke I noticed I had knocked out one of his front teeth and broken the other. If this guy hadn't been a skinhead asshole, I would have felt bad about hurting his future chances with the ladies. As it was, I found it mildly amusing.
"Let's stay put," I said, pressing the barrel of the gun to his temple.
He froze in place when he felt the cold steel of the gun against his skin.
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