WALKABOUT 2 - The Back of Beyond (Part 13)

72

Dexter Flynn came through the door, accompanied by another man. Together they moved to the center of the room. Flynn held one hand above his head, clenched into a fist. One by one, as the club members and associates saw him, they fell silent.

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“Your attention, mates,” Flynn said. His voice was rich, commanding, loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Our long-time member and good mate, Billy Thorn has let it be known he wishes to patch out.” A chorus of boos and hisses, mixed with grumbling curses and threats filled the room.

“No need for that,” Flynn admonished them. “As always, Bruce will have the deciding vote.”

“Who is this Bruce dude?” I asked Jasmine as two bikers approached the couch and pulled me up to a standing position.

“Don’t look now,” Jasmine replied, “but he’s right next to you.”

I glanced to my left. Less than a foot away, one of the club members was holding the snake I’d seen earlier in the glass enclosure.

“Geeze!” I cried out as I tried to pull away. A tingling sensation which began in my ankles, worked its way up my legs, through my genitalia and on up through my backbone. If it were experienced during a passionate interlude, I might have actually enjoyed it, but under the circumstances, no.

“I told you not to look,” Jasmine said as the bikers roared with laughter.

“Bruce is a Death Adder,” Flynn said, now holding the serpent before him with extended arms. “The icon of our club. One of the deadliest snakes in the world. Native to Australia.” Nearly all the women, and most of the men as well, took a step back. A few of the bikers, in a display of machoism, didn’t move. I personally was about to climb up onto Jasmine’s shoulders, but the fellow holding me smacked me up the side of my head and pulled me in tight. I could tell he’d eaten boiled eggs recently.

Billy Thorn was, I guessed, in his late thirties, early forties. Handsome fellow, or could be if he cleaned up. Maybe that would happen if he survived today. “Billy Thorn,” Flynn said loudly enough for us all to hear. “Do you come here today of your own free will, ready to accept the consequences of the trial you are about to endure?”

“Yes,” Billy Thorn replied. “Yes I do.”

“Very well, then,” Flynn said. “May God be with you, mate.”

Flynn embraced Billy Thorn, whispered something into his ear. Billy Thorn nodded. One by one, fellow members filed by, some shaking his hand, embracing, patting him on the back and wishing him luck. Others glaring at him, resenting him for wanting to leave their way of life. One spat on him and said some really mean things about his mother.

Finally, the time had come. Billy Thorn stripped down to his briefs and lay down on the floor in the middle of the room. Flynn addressed us once more. “The viper, Bruce, will be placed upon Billy Thorn. If Bruce shows no interest and slithers away, Billy Thorn walks out of here with our blessing. If on the other hand, Bruce bites him, it will then be in God’s hands. If Billy survives without assistance, his request will likewise be granted. If he calls out for help, no antidote will be provided. No one will call an ambo. His fate will be in God’s hands. We will not render assistance of any kind. Anyone who does, does so at their own peril. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone nodded. “Clear, boss,” someone said.

“And Billy Thorn, if you should expire, you will die a member in good standing,” Flynn said, glancing to a well-endowed redhead who stood close to Billy, biting her lower lip, her eyebrows furrowed, “and your property will be distributed as I see fit.” Billy Thorn looked up, winked at the redhead, then nodded to Flynn.

As Flynn stepped away, Billy Thorn lay down, extended his arms and legs, making an X with his body, closed his eyes and nodded. Bruce was tossed upon his chest, to the sound of gasps.

We all watched silently as the snake slithered over Billy Thorn’s body. His chest, his arm, his face, then down onto the floor. I actually thought the snake was going to go away, but then, unexpectedly, it made its way back onto the man’s body, curling up over his belly button. And then it happened.

Billy Thorn instinctively flinched, reached down and pushed the snake away. I wondered for a moment if this was a violation of the rules, but no one said anything. The snake, provoked and feeling threatened, responded the way nature programmed it to, and bit Billy Thorn’s hand.

73

Jasmine and I were ushered out of the common area through the same door Flynn had used, into a room that was roughly twelve by twelve. In one corner was a cluttered desk and swivel chair. In the center of the room, a wooden conference table with six chairs. Simone, was seated on the opposite side, facing us as we entered the room. Flynn took a chair next to her, motioning for Jasmine and me to be seated across from him. Two of his men flanked us. The other two stood directly behind us.

“So, Mulligan?” he said. “Who hired you to kill Daniel Seton? I’ll make it easy for you. You give me the name, you kill the one who hired you, I pay double your normal fee and make a call to my friends in the states. Your daughter will be released unharmed, and I’ll let you go.”

“If I could, I would,” I said. “But the God’s honest truth is, I had nothing to do with killing your friend Daniel, or with trying to kill you.” I looked to Jasmine.

“Don’t look at her,” Flynn said. “Look at me.”

“Listen,” I said. “I am Tyler Hamilton, not Jared Mulligan. I have been passing myself off as him. I admit it. Do whatever you will with me. Kill me. Beat the shit out of me. Beat the shit out of me and then kill me. I don’t care. Just let the girl . . . let my daughter go.”

Simone leaned over, whispered into Flynn’s ear. He turned his attention back to me, appraising me through half-closed eyes, contemplating what she had said. “Take off your shirt,”

“What?” I said. “Why?”

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Have you ever done something spur of the moment, on impulse, that you later regretted, but it was too late, you couldn’t undo it? Yeah, me too.

When I made the choice to fake my death and walk away from my old life, I also decided I would do everything I could to pass myself off as Jared Mulligan. That included having a Marine Corps tattoo—the eagle, globe, and anchor—engraved on my arm, just like the one he had. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Soon after, while on the cruise ship that brought me to Australia, I was accused by a fellow passenger of “stolen valor,” being a fraud, and it made me regret the decision. I intended to have the tattoo removed, but hadn’t gotten around to doing it yet.

Now, in Flynn’s office, surrounded by members of the Death Adder Motorcycle Club, I realized just how bad a decision I had made.

“Were you ever in the military service?” Flynn asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“During our conversation with Ms. Figueroa, she said Mulligan was a marine,” Simone said. “He had a tattoo on his arm.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, then let it all out at once. I stood and slowly unbuttoned my shirt, playing for time, hoping there would be a knock at the door, or maybe Jasmine’s training would kick in and she’d get us out of there. But nothing like that happened.

Jasmine’s eyes widened at the sight of my tattoo. I tossed my shirt onto the chair. “I can explain,” I said.

74

Page, Indiana

It had to have been Leon, Sheriff Bridges figured, who left the plate at the crime scene. Leon was Larry Brown’s cousin and only employee, and although a hard worker, the poor boy was not the brightest bulb on the tree.

Leon drove Larry’s tow truck, and had a sizeable collection of license plates from wrecked vehicles nailed to the wall in the shed. It had to have been Leon. He’d probably been anxious, unable to wait until he got back to the junkyard to claim his prize souvenir from the sheriff’s wrecked cruiser. He’d taken the plate off right there, and then got careless, forgetful. He must have left it or dropped it.

Sheriff Bridges hadn’t heard from the Chief of Police in Messerton, Illinois for a few days. That was both comforting, and worrisome.

Most likely, the finding of his license plate at a crime scene would be considered coincidental, not connected. But still, it was unwanted attention.

After kicking the idea around for a couple of days, Sheriff Bridges decided to take the chance and go pro-active. Call Chief Rodgers in Illinois. See what he could learn regarding the discovery of his old license plate at an active crime scene. On the first ring, an automated answering system picked up, directing him to hang up and dial 911 in case of an emergency. Further options were to stay on the line for dispatch, to dial the four-digit extension of the person he wished to speak to, an option to listen to the directory, and yet another option to listen to the menu again. He punched in the extension number for Chief Rodgers.

The person answering said, “Chief Deputy Washington.”

“Officer Washington, this is Sheriff Bridges over here in Page County, Indiana.” Bridges rasped.

“Afternoon, Sheriff. What can I do for you today?”

“I was calling for Chief Rodgers, following up on a conversation we had the other day. Is he available by any chance?”

“Chief Rodgers retired. Yesterday was his last day. I’m Chief Deputy, holding the fort down, as acting chief,” Washington said. “Is there anything I can assist you with, Sheriff?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. It wasn’t important. He didn’t seem to think so, anyway. Not really sure what it was all about. Thank you anyway.”

“My pleasure, Sheriff.”

After the call ended, Sheriff Bridges sat back in his chair, feet propped up on an open desk drawer and his hands resting on his chest with the fingertips pressed together, forming a steeple. “So,” he said to an empty office, “Chief Rodgers retired.” The issue of the license plate would be forgotten. One less thing to worry about. Forget about it and go to lunch. Ask around about Shelby. Maybe she’d come home by now. But, first, check email.

75 

I tried to explain how I was running for my life. How first a professional killer, and then later a sheriff, tried and failed to kill me. How I’d turned the tables and gotten the better of them both. How I had accessed Mulligan’s funds and took a cruise ship to Australia, and gotten the tattoo on a stopover. How one of Flynn’s best men, Archer, had tried to kill me and I maimed him, blinded him in one eye. And how I had nothing to do with the death of Daniel Seton.

An awkward silence filled the room. Flynn studied me carefully.

After hearing what had to be the worst alibi story in history, Flynn shook his head and said, “I suppose you can’t make this shit up, can you mate? Fact is stranger than fiction, eh?”

He looked to Jasmine. “You know I’ll have you killed for lying to me. You still say he really isn’t your partner?”

Jasmine shook her head. “No. He isn’t. Mulligan—the real Mulligan—and I were hired to kill you, Flynn. Nothing personal.”

“I understand.” Flynn shrugged. “Just a job.”

“To get to you, we planned to kill Daniel Seton. Bring you into the killing zone—the cemetery. Same way a hunter kills a zebra and waits for the lion to come along.”

“I got wind of it” Flynn said. “False information, it seems. I was told Daniel had some gambling debts and was in danger over it. Sent two of my men to watch over him.”

There was a banging on the door, followed by the redhead barging in uninvited. “Dexter!” she wailed. “Dexter, please! Billy’s going to die if we don’t get him to the hospital.” She dropped to her knees, pleading. “I’ll do anything, Dexter. Just don’t let him die.”

Flynn looked at her with indifference. He sniffed, cleared his throat, and said without a hint of emotion. “If he dies, he dies,” then said to Peter, “Get this bitch out of here, but don’t let her leave.” He turned back to Jasmine. “Where were we?”

“I tried to kill you. At the cemetery. With a drone”

“Those things hard to fly?”

“Not really. It helps to get some training from someone who knows what they’re doing. I could teach you in half a day.”

Flynn chuckled. “Right, right. I’ll think on that. Go on.”

“Mulligan got himself killed back in the states, when he accepted a contract on Mr. Hamilton, here,” Jasmine said.

I nodded. “Self-defense.” Like Flynn would give a shit. “And then I decided to walk away from my old life. Start over with Mulligan’s identity.”

Jasmine looked at me, shook her head and sighed. “You really committed to it. I’ll give you that. I didn’t know about the tattoo.”

“So you see, this whole thing is just a misunderstanding,” I said. “You release my daughter unharmed, and I’m willing to forget the whole thing.” That must have been funny, because everyone else in the room, including Jasmine this time, laughed.

“You’re forgetting a few things, mate,” Flynn said after the laughter died down.

“I believe you’re really Tyler Hamilton,” Flynn said. “Not so sure I believe you aren’t also Jared Mulligan. I’m up the pole on this. You worked Archer over pretty good. And you claim to have done away with a professional killer. You’ve got skills.”

“Archer is sloppy,” I replied. “A rank amateur. I’m surprised he’s survived this long.” I glanced at Archer. His upper lip curled involuntarily.

Flynn nodded. “He does leave room for improvement, doesn’t he?” Flynn’s eyes locked with mine. “Be that as it may, Daniel’s dead. And your friend here tried to kill me.”

“I’d say your beef is with her, not me,” I said. “She and I are not partners.” What loyalty did I owe Jasmine, a hired assassin who had put me in danger, not to mention my family? That was the first time I actually thought of Shelby in that way. Family. Because of Jasmine, Shelby could die. And my other daughter, Raquel—my Rocky—would be in danger just being caught up in Jasmine’s lifestyle. “Daniel’s not dead by my hand,” I protested. “I had nothing to do with it. You want to know what happened, ask—”

There was a pounding on the door. “Dexter!” I recognized the voice of the young woman who’d barged in earlier. “Dexter, you killed him!” She wailed. “Billy’s dead.” More banging on the door. “You killed him, Dexter. You killed him!” There were other voices, muffled by the door, as she was pulled away.

“Well, hell,” Flynn said. “I was hoping Billy would pull through. Bloody Death Adders are wicked.” He shrugged. “No worries. Life goes on.”

At that moment I lost all hope of Dexter Flynn giving a rat’s ass about me or Shelby.